Trust Fund Fiance - Naima Simone Page 0,55

said, the apology slightly breathless.

Reagan remembered Gracie Diaz from her time spent at the Wingate estate. Only a couple of years older than her, Gracie had been the daughter of a family ranch hand, and later, hired by Beth as an assistant for the various charities she managed. Even though there’d been a difference in their statuses, she and Beth were very good friends. But more recently, Gracie had become a national celebrity for winning the sixty-million-dollar Powerball lottery. She was Royal’s own rags-to-riches story.

As the stunning brunette pulled out one of the chairs and sat—no, collapsed—onto it, Reagan narrowed her eyes, studying her. Nothing could detract from the beauty of Gracie’s thick, dark hair and lovely brown eyes, but Reagan still couldn’t help but notice the faint circles under slightly puffy eyes, as if she’d recently been crying.

“No problem, Gracie.” Beth frowned, scooting to the edge of her seat and wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulders. Pulling her close for a quick hug, she said, “Now don’t take this the wrong way, hon, but you look terrible.” Gracie snorted, and Beth grinned at the other woman. “The masquerade plans can wait. What’s going on?”

Gracie propped her elbows on the table and pressed her palms to her forehead. “I swear, since winning the lottery and all that money, I’ve vacillated between being eternally thankful and cursing the day my numbers pulled up.” She sighed, and the sound contained so much exhaustion, Reagan winced in sympathy. “Growing up, I never did understand the saying more money, more problems, because we never had money. But now...”

“Gracie, what’s happened?” Harley pressed, leaning forward and clasping her upper arm.

“You must not have seen the news today,” Gracie said, tunneling her fingers through her hair, then dragging the thick strands away from her face. “Apparently my cousin is claiming he bought the lottery ticket, and I stole it from him. Now he’s insisting I turn more than half the winnings over to him. Which is ridiculous. I haven’t seen my uncle’s son in years, but now suddenly I’m a thief who steals from family.”

Reagan snatched her phone from her purse, and in moments, brought up the local news’ website and viewed the clip posted at the top of the home page. Apparently Gracie’s family drama had temporarily replaced the Wingates as the newest scandal. Silently, she watched as a reporter interviewed Alberto Diaz outside Royal’s town hall. He claimed that he was devastated and angry that his own cousin could betray him. Convincing sorrow etched his features as he gave his forgiveness to Gracie, but still demanded half of the money.

The sound bite skipped to the same reporter racing to reach Gracie as she opened her car door. Understandably, Gracie was angry at the accusation and refuted the lie before ducking into her car and driving off.

“He’s lying,” Reagan declared, dropping her phone onto the table.

“Of course he is,” Harley agreed fiercely, her eyes blazing. “I can’t believe they even gave him airtime for that. They’re no better than a tabloid spreading that garbage.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately, people thrive on that kind of trash. And it’s easier for them to believe the salacious things than the truth.” Gracie lifted her hands, palms up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload this on all of you. There’s nothing I can do about it right now.”

“You’re going to fight him, aren’t you?” Beth demanded.

“Oh, you’re damn right,” Gracie seethed. “I don’t mind helping family out. I’m buying Mom a new home in Florida so she can be closer to her sister, and I’m paying for my brother to attend a private school so he can achieve every one of his dreams. So, if Alberto would’ve asked me for help, for money, I would’ve gladly given it to him. But this? Accusing me of a crime and trying to extort half of my winnings? That’s blackmail, and I’m not giving in to it.”

“Good for you!” Reagan praised, admiring this woman’s grit and backbone. “And if there’s anything we can do, just let us know. You got us in your corner ready to fight.”

For the first time since she entered the room, Gracie smiled. “Thank you, Reagan. All of you.” She pressed her palms to the tabletop. “Okay, enough about my unscrupulous family woes. Where are we with the masquerade ball?”

Beth covered her friend’s hand and squeezed before picking up a paper and passing it to Harley. “I was just about to tell Harley and Reagan about the Cinderella