Andrew Wyld
Aug 25, 2017 · 1 min read

“The final stipulation in your father’s will,” began Laurence, and then he hesitated, his rich, brown eyes clouded by doubt.

Guinevere turned her head, her golden curls cascading with the slight movement of her head, her blue eyes meeting Laurence’s. She knew he was just a junior partner at the law firm, but there was something kind in his eyes that captivated her attention. Suddenly she remembered that he was reading her father’s will and had stopped. “Is there … a problem?” she asked, murmuringly.

“You bet your sweet ass there is,” averred Laurence, huskily.

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