Rich (Benson Security #5) - Janet Elizabeth Henderson Page 0,13
because of the slight age difference, and partly due to having to deal with their father together.
They had three younger half-siblings: two sisters from their father’s second wife and a brother from his third. Wives four and five hadn’t produced any offspring. But it was still early days for wife five.
Unlike Preston, Marcus was already on marriage number two. And if the Benson Security research was correct, his eye had started to roam yet again.
“I see you’re working your way through the cousins.” A feminine voice had them turning to see a tall, svelte blonde sashaying toward them, champagne flute in hand. “So I thought I’d come introduce myself too. The three Talbot brothers—our grandfathers—started the company. Which really makes us second cousins, not first. But it would be tedious to say that all the time, don’t you think?” She held out a perfectly manicured hand. “Samantha Talbot, delighted to meet you,” said TayFor’s marketing director. Unlike her cousins, Samantha was very happily single and seemed to have a thing for younger men.
Harvard recognized interest in a woman’s eye when he saw it, and as soon as he’d finished shaking her hand, he put some distance between them.
“Where’s Rupert?” Preston waved his empty glass at one of the waiters discreetly doing the rounds of the room. “He was supposed to be here—and at work yesterday.” Preston didn’t even glance at the young man who took his glass. “Gin and tonic,” was all he said.
“Rupert’s my younger brother,” Samantha told Harvard before addressing Preston. “He’s gone to Paris for the weekend with his latest fling. Didn’t he tell you?”
“No.” Preston was clearly irritated at the news. “And it isn’t a matter of telling me; he’s supposed to request time off, not just take it whenever he feels like it.”
“I don’t think Rupert understands how employment works.” Samantha sipped her champagne. “You know this is the first proper job he’s ever had. He’ll eventually get the hang of it. To be fair, he does seem quite serious about getting to know the company now that he’s come into his shares.”
Marcus caught Harvard’s eye. “I suppose Rachel’s told you that every direct descendant of the original three brothers inherits shares in the company on their thirtieth birthday. Of course, I don’t think the grandfathers thought there would be quite so many children when they came up with their plan. In a few years, the board will be overrun with Father’s ex-wives and kids.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Preston said. “There are only two of his ex-wives on the board. He discovered prenups after he divorced for the second time. Mainly because I shoved one under his nose and demanded he sign it. It’s a miracle Father has any income to live off at all.”
“I’m just grateful that wife number four didn’t get any shares from their divorce.” Samantha shuddered. “Can you imagine having to take someone called Honey seriously in a meeting? Honey? I mean, honestly. And that wasn’t even an assumed name; her parents actually chose it.”
“Not as bad as Sasha Darling.” Marcus grimaced. “Stepmother number five picked her own stage name and kept it when she married Dad.”
“Stepmother number five is the same age as your younger sister,” Samantha said with barely hidden glee as she smoothed a hand down her pink satin sheath of a dress. “At lunch last month, Sasha Darling asked me where I’d gone to school. I said Oxford, and she said, ‘Is that a comprehensive in Slough?’”
“It’s best all round if you just don’t talk to her,” Marcus said. “I smile and nod. Then run at the first opportunity. It’s mortifying that our father married a stripper who’s barely out of her teens. The only upside is that he did it in Vegas and didn’t make us attend.”
“You must think we’re terrible snobs,” Preston said to Harvard, appearing a little shamefaced at the conversation. “The truth is, we have nothing against the girl. It’s just the cliché of it all. Our sixty-year-old father married a twenty-year-old stripper. It’s straight out of a bad Hollywood movie, and we’re related to it.”
“I disagree,” Samantha said. “I am a terrible snob and I own it. It takes a lot of effort to be this elitist, and I feel I should get the credit for the time I’ve put in.”
Harvard couldn’t help his chuckle. “Then well done. That was the perfect level of snobbish disdain.”
Samantha pretended to take a bow. “At last, some recognition,” she said before sipping her champagne.