When Chase Stone’s estranged father dies, leaving his multibillion-dollar business to his children, no one is more surprised than he. Growing up outside of the high-stakes world filled with human vultures, Chase and his sister, Alex, are less than enthusiastic about stepping into their father’s shoes. That is until they learn of a half-brother they didn’t know existed, and must find to share their inheritance with.

Piper Maddox was the elder Mr. Stone’s übercapable assistant—abruptly fired two weeks before his death. She knows everything about Stone Enterprises and the man who built it. But Piper has no desire to work for another member of the Stone family. Even one as down to earth as Chase.

Desperately needing financial security, Piper agrees to return so long as kissing up to Chase and accepting unwanted advances were not part of her job description. A task that becomes a serious hurdle for both of them. Piper and Chase scramble to find the third Stone sibling before the media does, sharing secrets along the way. Secrets that can bring them together or tear them irrevocably apart.

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

The absolutely best part about attending a funeral of a close family member was the ability to wear sunglasses inside. Anyone looking assumed the shield was there to hide the expression of pain and sorrow. For Chase and Alex, it was all about disguising their shock and disbelief of the complete bullshit being spewed from the pulpit. It was one thing for the priest to deliver an appropriate sermon, but the line of people standing up to verbalize their love for Aaron Stone churned bile in Chase’s stomach.

“Husband, father, philanthropist, the builder of an empire. Aaron was more than an employer, more than his gilded name that graces so many hotels and resorts all over the globe. Aaron Stone was my friend. Someone I could share a drink with after work or spend a weekend in Vegas with on a moment’s notice . . .”

Chase leaned close to his sister’s ear and whispered, “High- end escort service on speed dial, no doubt.”

Alexandrea, or Alex, as she’d always been called, nudged his elbow and placed a handkerchief over her lips to hide her smile.

Exactly ninety grueling minutes of needless prayer and praise for the prick in the casket later, Chase escorted his father’s latest wife behind the coffin while Alex and their mother followed behind.

Chase had been asked if he wanted to be one of the six carrying his dead father to his final resting place, to which Chase replied, “Hell-to-the-no.” He didn’t trust himself not to “accidentally” drop his end just to see the man tumble out of his perfect funeral and hear people laugh.

A long line of limousines stacked up behind the hearse. Melissa Stone, wife number three and a woman two years younger than Chase, climbed into the back of the first car with her brother and parents.

Chase, Alex, and their mother, Vivian, closed themselves behind the darkened glass of the second limousine and released a collective sigh once the cameras of the media could no longer record their reaction.

“Damn, that was painful,” Alex said as soon as the door closed.

“It’s far from over.” Their mother patted Alex’s leg as if that would cure the agony they all felt.

Chase removed his sunglasses and looked at the both of them. They wore black, despite Alex’s threat to wear a bright pink floral dress that screamed celebration and happiness.

“Philanthropist? Exactly what did Dad have to do with giving money to those in need?” Alex asked.

“Tax write-offs, I’m sure,” Chase replied.
The limo started to move.
Chase knew from the plans he’d been shown that four

uniformed motorcycle police officers were escorting the procession to the cemetery. From the cemetery they’d inch their way up the hills until they were safely behind the gates of their father’s Beverly Hills estate, where a reception would host the fake smiles and insincere tears.

A man as wealthy as Aaron Stone was living his death the same way he lived his life. Large.

According to the head of the legal team representing Aaron Stone, the man had planned his funeral a good fifteen years before his death.

Considering Aaron was only in his early sixties and in relatively good health, the fact that he planned his own funeral because no one would be able to do it better put an exclamation point on his narcissism.

“Any idea if Melissa is staying in the house?” Alex asked. Chase shook his head. “I don’t have a clue.”
“Knowing your father, he and Melissa had a prenup.”
“If it’s anything like yours, she’ll be lucky to keep her jewelry.”
Chase held his comments and listened to his sister vent.

She wouldn’t get much of a chance until the show was over and they could retreat to their mother’s modest home in Santa Monica. There, they planned on catching their breath before the morning appointment with the lawyers.

If it wasn’t for the fact that his sister’s and mother’s names were on the list of people requested, Chase would blow off the in-person drama altogether and find a dark bar so he could tell his dead father to fuck off one final time with a shot whiskey.

They pulled into the cemetery, and sunglasses found their way back on noses.

Thankfully, the service at the gravesite was much shorter than that at the church.

Melissa’s loud cries and overly animated tears were out of a scene from a soap opera. The cool breeze of the early spring skies pushed clouds overhead that threatened rain. Literally hundreds of people circled Aaron Stone’s casket, most muttering among themselves, some averting their attention when Chase looked directly at them.

Finally, the priest ended his final prayer, asking God to accept the soul at his gate so Aaron’s family could move on in peace.

It was only then that Chase stared over his father’s casket and felt loss.

Loss for the father he never truly had.
Loss for the chance of redemption.
The man would never again have the opportunity to right the wrongs he had done to his family.
Death had a way of ending all possibility of reconciliation.

***

A long line of funeral guests slowly sauntered up the steps of Aaron Stone’s lavish estate.

Chase stood with Alex on one side and Melissa on the other. It took all of ten minutes before a woman with a cane blocked the parade, giving Chase the out he needed to stop shaking hands and smiling at strangers. “I need a drink,” he said to his sister.

“Great idea,” Alex chimed in.
They both stepped away from the door at the same time. “You can’t leave me here to face these people alone,”

Melissa whined.
“You want to shake the hand of every person that has ever kissed up to my father for the last forty years, be my guest.” Chase smiled at his sister. “Chardonnay?”

“I’m thinking vodka.”

Chase and Alex moved past the foyer and into the formal living room. Framed by pillars and hosting twenty-foot ceilings, the room was large enough to accommodate four separate conversation areas, complete with sofas and chairs. Wall to wall windows were outlined by arches standing side by side, giving the room a spectacular amount of light.

A bar had been set up at one corner of the room, and waitstaff was already circulating with trays of wine.

The table in the formal dining space was overburdened with food. The kind brought in by a caterer rather than thoughtfully made from the kitchen of loved ones overwhelmed with grief.

Alex avoided moving farther into the room when she stopped beside their mother and Nick.

She immediately grabbed whatever Nick was drinking and put it to her lips.

“Atta girl. It’s about time you got hammered. That funeral was painful,” Nick said to their small group.
“Don’t encourage her,” their mother responded.
Nick was Alex’s best friend, who she often referred to as her gay husband. They’d known each other for years, and because of that, Chase often thought of him as an extension of the family.

“I’ll get her her own,” Chase told Nick as he walked away and toward the bar.

“Vodka martini and a double shot of whiskey.” There was no need to specify a brand, the only liquor behind the bar was top shelf.

“Must be a rough day,” someone said behind him.

Chase turned to the slightly familiar face. “There’s certainly other places I’d rather be,” he responded appropriately.

“I bet.”

He had a slight southern accent that tickled the back of Chase’s head as he tried to place the man.

“You don’t remember me.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been a long day with a lot of people,” Chase explained.

The other man extended a hand. “Jack Morrison.”

The name clicked with the face. “Morrison hotels,” Chase said.

Jack nodded. “One in the same. I believe we met right before you graduated high school.”

“I can’t say I remember, but I do know who you are.” Hard not to, considering the name. The Morrison family made their way into the papers, just as the Stones did. Families of wealth and power had a way of flashing on the front page from time to time.

“My father would be here, but he’s ahhh . . . not in good health,” Jack said.

“He sent you.”
“I volunteered.”
Chase narrowed his gaze. “Why?”

Jack was slow to smile, but when he did, he started to laugh. “Polite thing to do.”

“I take it you didn’t know my dad.”
“No. Not well anyway.” Jack rocked back on his heels. “That makes two of us.”
Jack paused. “The tabloids had that right, then?”
Chase took in the other man’s expression. “The part about my father being estranged from his kids? Yeah, that would be one hundred percent accurate.”

“Damn. That makes today extra rough,” Jack said. “You have no idea.”
The bartender placed both drinks on the bar. “Can’t pick your family.”

Chase shook his head, grabbed the drinks. “The tabloids had the estranged part right, the rest is crap. Don’t believe everything you read in the paper,” he said.

“I don’t read them. My wife does. In fact, it was Jessie that suggested I come. She said if there’s an ounce of truth behind what the papers said, you and your sister might need a friendly face among the wolves that are bound to come out of the fields.”

Chase regarded the man with a tilt of his head. Jack seemed genuine, but he didn’t know him well enough to determine if kind words at a funeral put him in the trusted category. “We appreciate that,” Chase spoke for Alex. “I should get this to my sister. We could both use some liquid courage today.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll leave you to it. I’m not hard to get a hold of if you need anything.”

Chase smiled, took a couple of steps, then looked back. “What you said about your father being sick . . . is that true?” Jack hesitated. “He thought your dad was an asshole. My father is a little hard to ignore in a room and didn’t want to make a scene.”
For the first time that day, Chase laughed. Any man as wealthy and influential as Jack Morrison who was willing to call a dead man an asshole . . . at his funeral, was good by Chase. “I’ll be in touch,” he said.

“I look forward to it.”
Back at his sister’s side, Chase handed Alex her drink. “Who was that you were talking to?” she asked.
“Jack Morrison,” their mother answered for him.
Nick peered over the rim of his cocktail. “He has some swagger working for him. Is he single?”
Alex swatted Nick’s arm with her free hand. “You are not picking up dates at my dad’s funeral.”
Chase could always count on Nick for some comic relief.

“Not only is he not single, he mentioned a wife . . . so not on your team,” Chase clarified. “He seemed like a decent man.”

“Do you know him, Mom?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know Jack, but everyone in the hotel industry knows his father, Gaylord. I saw him at many dinners and events when I was married to your dad. Gaylord’s love for his children . . .” Her voice trailed off, her gaze traveled to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Chase caught his sister’s eyes.

Alex placed a hand on their mom’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

The “sorry” was a theme their mother used often. Sorry for every shortcoming their father had that she felt she needed to repent for.

“The man is dead,” Chase said, lifting the whiskey to his lips. “Stop apologizing for him.”

“If I had just been—”
“Mom.”
Vivian sealed her lips and nodded once. The subject was closed . . . at least for now.

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About the Author

Catherine is a #1 Wall Street Journal, Amazon, and Indie Reader bestselling author. In addition, her books have also graced The New York Times and USA Today bestsellers lists. In total, she has written thirty-nine beloved books that have collectively sold more than 11 million copies and have been translated into more than twenty languages.

Raised in Washington State, Bybee moved to Southern California in the hope of becoming a movie star. After growing bored with waiting tables, she returned to school and became a registered nurse, spending most of her career in urban emergency rooms. She now writes full time and has penned The Not Quite series, The Weekday Brides series, The Most Likely To series, and The First Wives series. For more information on Catherine Bybee, please visit: www.catherinebybee.com.

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