The Inheritance Games

“What are we doing here?”

“Sighing melodramatically,”

If there’s any part of you that wants to find me

“Can I have one of the blueberry scones?” I asked—my version of a peace offering.

Xander handed me a lemon scone. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What do you know about makeovers?” I grumbled. “If I were a guy, there’d be two racks of clothing in this room, max.”

“And if I were White,” Xander returned loftily, “people wouldn’t look at me like I’m half a Hawthorne. Scone?”

Beggars can’t be choosers, I thought, my head pounding and water droplets dripping down my back. Necessity is the mother of invention. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

“He left you the fortune, Avery, and all he left us is you.”

“There’s a chance that Hawthorne House is just a tiny bit hard to navigate. Imagine, if you will, that a labyrinth had a baby with Where’s Waldo?, only Waldo is your rooms.”

I attempted to translate that ridiculous sentence. “Hawthorne House has an unconventional layout.”

Xander did away with a fifth and final scone. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?”

“Aren’t you supposed to hate me?” I asked.

“I do hate you,” Xander replied, happily devouring his third scone. “If you notice, I have kept the blueberry confections for myself and gave you”—he shuddered—“the lemon-flavored scones. Such is the depth of my loathing for you personally and on principle.”

“What do you think, Gray? Got a nickname preference for our new landlord?”

Landlord. Jameson was rubbing it in, like he could handle being disinherited if it meant that the heir apparent had lost everything, too.

“I’m trying to protect you,” Grayson said lowly.

“I think we both know,” Jameson replied, “that the only person you’ve ever protected is yourself.”

“So,” Nash said beside me, casually eyeing his brothers. “Whose ass do I need to kick first?”

Grayson looked up from the book he was holding. “Must we always resort to fisticuffs?”

“Looks like I have a volunteer for the first ass-kicking,” Nash said, then shot a measuring look at Jameson, who was leaning against one of the wrought-iron staircases.