Page 21 of Perfect Satisfaction

I tip the crystal decanterin three perfect pours before passing the glasses to my two older brothers—half-brothers if I were to be picky.

Raising my tumbler, I toast the two constants of my life. It’s so easy to forget both men and women all over the world covet them for varying reasons when to me, they’ve never been anything but family. “To Dad. At least he left me with something after he died—the two of you.”

“Sula, we’re contesting the will. End of. This is complete malarkey,” the younger of my two older brothers and the new CEO of Moore Software Worldwide, Joshua, reminds me in his clipped British tone. When Joshua Basset “JB” Moore speaks in this tone, it reminds me of the way we met after I moved in with him and our father after my mother took her own life.

He’s eight months older than I am—to the day. Shortly after he was born, his poor mother was divorced so our father could marry mine—making us legally both the children of West Moore.

But out of the three of us, only one of his children got screwed today.

Me.

My much older brother, the man known as worldwide as country mega superstar Brendan Blake, drawls, “JB, she deserves to be bitter. The old man was a bastard on a good day.”

“Today certainly wasn’t one of those,” I say before taking a long pull from my father’s precious stash of Bowmore single malt whisky. We found it locked in his safe—his safe, for Christ’s sake, as if someone dared to enter his precious sanctum without his permission—before smirking at Brendan.

Although his original birth certificate legally read Brendan Blake Moore, Brendan’s mother quickly reverted to her maiden name—dropping the name Moore the moment she was able. Prior to today, Brendan had more cause to give less fucks about our shared sire than I did.Then again, being told you’ve inherited a third of a multi-billion-dollar empire might sweeten your feelings.I toss back some more drink. I won’t lie—it might have made me slightly more charitable too.

The three of us are holed up in our father’s office trying to solve the mystery of where the last third of his estate has gone to since he sealed his will. Our emotions are hot and practically tangible in the room I used to think was so imposing.

Now, it’s just a room.

Brendan props his booted feet up on what is now JB’s desk before drawling, “Not by a long shot, sweetheart. But listen well. There’s no way me and JB are letting you leave this office without you taking some of the old man’s cash.”

“You suffered his worthlessness parenting right along with us,” JB adds.

“No,” I reiterate before reaching for the bottle to refill my glass.

JB slaps his hands down against our father’s—no, his—desk in a move so reminiscent of the dead bastard’s, I startle. Some of the amber-colored liquid spills over the rim. I glare at JB furiously. “What a damn shame—wasting the good stuff.”

He twists his lips in a parody of a smile. It makes me realize I haven’t truly seen him smile in years and I hate it for him, for us. All because of West Moore and his unsubstantiated belief he had the right to make our lives hell simply because we shared his genes.

My head is buzzing, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol I’m consuming in large quantities, even though I know I shouldn’t for reasons far beyond impairing my judgment. I hiss, “Our father’s team of solicitors just dropped a bomb a few moments ago. A carefully constructed decision he made of sound mind. Even if he wasn’t, I’m certain he bribed enough people who will validate it.”

Brendan swears ripely, knowing I’m right.

“I’m certain there are enough safeguards to prevent us from contesting his estate. I mean, if he was unconvinced of his case, he would have at least left me a dollar for every year I was cursed with being his fucking daughter. Instead I’m to claim my inheritance ‘in due time’ if I play by the rules. What due time? What rules? He’s lucky he’s dead. Now there’s nothing to stop me from telling the whole world what a complete arshole he was.” My voice raises and I tip my head back yelling, as if West can hear me, “How about that, West? How about I share all your dirty little secrets?”

JB yanks my glass out of my hand. I aim a vicious glare on him even as he gently reminds me, “No more, Sula.”

“Today’s a perfect day for it, JB.” My eyes flit to the neatly folded newspaper on his desk. “I’m tired and I just don’t fucking care anymore.”

His own eyes drop down and he mutters, “Not worth it.”

My eyes lift back to his to find steady reassurance reflected back at me. I can’t help but strike out, “Maybe not to you. For me? What do I have left.”

JB winces before he finishes off my drink in one throw, setting the tumbler to the side.

Brendan remarks, “We’ve lived in hell and shared one another’s secrets. That’s how our family works.”

I raise my hand pretending my glass is still there because he’s not wrong. My brothers know things about me likely only investigators would be able to dig up at this point. I know the same about them.

West’s money paid for that, at least.

JB’s frustration is evident. “Still, we look out for each other. Lay off the liquor.”

I soften because he’s right. “Fine, no more booze.”

“Good. Now we can actually use this time to figure out what we’re going to do,” Brendan declares.