I don't get any raspberries?
Eat what's in front of you. How come you ain't out there flirting with that skinny girl?
I'm working on it,
Nathaniel said with a mouthful of cake.
They're in the dining
room, all of them. Family meeting.
He rose, poured himself coffee, dumped the rest of his rum in it.
They found some old book. And she's not skinny.
He had
firsthand knowledge, now that he'd had Megan in his arms.
She's delicate.
Yeah, right.
He thought of Coco, those long, sturdy lines as fine as any well-crafted sloops. And snorted again.
All females are delicate until they get a ring through your nose.
No one would have called the women in the dining room delicate not with a typical Calhoun argument in full swing.
I say we burn it.
C.C. folded her arms across her chest and glared.
After
everything we learned about Fergus from Bianca's journal, I don't know why we'd consider keeping his lousy account book around.
We can't burn it,
Amanda fired back.
It's part of our history.
Bad vibes.
Lilah narrowed her eyes at the book, now sitting in the center of the table.
Really bad vibes.
That may be.
Max shook his head.
But I can't go along with burning a book. Any kind of book.
It's not exactly literature,
C.C. mumbled.
Treat
patted his wife's stiff shoulder.
We can always put it back where it came from or give Sloan's suggestion some consideration.
I think a room designed for artifacts, mementos Sloan glanced at Amanda
the pieces of history that go with The Towers, would add something. Not only to the hotel, but for the family.
I don't know.
Suzanna pressed her lips together and tried to be objective.
I feel
odd about displaying Fergus's things with Bianca's, or Aunt Colleen's, Uncle Sean's and Ethan's.
He might have been a creep, but he's still a piece of the whole.
Holt toyed with the
last of his coffee.
I'm going with Sloan on this one.
That, of course, enticed a small riot of agreements, disagreements, alternate suggestions. Megan could only sit back and watch in amazement.
She hadn't wanted to be there at all. Not at a family meeting. But she'd been summarily outvoted. The Calhouns could unite when they chose.
As the argument swirled around her, she glanced at the object in question. When Amanda left it in her office, she'd eventually given in to temptation. After cleaning off the leather, she'd flipped through pages, idly totaling up columns, clucking her tongue at the occasional mistake in arithmetic. Of course, she'd scanned a few of the marginal notations, as well, and had found Fergus Calhoun a cold, ambitious and self-absorbed man.
But then, a simple account ledger hardly seemed worth this much trouble.
Particularly when the last few pages of the books were merely numbers without any rhyme or reason.
She was reminding herself