To Riley’s right was Roy Wolfe, the middle brother. He was an artist—though not a starving one—by trade, living off his hefty trust fund. He had the most perfect face of all the brothers, a male version of his baby sister. His long hair was as silky and shiny as hers was, though it was pulled back in a low ponytail. He was known as somewhat of a recluse.

Next to him was Reid Wolfe, the youngest brother, who sported the signature Derek Wolfe dark hair—all of the children did—but instead of brown eyes, his were a searing blue that held a seductive look, even when he was sitting and waiting for his father’s will to be read. Small wonder he was so popular with the ladies. He was a playboy of the first order, always with a new woman on his arm.

Fonda Burke sat on my left. Still a beautiful woman at forty-two with flaming orange hair and striking green eyes, she had much to look forward to. She wouldn’t be happy with the reading of the will.

None of them would be.

We sat quietly, waiting for the missing person.

Rock Wolfe—the oldest child of Derek and Connie Wolfe.

The rebel.

Rock had a troubled past, though no one actually knew the facts other than his family, and I wasn’t sure they even knew. Derek had made no secret of his animosity toward his firstborn son.

We sat, no one speaking. Until Reid said, “He should be here by now. His flight got in an hour and a half ago, and I told him to come straight here.”

“Rock has always been on his own time schedule,” Connie Wolfe said. “That’s part of his charm.”

Then two harsh knocks on my door. “Come in,” I said, expecting my assistant, Charlie.

Instead, in strolled a man who could only be the elusive Rock Wolfe.

While his brothers’ hair was sleek and combed into place, Rock’s dark tresses were wavy and unruly, falling below his shoulders. His jawline was sculpted and laced with black stubble, and his nose slightly crooked, clearly had been broken at least once. His lips were full and beautiful. And his eyes… A green so clear and powerful a person could get lost in them.

I had to break my gaze away from his magnificently handsome face to notice his wardrobe. While his brothers were clad in Armani suits and ties, Rock wore Levi’s that accented his ass and thighs to perfection. A black leather motorcycle jacket—over gorgeously broad shoulders—and black boots completed his ensemble.

He’d at least put on a button-down black shirt for the occasion, open at the neck, a few dark chest hairs peeking out.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Wolfe,” I said, willing my voice not to crack. “Everyone else is here, so we can get started.”

He glared at me. “Who the hell are you?”