Hott Shot by Serena Bell EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Serena Bell
- Language: English
- Genre: Romantic Comedy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
As a scientist, I’m used to predicting outcomes, taking every variable into
account. But sitting with my siblings around the big conference table in
the lawyer’s office, reading my late grandfather’s letter, I’m not a scientist
at all. I’m just a sucker-punched guy—and there’s no way I could have seen
this coming.
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Okay, Quinn. You think you’re such a hot shot? Let’s see how you
handle a completely different kind of business.
I look up to find my sibs staring at me with expressions ranging from
total confusion to barely veiled amusement.
“What does that mean?” my brother Rhys demands.
My brother Preston shakes his head in disgust. “It means the man
couldn’t help himself. He can’t let death stop him from making trouble.
What a total dick move.”
“Language,” the lawyer chides. “There are ladies present.”
Arthur Weggers is my granddad’s attorney. He’s a short, balding, sixtysomething guy with pasty skin who I had no reason to dislike before today
but who I would happily donate to science right now.
“This woman doesn’t give a fuck,” my sister, Hanna—eight months
pregnant and sporting a watermelon front and center—says with a shrug.
“Keep reading,” the lawyer urges.
But I’ve had enough. I thrust the letter back into Weggers’s hands. “He
can’t do this.”
“He can,” Weggers says. “We’ve been over this, Quinn. He made sure
the will was airtight. He had two different medical professionals attest to his
soundness of mind and body. He had me review the no-contest clause with
three other lawyers.”
Rhys, who’s also an attorney, mutters something next to me.
“What’s that?” Weggers says.
“Deadhand control,” my brother repeats louder.
The two men glare at each other across the table.
Rhys turns to us. “It’s what it sounds like. Most states won’t let people
just keep exerting infinite control after they’re dead.”
Weggers scowls. “If you’d like to take a shot at contesting the will, that
is, of course, your prerogative.”
Rhys scowls back. “Believe me. I’m looking into it.”
He’s taking this will extremely personally.
But not as personally as I’m taking it.
My granddad’s will leaves the ranchland we grew up on to the six of us:
Hanna, me, and our four brothers. But it also contains what Weggers calls
conditions and I call the Asshole Clause. We have to hold the land for two
years before we can sell it, and during those two years, we have to comply
with any “additional instructions” my grandfather provides.
“What does he mean, ‘additional instructions’?” Preston demanded
when Weggers first read that clause to us, two days ago, after all of us had
been summoned back to Rush Creek for the funeral. “It’s not like he’s
around to tell us what to do.”
“I’m afraid I can’t say more,” Weggers said, loftily. “It will make more
sense in time.”
He deposited those words into the air like a television chef sprinkling
finishing salt—the first moment when it became clear he wasn’t on our
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