CHAPTER TWO

Lily's POV 

The familiar scent of oil paint and fresh paper hit me as I walked through the glass door at Martinez Art Supplies. 

After a week in paradise with a strange man, being back to the little art complex felt like being back home. 

“Ah there she is,” Mr. Martinez beamed from the other side of the room where he was supervising the paint parcel. “My pale little artist returns bronzed and beautiful. The vacation did you good, yes?”

I smiled, trying to push away thoughts of Alexander and our little encounter away from my mind. 

Before leaving, I'd slipped a piece of paper with my number on it into one of his slacks but up till now, I had gotten neither a call nor a text. 

“It was definitely memorable,”

“Good, good. You do look like you got some life back in you,” He winked knowingly, “Met a nice man?”

“Something like that,” I muttered as I hung behind the counter. If only Mr. Martinez knew how ‘nice’ Alexander had been. 

“That's good. Rafael dropped by earlier. I swear, he's going to lose it if he doesn't see you soon,” Mr. Martinez said and I laughed.

Rafael was my art instructor turned friend. 

The morning passed in comfortable routine. 

I did a little painting in the backroom to start off the day. Then I mixed custom paint colours for the local artists, helped a confused college student pick out brushes and arranged a new display of canvas boards. 

I was just done wrapping a small landscape for Mrs. Peterson who made it a point to buy a piece every month to ‘support local artists’, when my phone buzzed. 

My heart leapt, thinking Alexander had finally decided to call me. I glanced at my phone – unknown number – it was definitely him. 

“Martinez Art Supplies, this is Lily,” I said, in the sweetest voice I could muster. 

“Miss Rose,” The voice was crisp and professional, nothing like Alexander’s. I stood straighter, “Miss Lily Rose?”

“Yes. That's me. How can I help you?”

“My name is Barrister Willis. I represent the law firm of Willis, Hartwell and Associates. I need to speak to you regarding a matter of utmost urgency. Would it be possible for you to come to my office this afternoon?” 

I frowned, “I'm sorry but what is this about? I haven't done anything –”

“Miss Rose,” He interrupted, “I assure you. You're not in any trouble. This concerns an inheritance matter that requires your immediate attention. I'm afraid I cannot discuss the details over the phone,”

“Inheritance matter?” I asked, “I think you have the wrong person. My grandmother died five years ago and she left me her recipe book and a set of china. That's about it,”

“Miss Rose, I'm certain I have your information correct. Born 15th March, 1995. Currently employed at Martinez Art Supplies, Collins Avenue? Former foster child of the Miami system,”

The blood drained from my face at that. There were not a lot of people who knew about my foster care background. 

Well, I didn't exactly advertise that part of my history. 

“How do you – who are you exactly?”

“Like I said earlier, I'm a barrister in charge of an estate matter. Miss Rose, I cannot stress how important it is that we meet today. Are you available at 3pm?”

My eyes went to the big black clock. It was barely past noon and Mr. Martinez had been encouraging me to take more time off anyway. 

“Sure,” I said, “I suppose so. But I still don't understand…”

“Wonderful. My office is at the fortieth floor of the Meridian Building downtown. The receptionist will direct you to the Thompson Estate Conference Room,”

“Thompson?” The name hit me like a slap. I was sure I had heard it somewhere but I could not remember where. 

“Yes, Miss Rose. I'll see you at 3 o'clock sharp. Good day,” 

The line went dead before I could say anything else. I stared at my phone, bewildered.

“Everything okay, mija?” Mr. Martinez asked, as he came to stand beside me.

“I’m…I’m not sure. I need to leave early today. If that's okay with you. Something came up,”

“Ofcourse. Take all the time you need.”

Two hours later, I took a cab to the Meridian Building. As I stepped into the gigantic steel monument, I felt woefully under dressed in my sundress and cardigan, especially when I had to ride the elevator with men and women dressed in thousand dollar suits. 

The law office of Willis, Hartwell and Associates screamed old money and even older power. As I walked in, the receptionist smiled warmly, “Miss Rose? Mr. Willis is expecting you. Please follow me,”

We walked down a long hallway lined with portraits of distinguished lawyers and judges until we reached a set of heavy wooden doors. 

“The Thompson Estate Conference Room,” The receptionist announced as I walked in. 

Inside, a man in his sixties, rose to welcome me. 

“Miss Rose,” He said, “I am Charles Willis. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Mr. Willis.” I managed to say as I shook his hand, “I have to say I am completely confused on why I am here,”

“Please take a seat. Can I offer you something? Water? Coffee? Fresh juice?”

I suddenly became aware of how dry my mouth felt, “Water, please. Thank you,”

As he poured the water, my eyes strayed to a stack of legal documents on the table. They stood beside what looked to me like photographs. 

“Miss Rose, what I am about to tell you now,” He began, as he settled back into his chair, “may come as quite a shock. Three days ago, Richard Thompson passed away,”

I didn't know anyone by that name and it must have been evident to Mr. Willis who continued gently,

“Mr. Thompson was one of Miami’s most prominent businessmen. He built Thompson Enterprises from the ground up. The company is worth about 2.8 billion dollars now,”

I neatly choked on my water, “I’m sorry. Did you just say, billion? With a b?”

“Exactly. And according to his last will which was properly witnessed and legally binding, “ Willis paused for sometime, studying my face carefully “He had named you sole beneficiary of his entire estate,”

For a long moment, there was complete silence, the only noise being the sound of my chest hammering against my ribs. 

“That's impossible,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “I've never known any Richard Thompson all my life. This must be some sort of mistake.”

Willis opened a manila folder, withdrew a photograph and slid it across the table to me. 

“Do you recognize this man?” He asked. 

I stared at the photo of a man in his seventies. He was silver haired with kind eyes and a gentle smile but there was absolutely nothing familiar about him. 

“I’ve never seen him before. Never,”

“Miss Rose. I do understand that this is overwhelming. But I can assure you that Mr. Thompson was very specific in his instructions. He left detailed notes explaining his decision…though I'm afraid they raise more questions than they seem to answer,”

“How could he possibly know anything about me? I work in an art supply store. I can barely balance a simple checkbook. How in the world am I supposed to run a billion dollar company?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around everything. 

“Mr. Thompson was known for his unconventional business decisions. He valued character over connections. He saw something in you,”

I stood abruptly and paced to the windows. The view of Miami from here was beautiful but I couldn't focus on anything except the impossibility of what I was hearing. 

“This doesn't make any sense. I can't run a company. I don't know anything about business or finance…”

“Miss Rose, if I may, Mr. Thompson anticipated your concerns so he arranged for a transition team to guide you through your initial period. But the fact remains that you are the CEO and primary shareholder at Thompson Enterprises,”

“CEO?” The word sounded big to me now. 

“Yes. The board of directors has been notified. Your first official meeting is scheduled for Monday at nine am,”

“Monday? As in four days from now?”

“Exactly,”

I sank back into my chair, rubbing my temples, “I think I'm going to be sick,”

Willis poured another glass of water for me, “This is definitely a lot to process. I must inform you, Mr. Thompson’s nephew, Alexander Thompson was expected to inherit the company. He's not at all pleased with the development,”

At the mention of Alexander's name, my fingers gave way and the glass slipped through them, shattering on the floor. 

“Alexander Thompson?” I managed to ask. 

“Yes! He's been groomed to take over the company since he was a child. Yesterday's will reading was quite a shock for him…Miss Rose, do you know Alexander Thompson?”

I closed my eyes, remembering how strong his hands were as he claimed me and made me whisper words in the dark that even I didn't understand, the way he'd looked at my face the day I left as if he was trying to memorize every part of it. 

“Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into?”