Grandmother balanced her hands on the oxygen tank in front of her, then appraised her grandson openly. Eric willed himself not to look away or fidget with his clothes. You’re a man, Eric. Remember that. Because he was not the scrawny twenty-two-year-old she last saw. Since telling his family where they could stick it, he had gone to the best law school in the world, worked his ass off at a top-twenty firm, and then started his own shop with one of his best friends. Eric was proud of what he had accomplished without his family’s money or connections. He didn’t need this frail woman’s approval anymore. He didn’t need any of them and hadn’t for a long time.
“You’ve grown up.” Grandmother waved at Garrett to bring in the tea. “You’ve done well with your little law firm, I understand. Although I see it hasn’t taught you to stop dressing like a pauper.”
Eric crossed one foot over his knee, ignoring her jibe at his T-shirt and jeans. He generally preferred more tailored looks, to tell the truth. A whole rack of designer suits hung in his closet at home. Armani. Boss. Tom Ford. Burberry. He liked a nicely cut lapel, a well-chosen pocket square. He had a tailor in Boston on speed dial. The worn denim and concert T-shirt were for her—He knew they would piss her off.
“I have done well,” he agreed. There was no point in being modest. Since he, Skylar Crosby, and Kieran Beckford started Copley Associates two years ago, the firm had gone from three attorneys to ten, and they were looking to hire two more. They’d already developed a reputation for being ruthless and savvy in a city chock-full of lawyers.
Grandmother nodded. “Yes, yes. Although I’m sure it’s helped to have the Sterling and de Vries names behind it, hasn’t it? Nothing like new money to get things started. Isn’t it Sterling’s wife, that little no-name from Brooklyn who nearly ruined Ellen Chambers’s family, who’s your partner? Pity. His first wife came from such good family.”
Her eyes gleamed in that way they always did when she talked about other members of her “station.” Always conniving, always judging. She wasn’t stupid. She likely knew all the details of Eric’s business arrangement with Skylar and her husband, Brandon Sterling, a former investment magnate and now-inventor. Brandon divested from his companies six years ago to play in his lab, but the guy still had one of the biggest stock portfolios on the eastern seaboard, and his new company’s legal needs initially kept Copley afloat. In Grandmother’s estimation, Sterling was a fish worth watching.
Or, Eric wondered vaguely, was Brandon a whale? Would that make his grandmother Captain Ahab?
Instead of answering, Eric remained quiet. He knew that game, and he wasn’t there to play it. It would be easier, though, if he actually knew why he was there at all.
Garrett wheeled in the tea tray and fixed them cups while they eyed each other over the porcelain. By the time he parked it on one side of the room, even Grandmother was ready to be done with the silence.
“Leave us, Garrett.” It was not until the old man was gone that she turned again to Eric, taking a deep breath through her oxygen mask before speaking. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I requested your presence.”
“‘Request’ is a bit generous, but sure. I’m curious.”
He had received a phone call two days ago from her personal assistant, who simply said Eric was expected for tea. To deal with an emergency. That was it. He could have ignored it, just like he ignored all of the embossed invitations for Christmas dinner or sporadic phone calls to join the family at the Hamptons. They had an arrangement. She could pretend Eric hadn’t told his entire family to stay the fuck out of his life or he’d air their dirty laundry to the press. And he could pretend they didn’t say anything to him at all.
But this was different. The assistant’s voice, curt and cold, had simmered with desperation.
Grandmother took a leisurely sip with shaky hands. “You might be stubborn like your father, but you were never an idiot. Clearly I’m not in good health.”
Eric pressed his lips together. “Of course. I’m sorry to—”
“Let’s not play coy, Eric,” she interrupted. “You loathe this family—you made that perfectly clear when we saw you last, and have continued in the years hence.”
Eric gritted his teeth but didn’t argue. When your family works together to split up you and your fiancée because they don’t think she’s good enough for them, you get pretty pissed off. And when their actions cause her to kill herself, well, that’s pretty fucking unforgivable.
So, yeah. He had a bit of a grudge.
“What do you want, Grandmother?” he asked, setting his untouched tea on a gilded tray balanced on the sky-blue ottoman. “Julie said it was an emergency.”
“Isn’t it, though?” She gestured at the oxygen tank and her dilapidated body. “I’m dying, Eric, since apparently your senses are failing you. The doctors, fools, all of them, say I have six months, at best. Cancer, apparently. It’s so…pedestrian, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Did you ask me here for some kind of absolution? You want forgiveness for what you did to Penny? Because I’ll tell you right now, it’s not coming.”
Eric swallowed hard, but ultimately, was unmoved. He knew it was cold, but he had truly lost all love for this woman a very long time ago. It was she, after all, who led the crusade that caused Penny to slit her wrists that terrible morning in May.
Grandmother just scoffed, waving her paper-thin hand. “No, no,” she said. “I expect that’s a lost cause, particularly since I don’t regret it. Not her death, of course, but that wasn’t really our fault. We couldn’t have
