Page 7 of Real Good Love
None.
“You’re not joking.”
Mr.Lowenstein shakes his head. “No. I don’t joke about lunch or money.”
I hope he meant love and money, but I don’t ask. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Myrna’s daughter wasn’t completely full of it when she told me Myrna left me everything.
“Why would she do this? It makes no sense at all.”
“She liked you.”
I meet his gaze. “She liked her dog. She tolerated me.”
“Speaking of the dog, you’re the trustee of the Jordana Frances Pet Trust, although you did not inherit her.”
“Please tell me it was Sofia.”
“Indeed.”
So I didn’t inheriteverything, butholy shit.
I pay a lot closer attention to what Lowenstein says for the rest of the meeting, which means my brain feels like it’s going to explode by the end of it.
Part of me expected Dee Booker was exaggerating, so even though I was ready for some kind of inheritance from Myrna, I wasn’t expectingthis.
I walk out of the office and barely notice the crowds of people around me as I wander in the direction of my hotel, still reeling with shock.
Out of habit, I pull out my phone to call Greer and tell her the news, but she doesn’t answer. Her new life is taking off in LA, and while I couldn’t be happier that my friend has found happiness, I selfishly miss having her around.
I miss Myrna too. Last night, I couldn’t handle staying in her apartment surrounded by her things, so I hauled my suitcase to the Parker Meridian and sank into the bathtub ... and cried.
Grief battered me as I recalled our exchanges, and how much it bothered me that I didn’t clear the air with her on the phone. She had no clue I left New York upset with her. Maybe it’s a plus that she didn’t die thinking we had unfinished business. Although, if she’d known, maybe she would have hung on a hell of a lot longer.
Why did I jump to conclusions?I should have just asked her. Myrna was nothing if not brutally honest with me.
I toasted her with almost the entire contents of the minibar, which she’s ironically now paying for, and passed out on a tearstained pillow.
When I woke up this morning, my head hammering, I rolled over looking for Logan, but the hotel decor reminded me I was a long way from Gold Haven. I left Kentucky a broke-ass CEO, and now I’m a legit baller.
Well, I will be after who knows how many more meetings with lawyers and financial people who will finalize all the details and wind down Myrna’s affairs.
Not to mention, I have to figure out what to do with all of her stuff. She was a pack rat of the first order, and to say I’m overwhelmed by the thought of digging through all of it is the understatement of the century.
I wrap my coat around me tighter as I pause on the corner of Fifth Avenue. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I have zero urge to go inside any of my favorite stores and shop.
Which is ironic, considering I could snap my fingers and demand one of everything now. My new bank account wouldn’t even blink.
Two women burst through the doors of a store, laughing and carrying armloads of bags. I step out of their way, but can’t help but overhear their conversation as they turn toward Starbucks.
“That top you got will be perfect for the club opening tonight. Your tits will look amazing. I can’t wait to post pictures so everyone who can’t get in will be jealous.”
They both giggle—annoyingly, I might add—before the other responds. “God, I’m due for a good fuck too. I’m taking home the hottest guy I see.”
“Damn, girl. Get it. But buh-bye in the morning, right?”
“Obvi. You know how I am.”
The two women disappear into Starbucks, and someone knocks into me from behind. The signal has changed, which means I need to move my ass across the street. Shaking myself out of my momentary eavesdropping session, I stride forward, but their words stay with me.
