“Someone’s going to have to call Astrid. I supposed I’d better start making a list.”
“Of course.” Astrid was Johnathon’s second wife, the Norwegian supermodel, the one Tara didn’t like quite as well. Johnathon had married her mere months after his split from Tara, and Tara had always wondered if there had been some overlap between them. Still, Tara had managed to build some affinity with Astrid. It was part and parcel of being a real estate agent. She found a way to get along with everyone. “I’ll do it. You have enough on your plate. I’m sure she’ll be nothing but distraught.”
“Thank you, Tara. I really appreciate that. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” He gazed at her with his deep brown eyes. They were filled with sincerity and compassion, just as they’d always been. He had a big heart.
A totally irrational part of Tara’s brain wanted to escape into those eyes—surely nothing could hurt her there. “I will. I’ll be okay. How about you?”
“I’m always okay. You know me. We’ll get through this. I promise.” He leaned closer and kissed her temple, stirring up an echo of the attraction that had been there between them the night they met.
Tara’s eyes drifted shut as she soaked up his touch. It had been so long since a man had expressed something so tender toward her. But she could only enjoy it for an instant before the world around her intruded again.
“Max,” Grant said.
Tara’s eyes popped back open, confronted with Johnathon’s longtime lawyer, Maxwell Hughes, who’d walked into the waiting area. He was an imposing man, towering and skinny with dark slicked-back hair, like the evil genius in a spy movie.
“We need to talk,” Max stated coldly. “Is there a private meeting room?” He unsubtly slid Tara the side-eye, as if she was somehow in the way.
“I should go.” Tara got up from her seat. She was upset enough. She didn’t need time in Max’s presence. He’d been unbelievably cruel to her during her divorce from Johnathon. “I doubt Miranda wants to see me or talk to me right now anyway.”
“Max, give me one minute.” Grant ushered Tara out of the waiting room and over to the elevator. He pressed the button for the ground floor. “I’m so sorry about that. The guy clearly has no bedside manner.”
“Tell me about it. What do you think he wants? Is this really the right time for a meeting?”
Grant frowned, seeming just as perplexed. “If he wants to talk to me, it must have to do with Sterling Enterprises. Hopefully just a formality with putting me in as CEO.”
“Oh. Sure. That makes sense.”
“I know. The timing stinks. But let’s be honest, everything about this is horrible.”
Two
The last time Grant had been in the church in sunny Point Loma, California, with its breathtaking view of the rocky coast and deep blue Pacific, it had been to stand up as best man for Johnathon. That day, Johnathon married his third wife, Miranda. Now, little more than a year later, Grant was here to bid farewell to his old friend.
Grant shifted in his front-row seat and patted Miranda’s hand, although she didn’t seem to warm to it. He’d been doing his best to comfort her for three days, ever since she called to tell him that Johnathon had taken a line drive to the head. Even then, Grant had been so sure that Johnathon would be fine. If Johnathon was anything, he was a survivor. He’d come from nothing and clawed his way to billions. Johnathon always came out on top.
But that hadn’t been the case this time. Instead, Grant arrived at San Diego Memorial with only seconds to say goodbye. Meanwhile, a frantic Miranda wept at Johnathon’s bedside, begging him to hold on. You can’t leave. I’m pregnant. There was a baby on the way, a child who would never know their father. And a series of events had been triggered, but it wasn’t quite what Grant had banked on. After his meeting with Max, Johnathon’s personal attorney, Grant had learned that running Sterling Enterprises as its new CEO would require him dealing with all three Sterling wives. They still didn’t know it, and Max had suggested they wait until a few days after the funeral to drop the bombshell. Grant was still formulating a plan for managing the aftermath, but for now, all he could do was nod at the poignant things the minister was saying.
“Johnathon was larger than life, instantly memorable and completely unforgettable. He had a heart as big as the Pacific Ocean he so loved to surf in. He was blessed in his life with three beautiful wives, all of whom are with us today. Our condolences to them as they come to terms with Johnathon’s untimely death.”
A deep sob came from the pew across the aisle. Grant didn’t need to look to know that it was Astrid, wife number two, who’d arrived from Oslo, Norway, with absolutely no idea who Miranda was or that Johnathon had ever remarried. Grant had been left to smooth that over, just as he’d done on countless occasions during his friendship with Johnathon. He could only guess what was going to happen when Astrid discovered that Miranda was pregnant with Johnathon’s baby.
Grant felt a pang of guilt, realizing how much it angered him that Johnathon had never told Astrid the truth. Johnathon may have loved all three of his wives deeply, but he’d created plenty of trouble for them, too. Grant had witnessed both the good and the bad. He hated the things that Miranda and Astrid had gone through, but in Grant’s eyes, the wife who’d been truly unappreciated was the first—Tara. Beautiful, stunning, tough-as-nails Tara.
She was seated only two people away from him. It was impossible to not steal the occasional glance at her, just like he’d been unable to keep his eyes off her the other day at the hospital. She
