Nicola Marsh - Inherited - Baby

Riley cursed, pinning Matt with a glare. ‘You’re sure about this?’

‘Positive. The only thing Joe owned was the car and that’s in Maya’s name, thank goodness.’

‘Hell.’

Okay, it was worse than he’d thought. A hundred times worse.

He’d always assumed that Joe owned the swank South Bank apartment he’d lived in and had questioned him to make sure. In typical fashion, Joe had laughed off Riley’s concerns at the time then begged another few grand to buy a new cot for Chas or a bauble for Maya. The sad thing was he now knew that the money he’d handed over for his nephew’s sake had never reached the baby.

‘What do you want me to do?’ Matt shuffled a few papers into the folio in front of him before handing it across the desk. ‘It’s all in here.’

‘Thanks,’ Riley said, taking the folder and tossing it into his in-tray, wishing he could burn the thing rather than see the irrefutable proof of his brother’s stupidity and selfishness in black and white. ‘You’ve done a great job—as usual. Why don’t you leave it with me for now, let me take a look at everything and I’ll get back to you?’

‘Sure, no probs.’ Matt drained his coffee, lobbed the cup into the bin and held out his hand. ‘I’m heading back to Sydney this afternoon so if you need me, ring me.’

‘Shall do.’ Riley shook hands with Matt and walked him to the door, the epitome of the cool, level-headed businessman everyone thought he was.

However, as soon as the door closed, Riley kicked the nearest object, which happened to be an old wooden hat stand he hated, and wondered how on earth he would break the news to Maya.

If she let him in the door, that was.

Maya gaped at the surly man wearing baggy overalls and waving a clipboard under her nose.

‘My orders are right here, lady. All the furniture in this joint is to be repossessed. Today.’

She took a steadying breath and braced herself against the door jamb, wondering if this nightmare would ever end.

‘There must be some mistake. My fiancé owns this apartment.’

‘Take it up with him,’ the guy snarled, propping the clipboard up against the skirting boards and looking over her shoulder as if sizing up the place.

‘He’s dead,’ she said, aiming for calm and hating the slight quiver in her voice.

‘Sorry for your loss, lady, but I have my orders. Everything goes. Now.’

When she hesitated, he pushed past her, followed by a slim weasel-like man who darted quick, furtive glances towards her as if she’d clobber him on the way through.

‘This is insane!’ she shouted, torn between wanting to fight for what was rightfully hers and giving them a hand to cart away every last piece of ugly furniture.

This had been Joe’s place and he’d hired a decorator, which showed in every monochromatic line and curve. Stark white and chrome had been the dominant feature of all the furniture, giving the space a cold, sterile feel which she hated.

Not that the stuff had stayed white for long when Chas started cruising the furniture. Maya had done a little internal happy dance every time he’d placed a grubby fingerprint on the frigid environment.

‘I’ll get my lawyer on to you!’ she said, the men ignoring her empty threat as they moved around the lounge room, pointing at various pieces of furniture, sticking numbers on them and ticking off their list.

At that moment Chas let out a bellow from his high chair. ‘Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma!’

‘Hang on, sweetie,’ she said, rushing into the kitchen in time to be on the receiving end of a rather accurate throw as her angelic son lobbed a glob of cereal at her forehead.

‘Damn it,’ she said, running a wash-cloth under the tap and dabbing at the mess while Chas sent her a wide toothy grin, echoing, ‘Dam-dam-dam-dam.’

‘Cheeky boy.’

She swung him up in her arms and nuzzled him, blocking out the sounds of furniture being dragged in the other room and not caring when his sticky fingers clamped on to her neck.

So Joe hadn’t owned any of his awful furniture? Big deal. She’d grown up in a house with a saggy old sofa and a few crates for tables, with a bed sporting rusty springs that dug into her back every night for ten years. As long as they had a roof over their heads, she and Chas could make do.

‘Miss Edison?’

Her head snapped up as another man stuck his head around the door, a slick type in an ill-fitting suit who seemed at odds with the other two. ‘Who are you?’

She wasn’t usually so rude but with the Dodgy brothers emptying her house in the next room, her patience was at an all-time low.

‘I’m here on behalf of Drake Sams. They own this apartment and would like it vacated. You have a week to comply.’

If she’d gaped at the burly guy repossessing her furniture, her jaw fairly dropped this time around.

‘It’s all set out here. Have a good day.’

With that, the slime-ball scuttled out the door, leaving her with a whimpering baby—Chas always tuned in to her moods—and an eviction notice.

She stared at the piece of paper lying on the bench top, the tiny typed words floating in front of her eyes and not making an ounce of sense.

She should’ve known.

Her life with Joe had been a sham.

His love hadn’t been real, his promise to marry her hadn’t been real, and now it looked as if the very walls which had housed their false life would vanish like the rest of her dreams.

Suddenly her knees shook and she plopped into the nearest chair before Steptoe and Son pulled it out from under her. Chas chose that moment to set up a hearty wail which pierced her heart as well as her eardrums and she cuddled him close, biting on her bottom lip so hard that she drew blood, determined not to blubber.

Of course, Riley chose that moment to stride into her kitchen, looking like a GQ model in his designer pinstripe suit and slightly ruffled hair. The faintest shadow of stubble on his jaw lent the perfect picture a minor flaw and served more to accentuate his appeal than diminish it.

‘What’s going on here?’

He crossed the kitchen in three short strides and squatted down next to her, reaching out as if to touch her before thinking better of it and resting his hand on the back of the chair.

At least Chas instantly quietened, hiding his head in the crook of her neck where he could take regular peeps at his uncle from a safe distance.

‘What does it look like?’ She lifted her head to look him straight in the eye, determined not to let him see her cowering and defeated.

After their confrontation last night, she didn’t need whatever he was here to offer, no matter how desperate her situation. ‘All our stuff is being taken away.’ She clicked her fingers under his nose. ‘Oh, and we’re being evicted for good measure.’

Rather than expressing shock as she’d expected, Riley shook his head. ‘I’d hoped to be the one to break it to you,’ he said, sending a pitying glance at Chas that had her palm itching to slap him.

‘You knew about this?’

‘I just found out and came straight here.’

‘Oh.’

Her anger deflated quickly. No use taking her fury out on Riley. He wasn’t the one who’d built a life of false promises around her only to tear it all down.

‘Is there anything else I should know?’ she asked, needing to hear all of it before marshalling her thoughts into some semblance of a plan.

The tiny furrow between Riley’s brows deepened. ‘Apart from the car, which is yours, Joe didn’t own a thing. He had no money, no portfolio and no real estate holdings.’

‘Figures,’ she said, rueing the day she ever set eyes on Joe Bourke.

Ironically, she’d seen Riley first on that fateful night, drawn to the tall, imposing guy in a tux standing near the band, away from the hullabaloo, watching the rowdy crowd get rowdier. He was impossibly good looking with his dark hair, blue eyes, strong cheekbones and chiselled jaw. However, the thing that had captured her attention was the glass in his hand, containing the same non-alcoholic lemon, lime and bitters drink as hers.