The Note by Natalie Wrye (the read aloud family .TXT) 📕

I know she means it; she’s tried to break her foot off in my arse before.

But today is the last day I need to hear the tiny lawyer’s lecture. The Knudshorn news is just another nail in the coffin, just another stake in my grave, as my company teeters on the edge of total collapse.

I pick up the scotch, swallowing another mouthful as I grimace. “Who told you I was into that sort of kink? Thought that was still a secret.”

“As much of a secret as the fact that you’re being a complete jackass?”

My childhood friend was never one for flowery niceties.

A silence enters the room that thickens by the second, and I’m tempted to argue with Cynthia. But I know she’s right.

When we moved here to Manhattan from Sydney thirteen years ago with mum, Cynthia was my source of sanity as an awkward Upper East side drama queen.

An auto-industry heiress with more money than God, she’d been the only kid I knew who could put up with the Quinn family and all the shit that came with it. The only person I knew willing to deal with my overbearing, empire-owning grandfather, screwball mother and a bunch of rumors about our family piled as high and far as the Manhattan Lasik-operated eye could see.

Not to mention three unruly Quinn boys.

And she was a saving grace now.

Why she chose to work for the Quinn Real Estate company, I would never know. But as chief attorney, she’d saved the company more times than I could count.

Saved it from lawsuits. Saved it from scandals.

Saved it from the three selfish brothers who ran it.

And the one she’s speaking to now is the worst of them all.

I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose, the urge to get as pissed as possible returning with renewed vengeance.

“You’re right; I’m a jackass. I hear it’s clinical. I expect the doctor to administer pills and injections as soon as he can see me.”

“Tell him to throw in extra vaccination for the prevention of ‘rabid assholery’ while he’s at it, and you’ve got a deal.” She chuckles. “Now you want to tell me what’s been on your mind?”

“Other than the normal existential dread that comes with running a multi-million dollar company?” I sip at the scotch’s edge. “Life is just peachy. Unless…you count the fact that my brother fumbled two of my last three deals. And I’m wiping up after his arse every time he makes a boo-boo on an account.”

Cyn sighs, her tone going tight. “Noah, Jase isn’t you.”

“You’re damn right he’s not me,” I snap. “If he was, he would have paid more attention and seen those deals for what they were: Total bullshit.”

“There’s a reason he always wanted you to be CEO. Even though he’s the oldest,” she presses. “You’re best at this job. You’re the best at selling real estate. He knows it; even your grandfather knew it. That’s why he left you the company.”

“Yeah, you mean he left me his mess.” I teeter-totter on the edge of the tub. “Mom’s no use to anyone. Lachlan’s a practical pup. And Jase is too busy chasing his hard-on for Mindy to keep his mind on the job.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous…”

“Jealous? Of who? Jase?” I scoff. It couldn’t be any further from the truth.

Truth was? Quinn Real Estate is one of the top real estate firms in the world. But my brothers don’t seem to give a shit.

I wonder if they would, if they realized the danger we were in. If they realized our lavish lifestyles could languish in the blink of an eye.

Realized that this upcoming wedding and its white doves and buttercream cake were nothing but a distraction from driving our firm to the top of Forbes…where it belonged.

And where it may never be again.

I shake my head. “Marriage is for fucking dreamers. Because you’re dreaming if you think the damned things work.”

“I don’t know.” Cyn answers. “Look at some of those women on those 90 Day Fiancé’ shows. If you match up with someone rich, you get to throw on a dress, stuff your face with some overly-frosted cake and then wait for a shitload of money to fall in your lap all of a sudden. Sounds like my kind of dream.”

“Sounds like prostituting to me.”

“Oh, please. The only part missing from your interactions with women is the money. You dispense a couple of orgasms, blow a kiss and run away. Sounds like turning tricks to me.”

Cynthia’s screwing with me at this point. And she’s right to be.

I should have never let Jase take this deal in the first place. I should have known.

But her passive jokes still awaken new thoughts in me, and I stand from the edge of the bath, running a thumb along my jaw to work the tension that’s knotting below the skin.

Prostituting aside, the only tricks that are turning are the wheels in my head.

No one comes into a shitload of money all of a sudden. Unless they’re entitled to an inheritance.

And it was to my luck (or un-luck) that one of the richest men in Manhattan is getting ready to leave his.

Fate would have it that that rich man is my father.

Within seconds, I have a plan to pay off the Quinn company debt. My fingers clench together in a fist, and my scotch glass slides to the bathroom floor, smashing, amber liquid sloshing everywhere.

I ignore it…just as Cyn yelps on the other end of the line. “Jesus! Noah, what the hell was that?”

But I can barely hear over the sound of my heart racing, the beat too loud. Hysteria bubbles under the surface of my skin and before I can belt out the truth, I reach for the bathroom door, ready to fling the damned slab aside, the sound of glass crunching under my Christian Louboutin loafers.

I know what I need.

“Cyn, can I call you back tomorrow? I need to check on something.”

But I don’t want for her to answer