Linc pushed his hand through his hair. “When Tyce told us that you were Connor’s daughter we were shocked, Lachlyn. Connor, as you know, died a few years ago but he suffered from Alzheimer’s so even if he was alive, we couldn’t ask him. But DNA doesn’t lie and you are part of this family.”
Wait, that didn’t sound like a brush-off...
Linc continued. “If Connor knew about you, you would’ve been raised by him, of that we have no doubt. Connor was anti-marriage and commitment but he was not anti-responsibility and he adored us, kids who weren’t his kids. He would’ve loved you.”
Lachlyn wanted to ask Linc to back up, to repeat what she thought she’d heard. They considered her to be a part of this family, a Ballantyne? They wanted her to stay in the fold? What? She wasn’t part of this family, she didn’t want to be!
“And, as Connor’s child, we believe it’s only fair that you receive a portion of his estate.”
They weren’t offering to pay her off but were offering her more. Lachlyn pushed the words up her tight throat and through her bloodless lips. “A portion?”
Linc leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs and his beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “As siblings, we own many joint assets and we want to share ownership of those assets with you.”
“Assets?”
Linc nodded to a file on the coffee table. “Shares, art, property, gemstones. They are all listed in there. We’ve also agreed to each pay you a fixed amount from our personal bank accounts to reduce the cash disparity between us.”
“Uh...how much?” Lachlyn asked, her thoughts reeling.
Linc’s eyes cooled and Lachlyn knew that he was disappointed by her response. It did sound grasping and gold-digger-ish but she needed to know the amount of money they were talking about, how serious they were. Ten, twenty thousand?
“We thought we’d start with ten million each but that could be negotiated.”
Ten? Million? Forty million in total? Whoa...!
Lachlyn placed her head between her knees as the air in the room disappeared. She’d been expecting a brush-off, a couple of thousand to go away, and they were offering her tens of millions. Most frightening of all, they were asking her to stay. They wanted her to be a Ballantyne...
No, that wasn’t possible. She didn’t do people, relationships, family...
Lachlyn felt Sage perch on the arm of her chair, a small hand landing on her curved back. “Honey, are you okay?”
Lachlyn shook her head. “No,” she muttered.
“You’ll get used to the idea,” Sage said, her hand rubbing the length of her spine. “After a while you realize that it’s just money, just another tool.”
Lachlyn’s eyes widened and she held herself still. Oh, God, they thought that she was freaking about the money? Yeah, it was king’s ransom but...so what? No, they had it all wrong. It wasn’t the financial side that scared her, it was their offer to include her as a part of a family, their family. She was a loner, someone who was comfortable on her own, who liked living her life solo. She didn’t do family...hell, she barely did friends!
But God, forty million dollars. How did one just dismiss that much money? Lachlyn looked inside herself and realized that she could, easily. She didn’t need wealth, she needed emotional security, and keeping her distance from people, family and men, gave her what she needed.
It was a hell of a generous offer and she couldn’t just toss it back in their faces. Lachlyn started to speak but Beck held up his hand.
“As you might be aware, the press has cottoned on to your connection to us and we’re predicting a lot of media attention,” Beck said, looking grave. “And when I say a lot, I mean a firestorm.”
Damn, just what she needed. Four sets of eyes rested on her face and Lachlyn knew that they were waiting for a reply to their offer, some sort of indication of what she was thinking. All she knew for sure was that it was all a little too much and far too soon. She didn’t know them and they sure as hell didn’t know her. They all needed time before some massive decisions were made that could, and would, have huge ramifications.
Lachlyn lifted her head and sat up straight. She looked each of the Ballantyne men in the eye before sending Sage the same determined look. She took a sip of her wine and stood up, begging her knees to lock. “I very much appreciate the offer but I’d like to suggest that we not make any major decisions, especially financial ones, yet.”
Linc exchanged a long look with his siblings and Lachlyn sensed that she’d somehow passed a test, that their approval of her was climbing.
“I came here,” Lachlyn said, sounding hesitant, “thinking that I would have a drink and then go back to my life, my very normal, solitary life. However, hearing about the impending press attention changes that. I can’t ignore the impact this will have and I can’t just walk away. Nor can I accept your very generous offer.”
“Do you think that there’s a chance that you might be able to one day?” Sage asked.
“I don’t know,” Lachlyn said, standing up. “I need to think. And I need to go.”
Too much information, too many people. She had to leave, get out, find a quiet spot where she could make sense of this crazy turn her life had taken. Lachlyn, needing air and needing to get away, snatched up her bag and ran.
* * *
The news that Lachlyn Latimore was Connor Ballantyne’s daughter had not generated the firestorm of attention Beck had predicted. It was far worse than that, Lachlyn decided. She could only describe the constant media presence as the love child of a swarm of locusts and the apocalypse. Because every word she uttered was dissected and every step she took was monitored, Lachlyn agreed to take a two-week vacation from her job as an archivist at the New York Public Library, hoping that the furor would soon subside. She also, reluctantly, agreed to move into The Den because journalists and photographers blocked both entrances to her apartment in Woodside.
To a woman who craved solitude and privacy, Lachlyn felt like she was under siege and that there was no end in sight. She was, mentally and physically, about to jump out of her skin.
It was Cady, Beck’s wife and Ballantyne’s PR guru who finally persuaded her that it wasn’t in her interest to hide from the press—the sooner she gave them the access they wanted, the quicker the attention would die down and life would return to normal. Well, a new type of normal. Cady suggested a photo shoot, interviews with Ballantyne-friendly journalists, and a live spot on morning TV watched by—eeek!—millions, along with other magazine and print interviews.
Lachlyn said no to everything and prayed that some celebrity would do something truly shocking to draw attention away from her. Sage provided some distraction by accepting Tyce’s proposal and their engagement was an excellent excuse for a ball. It was also the perfect vehicle, Cady decided, for the Ballantynes to introduce Lachlyn to their friends and business associates. And that was the only reason Lachlyn was standing in the fantastic ballroom of the iconic Forrester Hotel, dressed in an on-loan-from-Sage designer cocktail dress that cost more than she earned a year, making small talk with people who were sometimes sweet, sometimes rude, and always curious.
It was a shark tank, Lachlyn thought, taking a tiny sip of her now flat champagne. And she was the minnow trying not to be a snack.
“Are you okay?”
Lachlyn felt fingers on her elbow and turned around to see Sage. Sage glowed from the inside out, her blue eyes luminous with happiness. Her brother’s declaration of love had done that, Lachlyn thought, proud of her sibling. Tyce had taken a chance on love and looked as happy as Sage did.
Brave Tyce.
Sage’s inquiring eyebrow reminded her that she’d been asked a question. “I’m fine, thanks.”