“I could always make a list of appropriate men from the ones you’ve dated, plus a few others I think might fit the bill.” Malcolm stirred his dirty martini. “After all, I’m as eager to see this settled as you.”

“Eew, don’t say things like fit the bill, Malcolm. You make me sound like I’ve got a checklist that needs ticking off.” Cecily frowned, toying with the stem of her wine glass.

Malcolm slipped the vermouth-soaked olives from his drink into his mouth and chewed. “Three martinis are my limit after dinner. I’m an old man and need my sleep. He put his glass down and pushed himself back from the bar. “You, on the other hand, didn’t eat a bite. I suppose youth makes up for that in stamina considering the circumstances. Your shifter blood helps, too, I think. Your father could hold his liquor like the devil. Chalked it up to his dual-natured metabolism.”

He took his jacket from the back of the high-backed chair and stuck his arms through the sleeves. “Think about what I’ve said, Cecily. Except for needing a prenuptial agreement, you’ve shot down every idea and every guy I’ve suggested tonight. Stop being so doom and gloom. You do have time to do this organically, sweetheart. Eleven months, to be exact. Plus, you’re young, you’re pretty, and you are now the controlling shareholder in a billion-dollar Fortune 500 company.” He clicked the inside of his cheek. “Quite the catch, if I do say so myself.”

She snorted. “That’s what worries me. My father has been dead for a month, and people I barely know are already trying to put the squeeze on me.” Cecily swiveled her barstool to look at Malcolm standing there with his briefcase, his graying comb-over drooping onto his forehead. “How will I know if it’s me they truly want or just my money?”

Malcolm touched the young woman’s cheek. “You won’t, love. That’s what the prenup is for.”

She brushed him off. Not because she didn’t care for the man who might as well be her uncle, but because she didn’t want to admit he was right.

He chuckled. “Fine. Be angry at me if you must, but deep down you know I’m right. I’m putting together an airtight prenuptial agreement that guarantees whoever marries you walks away with nothing but the clothes on their back. Anyone who signs that has to be in it for reasons that don’t include dollar signs.”

She gave him a half-hearted laugh. “Like Susan?” Exhaling, she dragged a hand through her hair. “I have a sneaking suspicion I haven’t heard the last from her or her wretched son.”

He lifted one hand. “You let me worry about Susan the Shark. Just steer clear of Jackson. He’s got a real axe to grind. In his mind, you stole what he thinks should be his birthright.”

Cecily laughed out loud at that. “Birthright? That’s a laugh. DNA does not lie.”

“Truer words, but still. Be on your guard, okay? The faster this is settled, the faster he and Susan will go away.” Malcolm patted her cheek again and then checked his watch. “God, it’s late. Can I give you a lift?”

She shook her head. “I’m going to pickle my misery a little longer. Boston’s easy. I’ll grab a cab and crash at the Parker House tonight.”

“Okay, honey. Call me if you need me.” He hesitated a moment. “You’ve had so much to deal with, and I don’t mean in the last couple of months. You hold on so tight, I’m surprised your knuckles haven’t ripped through your skin. You need to relax and let go, some.” He lifted a warning finger. “Mind you, I’m not saying throw caution to the wind and marry the first guy you see, and certainly not without the proper paperwork in place, but I think you understand. I’m used to cleaning up after your father’s messes, but honey, you’re Krakatoa waiting to explode.” Malcolm patted her hand again, and then walked toward the bar doors, waving before he headed outside to the sidewalk.

Cecily swiveled back to face the bar and her half-empty wine glass.

“Can I buy you another?”

Her nose wrinkled, and she turned toward the question, the polite smile on her lips fading almost immediately. “Jackson. What are you, some kind of spider hanging in the corner waiting to scare the crap out of me? I’ve got news for you, suckass. I don’t scare easily.”

He slid onto the barstool next to her. “Little Miss Muffet is not exactly the description I would use to describe you, Cecy.”

“Nursery rhymes? Really, Jackson. I would’ve thought you’d come up with something better than that.”

Jackson picked up a thin red stirrer from the bar and twirled it between his fingers. “Well, we did grow up together.”

Cecily chortled, but there was no humor in it. “Nostalgia will get you nowhere, dude.”

“Fine. Then I’ll cut to the chase.” He stuck the plastic swizzle stick between his teeth. “I heard about your father’s surprise prerequisite to the inheritance.”

Hot anger skittered across her chest and into her throat. Whoever leaked the information to Jackson was getting the screws tomorrow. Malcolm was her father’s oldest friend, but the operative word was old. In this world, money talked and bullshit walked, and Jackson got to someone on Malcolm’s staff.

“I have no idea what you’re babbling about, Jackie boy. Go skulk around someone else’s grave. My father’s is pick proof.” She lifted her wine glass and took a sip, poised to throw the rest in his face if necessary.

Jackson shrugged. “I thought you might consider keeping everything in the family, you know? Like I said, we grew up together, Cecy. I’ve seen yours and you’ve seen mine, so why not?”

His smarmy grin made her cringe. “Our nanny changing us into our bathing suits when we were little doesn’t count, Jackson, and the fact you could take something innocent and make it sound so dirty only proves you are the last person on Earth I would pick. Ever.”

Jackson’s grin faded to an ugly smirk. “You might want to reconsider, Cecily. You’re not getting any younger. What are you now? Thirty? Thirty-one?” His meaning was crystal clear.

“You are as repulsive and slimy as ever, Jackson Wise.”

He shrugged, unfazed. “You really think you’re going to find someone stupid enough to sign any prenuptial agreement Malcolm writes? Even if you did, how’re you going to get him to fuck you, huh, Cecily? You’ve got a pretty face, but from the neck down you’re a hot mess. And don’t give me that bullshit about loving your curves. They’re not curves, babe. They’re full-on rolls. No man wants to squeeze his junk between doughy thighs.” He took the plastic stirrer from his mouth and pointed it at her. “I’m your best bet, Cecy. You know it, and I know it. Even though I could wait you out and contest the will a year from now.”

Her eyes narrowed and claws burned inside her fingertips with the urge to scratch the smug look off his face. “After everything my father did for you? You wouldn’t dare.”

Jackson leaned in, his mouth twisted and angry. “Try me.”

Her eyes burned, and she knew her pupils glittered shifter gold despite the tears that threatened. Cecily tightened her jaw, refusing him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Flicking the chewed stirrer onto the bar, he pushed up from the round stool. “You really are a spoiled little rich bitch. Be grateful I’m even offering.” He paused, eyeing her. “Seeing as we’re practically family, I’m willing to compromise. I’ll give you forty-eight hours to think things over. If I don’t hear from you by then, the legal ball starts rolling. Once you can’t provide the goods to satisfy George’s will, I’ll be waiting in the wings like that spider.”

Cecily’s hand tightened on her wine glass and without thinking she threw what was left of her drink in Jackson’s face. With a sneer, he cocked his hand to strike her, but another hand shot from the side, clamping around his wrist. “Sorry, dude. Not on my watch. Not here. Not now. Not ever.”