The echoes of my mother’s letter lived in my heart like a blade lodged between my ribs, but I couldn’t afford to dwell on the past right now.

The greatest gift we have is time. Use it wisely.

“Can you repeat the condition of the will in plain terms?” I asked calmly. I understood what it meant, but I wanted to be sure.

The room quieted as everyone waited for Santos’s response.

He met my gaze with an unflinching one of his own. “It means if you don’t assume the CEO position by your next birthday, you will lose every cent of your inheritance.”

A collective shudder swept through the library.

My family didn’t want me inheriting the billions because I didn’t “deserve it” (fair enough, though that was like the pot calling the kettle black), but they would rather die than see all that money flow outside the family.

“That’s what I thought.” My hand curled around the arm of my chair. “Who are the preselected committee members my father mentioned?”

“Ah, yes.” Santos adjusted his glasses and read from the will again. “The committee will consist of the following five members: Eduardo Aguilar…” Expected. “Martin Herrera…” Tía Lupe’s husband. Less expected, but he was the fairest and most levelheaded person in my family. “Mariana Acevedo…” Chairwoman of the Castillo Group’s board. “Dante Russo…” Wait. What the fuck? “And Sloane Kensington.”

Pin-drop silence followed his proclamation.

Then, as one, every head in the room swiveled toward Sloane. She sat ramrod straight, her face pale. For the first time since I’d met her, she resembled a deer caught in headlights.

Five people were in charge of my family fortune’s fate, and my publicist was one of them.

Once again: What the fuck?

CHAPTER 16

Sloane

Certain things in life made sense. For example, the concept of cause and effect, the heat of the sun, and female praying mantises killing their partners after sex. No muss, no fuss—they got their pleasure, and they were done.

Some things made less sense, like the encroachment of Christmas songs in October and my being the judge of whether Xavier should continue receiving his annual allowance prior to his father’s death. It wasn’t ideal, but since the terms of his allowance revolved around media exposure, I understood it.

Then there were things that made no sense at all, such as being placed on a committee that would determine the fate of seven point nine billion dollars.

I wasn’t family, I wasn’t a corporate executive, and I wasn’t sure what the hell I was doing on that list.

“I didn’t know,” I said. “Your father never mentioned it to me.”

It was the day after the reading of the will, and Xavier and I sat by the pool while two of his preteen cousins argued over the latest New York Times crossword a few chairs down.

I woke up early that morning for yoga and found him here on my way back from the mansion’s attached gym. I needed a break from the constant glares and whispers, and I wasn’t entirely confident Lupe wouldn’t try to stab me in my sleep.

The Castillos were not happy about my involvement in their family’s financial affairs, to put it mildly.

“I believe you.” Xavier scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. He was unusually subdued for someone who’d just found out his entire inheritance hinged on one job and the judgment of one committee. “This whole thing is classic Alberto Castillo.”

I sensed there was more to his words than he let on, but it wasn’t the time to pry.

Other than the occasional consulting call and press release, my dealings with his father had been limited. Alberto hired me to handle PR for his family three years ago, right before Xavier moved to New York. Since his direct family consisted of two people, and Alberto rarely used my services for himself, that meant I was basically Xavier’s personal publicist.

I had no idea why Alberto trusted me so much with his money as it pertained to Xavier, but his will also stipulated I was to remain the family’s publicist unless I quit, so it was my job to see things through.

“I can see the wheels spinning in your head, but there’s an easy fix for this,” I said. “You’re smart. You have a degree in business and plenty of advisors who can guide you. Take the CEO position.”

Normally, I wouldn’t advocate for nepotism, but I truly believed Xavier was intelligent enough to do the role justice.

A muscle worked in his jaw. “No.”

I stared at him. “This is your entire inheritance. You have billions of dollars riding on this decision.”

“I’m aware.” Xavier glanced at his cousins, who were too young and too engrossed in their crossword to care about our conversation. “That clause was just another attempt by my father to make me do his bidding. It’s manipulation, plain and simple, and I won’t give into it.”

For God’s sake. I understood why his family had called him pequeño toro when he was a kid. He truly was stubborn as a bull, and that stubbornness had followed him all the way to adulthood. “Manipulation or not, the consequences are real.” I shouldn’t care that much about whether Xavier received the money or not because, honestly, it wasn’t like he’d worked for it. But the prospect of him being penniless because he was too hardheaded to take on something he could be great at didn’t sit right with me. “Don’t be impulsive. Think about what saying no means. What will you do for money?”

“Get a job.” Xavier’s mouth twisted. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll finally be a productive member of society.”

“The CEO position is a job.” “But it’s not the job for me!”

I reared back, stunned by the ferocity of his reply. His cousins lapsed into silence and gaped at us.

Xavier’s knuckles turned white around the edge of his chair before he relaxed them. He took a deep breath and said, in a quieter, more strained voice, “Tell me, Sloane. Who do you think would do the company more justice? Someone qualified who actually wants to be there, or me, the reluctant heir who was placed there by default?”

Someone qualified. The tone of his voice, the shadows in his eyes…

And there it was.

Beneath the jokes and stubbornness lurked the root of his refusal: fear. Fear of failure. Fear of not living up to expectations. Fear of running and ruining an empire built on his last name.

I’d never noticed it before, but now that I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it. It was a bright silver thread that wove through every word and underpinned every decision. It was stamped all over his face, closed off as it was, and something inside me cracked open just wide enough for it to dart in and steal a fistful of rationality. “I think we need to go out and clear our heads.” I made up a plan on the spot. “We’ve been cooped up here for too long.”

The mansion was huge, but even a palace would feel oppressive if one couldn’t leave.

Xavier’s eyes sparked with wary intrigue. “I thought we were supposed to stay inside and avoid the press.”

“Since when do you do what you’re supposed to do?”

A smile snuck across his mouth, as slow and smooth as honey. “Good point. I assume you have a plan?”

“I always do.”

All the reporters were camped out in front, which made it easy for us to slip out the back through the gardener’s entrance. We wore basic hat-and-glasses disguises, but they worked, and they blended well into the crowd.

After we exited the grounds, we hightailed it to the nearest busy street, where we grabbed a cab and drove straight to La Candelaria, home to some of Bogotá’s most popular attractions. It was cold, but not so cold that it deterred us from going.