Her Perfect Revenge by Anna Mara Read Free Book Online Page B

worried."
    "I mean 'we'," Charlotte was adamant.
    At that moment, the office door behind Charlotte was yanked open and William Havenwood Sr. stood there, glaring at his son. "You're late," he barked in his British accent before slamming his door shut again.
    Bill sighed. Yes—he was definitely coming out of that office a eunuch today. First, that crazy, beautiful broad had damaged 'the goods' and now his old man would finish the job. Taking a deep breath, he turned the doorknob to his father's office and entered.
    Inside, Bill took no note of the richly appointed office or the large expanse of windows, which overlooked the city. He only had eyes for his father who stoically stood, with hands clasped behind his back, beside his ornate cherry wood desk.
    "It wasn't my fault. I was rear-ended and…" Bill started to explain.
    "Sit." The word was spoken as a trainer would to his dog.
    Bill let out a breath as he took a seat in one of two wingback chairs opposite the desk. Here it came—the lecturing—the recriminations—the disappointment in his father's eyes, yet again. Well, he was immune to all of that. And numb. He had been for a very long time.
    "Punctuality is the mark of a successful man," William enunciated every word as he began to pace the room like an angry leashed tiger with its tail lashing back and forth.
    "Only thing I'm successful at is spending your money. Does that count?"
    "Don't be smart."
    "No, I'm never that," Bill gave a half laugh.
    William looked his son over. "At least you're in one piece."
    "Wouldn't want to ruin your fun."
    "Meaning?"
    "Well now you can rip me… to pieces."
    William stopped his pacing and glared at Bill. "Charlotte was crazed with worry. Why didn't you call back?"
    "I didn't think…"
    "No, you never 'think', do you? Or should I say you only 'think' of yourself."
    "Like father, like son."
    "Not quite. I don't exactly start my day at noon and spend my nights screwing around."
    "No, you just screw people during the day," Bill said as he returned his father's glare.
    "It's paid for your lifestyle all these years and I haven't heard too many complaints from you, have I?" Bill remained silent. "Have I?" Bill again said nothing. William answered his own question. "No, I haven't. Well, all that's about to change."
    "What do you mean?" Warily, Bill swiveled his head to look directly at his father. What was the old bastard up to now?
    "You're cut off."
    "What!"
    "No more cars. No more trips. No more allowance. You're to pack your bags and be out of my house within twenty-four hours. I've had enough of your lazy, irresponsible ways."
    Bill was floored. What the hell was going on here? No more Havenwood money? It couldn't be. His father had threatened many times before but he'd never gone this far.
    "Look, I don't know what this is about but…"
    "And you're out of the will too." Like a man possessed, William marched over to his desk and retrieved several papers from a drawer. He threw them at his son. "I've set up the Havenwood Trust. When I'm gone, all my money's going to charity; all of it."
    Slowly, Bill glanced at the papers clutched in his hands. They were legal papers all right, signed and witnessed, detailing what his father had just said.
    William looked around his office and shook his head in disgust. "All this…" His hand swept the room and he shouted. "Everything… everything that I've bloody worked hard for all my life will be given away when I'm gone. I have no legacy. I don't even have any grandchildren to leave it to, thanks to you."
    Bill was speechless. This couldn't be happening to him. He needed that money. He couldn't live without that money. Especially now, when there were people counting on him to… well, he couldn't think about that now. He needed to focus on changing his father's mind.
    William stared at his son with contempt as he continued his speech in that proper British tone. "My son, my only son… look at you. You're thirty years old and what have you done