The Organized Bride (Billionaire Marriage Brokers Book 2) (16 page)

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Billionaire Marriage Brokers Book:
The Professional Bride.
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The Professional Bride

“I can’t believe you’re actually going to see him.”

Rym switched the phone from one ear to the other so he could open his car door. “What am I supposed to do? It’s his dying wish.” Those were the attorney’s exact words:
dying wish
. The guy knew how to guilt a grandson into visiting his grandfather, that was for sure.

Mom huffed into the phone. “I don’t care if he’s hanging off a cliff and you’re the only one who can save him—he’s not worth the time. He wasn’t there for us; why should you be there for him now?”

Rym paused before answering. Grandpa Mike had disowned Rym’s father before Rym was born, but he’d always sent Rym the latest ski gear for Christmas and a wad of cash for his birthday—cash he’d have to hide from his dad, or it would end up at the bottom of a vodka bottle. Rym had worked at his grandpa’s ski resort since he was old enough to bus dishes. The old man had never paid him special attention, but Rym always felt as though Grandpa kept a close eye on things. Unlike his mother, Rym had separated his relationship with his grandpa from his father’s relationship with the man. They weren’t close by any means, but Grandpa had, if not Rym’s love, his respect.

“I’m going to see what he has to say.”

There was a sigh. “Call me when you get out.”

Rym hung up the phone. The gate to Grandpa Mike’s private living community swung open as he approached. He’d never been up here before. He stopped at the guard station and asked directions.

Climbing the mountain, Rym realized he was on the backside of one of his favorite ski runs. The homes faced the street he was on, but their backs faced the ski lifts and hills. They were stunning homes, with banks of windows to allow the occupants to look out over the ski resort. It made sense that his grandpa would own a home on top of his ski resort. Rym had probably skied past his grandpa’s house a thousand times and not even known it.

A nurse in purple scrubs answered the door and showed Rym through the house. The home had two wings. The entrance wing was a mess of bare sheetrock and scaffolding. The nurse led Rym through a hallway that was more like an enclosed bridge to the private wing.

A large hospital bed was in the middle of a living room area. When Grandpa Mike saw Rym, he pushed a button to raise the bed. Rym was shocked to see his robust grandfather in such a weakened state. He doubted the man could have sat himself up without the bed’s help. His skin hung on his body, sickly yellow

“You came.” Grandpa’s eyes sparkled.

Because of the way he brightened, Rym was grateful he’d come. No one deserved to die alone or feeling lonely, though there were enough people in the room to keep Grandpa company. Two men in suits sat on a leather couch; they shifted through papers strewn out on the coffee table before them. Besides the nurse in purple, there was a doctor in a white coat and another nurse in green.

Grandpa Mike held out a hand and Rym stepped forward to take it. Instead of shaking hands, Grandpa pulled Rym closer and held on.

Feeling awkward with a man he hardly knew holding his hand and a roomful of people watching them, Rym sat on the bed and cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?” he asked. It was such a stupid question, but there wasn’t much else to talk about.

“Like crap—but they say that’s normal when you’re about to die.”

Rym’s jaw dropped.

Grandpa chuckled. “There’s no point in dancing around the issue. I don’t have time to shoot the bull. So, you’re here and I have stuff to say. Are you ready to listen?”

Rym nodded.

“I’ve done well in my life. My one regret was how I treated your dad.” Grandpa coughed.

Rym wasn’t sure if it was a sick cough or a cough used to cover emotion.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, and I realized that he messed up his life, but there were things I could have done to help him and I didn’t.” His boney hand tightened around Rym’s. “I’ll see him sooner than you will, and hopefully, by the time we welcome you into the next life, he will have forgiven me for my hard heart.”

All the times his father had railed in drunken furry about how
his
father threw him out of the house and told him never to come back—the anger and the wounded look in his eyes—haunted Rym. He wondered if a thousand years would be enough time for his father to forgive Grandpa. He couldn’t say that to Grandpa, though, not when the man was going to find out the truth soon enough.

“Thank you for telling me. I … it matters,” said Rym.

Grandpa lifted one cheek in a weak smile. “Good. But that’s not why you’re here.”

“Okay?” Rym looked across Grandpa’s bed to the nurse refilling his water cup. He wondered if Grandpa had some sort of dementia on top of everything else; he bounced from topic to topic like a squirrel hopping trees.

When he turned back, Grandpa’s whole countenance had become serious. “Rym, you’re all the family I have.”

Rym gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“You’ve done well for yourself. You worked your way through life, and you’ve worked hard.”

If only you knew.

“I started out like you, you know? I didn’t have more than two dimes to rub together. But ...” He turned to look out the window at the stunning winter landscape. “I built this resort, and I made it into something.”

That’s putting it mildly
. The Iron Mountain Ski Resort was one of the premier ski resorts in the world. His grandfather owned the best real estate in Park City. They catered to the wealthy and still managed to serve the local ski community.

Grandpa faced him. “It’s yours.”

Rym lowered his eyebrows. “What is?”

“All of it.” Grandpa coughed again.

“All of what?” Rym dropped his hand and took two steps away from the bed.

Grandpa sighed. “I’ve watched you grow up, Rym. You may have thought I just threw money your way, but I paid attention. You’ve worked at the resort since you were fourteen, and you bring in more guests as a private ski instructor than anyone else on my payroll. You know this business, Rym. I’d—” Grandpa did that emotional cough thing again. “I’d planned on bringing you into management when you turned thirty. By the time you were forty, I’d hand the place over. But plans change.”

All his life, Rym had been told not to expect anything from the old man, and he never had. He’d pushed himself to get through college. Even now, he lived on canned soup and cereal to save money. His apartment was a joke that he shared with two guys in order to afford rent. Never, not even once, did he believe he’d be in the will. Needing to sit down, Rym fell into the visitor’s chair next to the bed.

“Rym!” Grandpa called. Then he started coughing for real. The nurse hurried over, and the doctor pushed something into the IV tube.

“You’ll have to go,” said the nurse in purple.

Shocked, Rym pulled his feet under him like a first timer on skis, unsure if he’d be able to stay up.

Rym was halfway through the bridge-hallway thing when one of the men in suits caught up to him.

“Sir, wait.”

Rym’s feet stopped, but his brain couldn’t get going.

“Hi, I’m Robert McGraw, we talked on the phone earlier today.”

Right, the guilt-maker.

“I know you’re probably reeling, but there are some things we need to go over.”

“Like what?” Rym couldn’t think of a single thing—at all. He still couldn’t believe his Grandpa was dying. They weren’t close, but the man had been an icon in Rym’s life. In many ways, he’d molded Rym in ways Rym hadn’t thought of until he had to face a world without Grandpa in it. For one, he’d given Rym a reason to be proud of his last name, a reason to hold his head high even when hauling his dad out of the bars. That meant something to Rym as he grew from a boy into a man.

“There are several small points we should cover when it comes to inheriting a ski resort, your grandfather’s estate, and his investments. But you need to know there is one stipulation that will affect you in a ... shall we say, personal way.”

Wow—when Grandpa said, “It’s all yours,” he meant it. What would his mother say?
Rym folded his arms. “Shoot.”

Mr. McGraw gave him a sympathetic smile. “You’ll have to get married.”

Rym’s eyebrows shot up. “Married?”

“I know it’s unconventional, especially these days. But your grandfather had—I’m sorry,
has
a friend named Pamela, who runs a matchmaking service. She specializes in marriages that are mutually beneficial for both parties.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a card. “You’ll need to contact her today. She’s called several times to check on your grandfather, and she’ll be expecting your call.”

Rym stared at the card in his hand. BMB? “And if I don’t get married?”

“The resort will be incorporated and a board of directors will take over. Your grandfather’s investments will be divvied up among his favorite charities. The house will be sold. Et cetera.”

Rym felt a stomachache coming on. He couldn’t imagine Iron Mountain in the hands of investors. They’d milk it dry and ruin the family atmosphere. He couldn’t let that happen.

“I’ll call her this afternoon.”

Mr. McGraw’s shoulders relaxed. “I’ll be in touch.”

Somehow, Rym made it to his car and down the switchback to the guard who waved him through. His phone rang.

“Hi, Mom. You aren’t going to believe this.”