Chapter 5 Smug Lunch
Jace
The moment the attorney’s office door clicked shut behind me, a fierce surge of anger exploded inside my chest. I wanted nothing more than to punch something. Hard. Relentlessly. Preferably Trent. Just the thought of that smug, infuriating grin, etched deep into my mind like a scar, made my fists clench involuntarily.
Thirty days.
Thirty goddamn days.
I stalked toward the elevators, each step heavy with frustration, while Logan, ever the calm shadow beside me, kept pace effortlessly. Unlike me, his composure was unnerving. That quiet calm was the kind that grated on your nerves, especially now.
The elevator doors slid open.
We stepped inside.
The doors shut with a soft hum.
Silence stretched out between us.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Then Logan exhaled, a slow, measured sigh. “Well.”
I turned, slowly, my voice sharp with disbelief. “Well?”
“That could’ve gone better,” he said, his voice steady but laden with unspoken meaning.
I stared at him, disbelief flashing in my eyes.
This was the man who had helped raise me.
Who’d worked loyally for my grandfather for decades.
Who’d watched me pour fifteen years of sweat and blood into building Walker Foundation into the powerhouse it was today.
And his professional verdict? “Could’ve gone better.”
The elevator chimed softly.
The doors parted.
I strode out, fast, urgent.
“Jace.”
“No,” I snapped over my shoulder.
“Jace.”
“No.”
“Jace.”
I stopped so abruptly that Logan nearly collided with me. “What part of this situation says ‘well’ to you?”
He rubbed a hand over his tired face. “Your grandfather always did enjoy his dramatic life lessons.”
I let out a bitter laugh, sharp and humorless. “This isn’t a life lesson.”
“No?”
“No.”
I jabbed a finger toward the closed elevator doors. “That was blackmail, from beyond the grave.”
Logan snorted, despite everything.
We stepped outside into the rain.
Cold drops immediately pelted my face.
Good.
Maybe it would jolt me awake from this nightmare.
Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
Across the street, the familiar glow of a small restaurant beckoned, the one we’d been frequenting for years.
Before I could argue, Logan was already heading toward it.
I groaned. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care.”
“I’m not eating.”
“I didn’t ask.”
I hated that tone, the kind that brooked no argument.
Mostly because it worked.
Ten minutes later, I sat in a booth, a cup of coffee and a sandwich had been ordered without my permission, the sandwich I had zero intention of touching.
Logan’s eyes never left me.
Patient.
Careful.
Like he was watching a wild animal or an unstable bomb.
Maybe both. At this point, who knows what I am...
Finally, he broke the silence. “What are you thinking?”
I laughed, a dry, hollow sound. “You really want the list?”
“Humor me.”
“I’m thinking my grandfather lost his damn mind.”
Logan smiled faintly. “No.”
“He absolutely did.”
“No.”
I jabbed a finger at him. “He handed my company to Trent.”
“Temporarily.”
“That’s not helping.”
“He handed your company to Trent temporarily.”
“Still not helping.”
Logan leaned back, arms crossed. “Your grandfather trusted you.”
“Then why am I not CEO?”
“Because apparently he trusted you enough to make your life hell.”
I dragged my hands down my face.
This was insanity.
Pure madness.
My grandfather had spent fifty years building a fortress around Walker Foundation, protecting it from men like Trent.
And now, in one afternoon, he handed the keys to the fox.
I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.
None of it.
“Do you know what Trent’s first move will be?” I asked.
Logan nodded. “Cost-cutting.”
“Exactly.”
I pointed an accusing finger. “He’ll gut the affordable housing projects.”
“Probably.”
“Slash veteran programs.”
“Likely.”
“Cancel community centers.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.”
My jaw clenched with every word.
Because we both knew it was true.
Trent didn’t see people.
He saw numbers. Spreadsheets. Profit margins.
My grandfather would’ve hated it.
Hell.
He did hate it.
Which only made the will’s decision more baffling.
“Maybe that’s the point,” Logan suggested.
I looked up, puzzled. “What?”
He folded his hands calmly. “Maybe your grandfather knew exactly what Trent would do.”
I frowned, disbelief deepening. “So why put him in charge?”
“Motivation.”
I stared at him, then laughed. Then laughed harder.
Because apparently, this whole nightmare had finally broken me.
“You’re telling me my grandfather handed over a billion-dollar company just to motivate me?”
“Sounds like him.”
Unfortunately... It did sound like him.
William Walker never believed in the easy way out.
The man once made me rebuild an entire playground project because I’d cut corners on a budget proposal.
I was sixteen.
Sixteen.
That lesson took three months.
And I never forgot it.
Still. This was different.
Marriage?
Marriage wasn’t a lesson.
Marriage was a disaster waiting to happen.
I leaned back against the booth’s worn leather. “Do you know how many women I’ve dated in the last ten years?”
Logan answered instantly. “Zero.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ve worked every weekend.”
“Correct.”
“Every holiday.”
“Correct.”
“You’ve canceled three vacations.”
“I didn’t want to go.”
“You planned them.”
“That was before I knew there’d be people there.”
Logan rolled his eyes.
I took a slow sip of coffee.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Then, “You could try dating.”
I nearly choked. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need a wife in thirty days.”
“Details.”
I stared at him, incredulous.
The old man was serious. Actually serious.
I wanted to fire him. Again.
“Logan.”
“Jace.”
“I’m not speed-running a relationship.”
“Then don’t.”
I narrowed my eyes.
The slow smile spreading across Logan’s face made me uneasy.
Very uneasy.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Just thinking.”
“Don’t.”
“You need a wife.”
I pointed at him. “Everyone keeps saying that like women grow on trees.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I’m not marrying a stranger.”
Logan’s smile widened.
And suddenly... That terrible, familiar feeling crept over me.
The same sinking dread I’d felt when Trent walked into that office.
I'm beginning to think my life is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better.
