“Another mansion?” she asked.
“No. Alexander’s corporation owns hundreds of business properties throughout Southeastern Michigan, but his Trust also owned one. He left that to you, my dear.
Hands on his desk, Braden’s fingers curled into fists and he blew out a breath so strong, she felt a warm breeze hit her face.
She dropped her feet to the floor then threw them over the side of her chair to face George. Good thing she’d worn a long skirt. She didn’t want to give the man a heart attack. She hadn’t worn panties. “A business property? I’m a musician. What do I know about business?”
Braden groaned softly. Turning her head toward him, she raised a brow, the one with the hoop piercing—she’d practiced that move for a month before she’d perfected it. He answered by tightening his jaw. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was angry with her.
“By the end of the month, you’ll know everything there is to know about this business,” George said as if that explained it all.
She was so lost she was practically stranded on a deserted island——which, since the Michigan weather had turned cold, sounded heavenly. She could totally survive on a deserted island. Her messed-up childhood had assured it. She’d probably do really well on the game show “Survivor,” or the one where you got clues and traveled the world. Maybe she should apply.
Focus, Lola. Business. Alexander. Braden.
“What do you mean?” she asked George.
“Alexander left you this property. He owned the land as well as the building.”
Shocked, she pivoted her body to sit tall in her chair with her feet planted firmly on the floor. “You mean I own . . . this restaurant?”
Alexander shook his head. “No. You own the building the restaurant is in. Braden still owns the business.”
Thank goodness. Her owning the property wouldn’t change a thing. “What if I want to sell the property? Let’s say to . . . Braden?”
Surprise registered on Braden’s face. Did he really think so little of her?
“Unfortunately, like in Portia and Ryan’s case, there are conditions to the inheritance.”
“What are they?” Braden asked calmly.
“First, Lola may not enter into any contract for sale of the property for thirty days.”
“Not a problem,” Braden remarked.
Maybe not for him, but she’d planned on leaving. She guessed she could still move and come back to sign paperwork in a month. He was right. No problem.
“Second, Braden’s current lease for the restaurant will be assigned to Lola, and is valid as long as she owns the property.”
Not good. “So if I sell the property to someone other than Braden, he’ll lose the lease? What if the new owner wants to enter into a lease with him?” she asked.
George shifted in his seat. “According to the conditions set forth, that can’t happen. I’m sure there could be a legal loophole, but litigation is expensive and time-consuming. Although Braden has billions at his disposal, there are requirements one needs to run a restaurant in Michigan and he will find himself unable to meet those requirements.”
“That sounds a lot like blackmail, Mr. Pappas,” Braden stated without inflection in his voice. He sounded cold and ruthless. Kind of a turn-on for her.
George visibly flinched at the word ‘blackmail.’ Poor little man. It wasn’t his fault he was the bearer of bad news.
“Call it whatever you want, Mr. Angelopoulos. The fact is the conditions stand.”
“Conditions? There’s more?” she asked, grabbing her skirt and squeezing it in both hands. Her hands preferred to stay busy, but there wasn’t a darn thing in this office to play with. She looked at Braden. He noticed her hands and opened his drawer, pulled out a pen, and handed it to her. She mouthed a ‘thank you’ and twirled the pen in her fingers like a baton.
“During the next month, Lola must learn everything there is to know about Acropolis. Braden, you must teach her how to manage a restaurant, from the rules and regulations, permitting, food storage and preparation, ordering, bookkeeping, recipes, and how to cook. I’ll give you a complete list of everything for her to know. Thirty days from tomorrow, you’ll get a visit from the health inspector, a food critic from the newspaper, and of course, the Internal Revenue Service. The three of them will test Lola on anything they want relevant to their expertise and this restaurant.”
“That’s impossible,” Braden stated once again without inflection as he sat back in his chair and folded his arms.