Chapter 2

Twenty minutes earlier…

"Well, now that Jankins is gone, I have a surprise for you."

Bridger stood a few yards from his grandfather's presumed death bed, arms crossed, feet planted, and eyes narrowed. He wasn't pleased that he'd had to leave a meeting with an important client in order to get here this evening. He was less pleased to have discovered the reason he'd been summoned.

What Benjamin Arnoult failed to understand was that Bridger didn't give a single fuck about his grandfather's wealth or any inheritance the old bastard might arbitrarily leave him. As far as Bridger was concerned, his grandfather could leave every dime to the staff. They deserved it for putting up with his surly shit all these years.

"I left an important business meeting to come here," Bridger said. "You didn't need me present for the fiftieth rendition of your will. Your lawyer had it under control. If he needed a witness, anyone on staff could have done so. Which means you thought you could ruffle my feathers by inserting contingencies in your will with regard to my life."

The old fart smirked. He was sitting upright, leaning against the headboard. He even had on a dress shirt. From what the staff had told Bridger lately, it had been weeks since the old man had rallied to this extent. He seemed perfectly lucid this evening.

"I know you have some sort of clandestine relationship with that boy you live with, son, but you're thirty-five years old. It's time to stop fooling around and settle down with a woman."

Bridger snorted. "There is nothing clandestine about my relationship with Colter. And he's the same age as me. Not a boy. Who I choose to be involved with is none of your business."

The old man narrowed his gaze and shook a gnarly crooked finger in Bridger's direction. The gesture would have been comical if it weren't so annoying. "See, you're wrong." He waved an arm in a swooping gesture. "Do you have any idea how much my estate is worth?"

Bridger drew in a breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He didn't frankly give a fuck what the estate was worth, but arguing with the old man would only prolong his visit, and Bridger wanted to get home, get out of his suit, turn on some calming music, and tip back a few beers.

Benjamin shook his finger again. "I know you like to pretend you don't care about the family estate, but that's bullshit. With your father gone, you're the only heir I have, and I won't have my estate dragged through the mud. I expect you to pull yourself together, boy, get married, and produce an heir. Until then, this estate will remain out of reach."

Bridger drew in a breath and held it, forcing himself not to say a word or react in any way. He knew all of that. Benjamin had gone over it with the lawyer three times. He'd made himself clear, signed the paperwork, and sent the lawyer on his way. Bridger did not need a recap.

"Are we done?" he asked.

"No, we are not done," the man bellowed. "I figured this would be your reaction, so I took matters into my own hands and found you a woman."

Bridger tried hard not to flinch. Whatever dear old Grandad was rambling about didn't matter. The man didn't have the power to force a woman on Bridger or vice versa. "I don't need a matchmaker, old man."

Benjamin smirked again. "A matchmaker isn't even necessary. What you need is a docile little woman on your arm—someone who will spread her legs willingly and produce me an heir without complaint. I've secured her for you already. It's done."