Nan is sitting in a green leather wingback chair that dwarfs her, making her seem like a small child. She’s got on a navy suit jacket and a necklace with a brooch twice the size of a two-pence coin. Her hair is perfectly coiffed and her eyes are bright.

All of which might be perfectly normal, except that she’s on the telly in the board room of the American company I work at while I’m making apologies for fucking up. And every board member is looking from her to me, me to her, with varying shades of confusion and amusement.

Perfect. Just what I need. Another nail in the coffin of my time at Fox. I went off to stand on my own two feet and faltered massively. And now my Nan is somehow stepping in?

Sinking into the floor, or maybe jumping out this wall of windows behind me, is the only thing that can save me now.

Allan looks to Janet, who shrugs. She’s done her part, I suppose, got the tech up and running. Yeah, thanks for that, Janet!

“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m Allan Fox of Fox Industries. And you are . . .?” He trails off, the epitome of polite expectation.

“Dorothy Seymour, of the London Seymours. And that rascal’s grandmother. Oh, the stories I could tell about that one!” She chuckles and shakes her head. “Always a smart boy, my Coltie. Straight As without even studying, beat his brother’s arse a time or two.” She whispers out the side of her mouth as though sharing a secret with Allan alone, but the entire room hears. “Eddie deserved that, though, for sure. I made fifty pence on that fight, wagered with Alfred, I did. He’s the house assistant, you see. Did you know he graduated with honors from Oxford? Coltie, not Alfred, of course. But I’m sure you knew that from his CV. Yes, my Coltie is such a good boy.”

Her eyes find me, full of love and joy. The rest of the board is bordering on abject horror at her rambling outburst. I’m again contemplating jumping out the window. Though they’re probably locked and secure for just such an urge. Maybe I can walk out with my head held high, fly over the pond, and ask Nan face-to-face what the fuck she’s doing?

No time for that, though. “Nan, what are you doing?” I beg her to stop with a glare, but she can’t, or doesn’t, see it.

Allan smiles. “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Seymour. I did know that about Colton, quite an impressive resume he came with. But I’m afraid we are handling some rather serious business here and I’m not sure this is the time to wax poetic about his attributes. Perhaps we could discuss these things privately at a later time?”

Dear God. Allan is playing nice with Nan, placating her like you do the crazy people who assault you on the London Tube to beg for coins.

Nan waves her hand at him. “Oh, pish posh, don’t call me Ms. Seymour. That was my mother, and I’m much too young for that nonsense. Call me Nan like everyone does.” She smiles congenially like this is a kind offer Allan should thank her for. “And we have some business to conduct, Mr. Fox, so perhaps we should get to it.”

Nan is mad, but perhaps it’s in the best of ways? One can only hope, I suppose.

“And what business is that, Ms. Sey—” At her pointed glare and pressed lips, Allan corrects himself. “Uh, Nan?”

“The Estate, of course.” Nan’s brows drop together, scanning Allan as he might be the daft one. “I’m sure Coltie’s told you about the land and his desire to build a new headquarters of your company here. And I rather like the idea, seeing as it gets my boy home to me. Along with his sweetie, Elle. I do like that girl. Did you know she taught my granddaughter how to kick a boy in the bollocks?”

Her expression glazes over, going distant for a moment, before returning. “Yep, I do fancy Elle, too. Anywho . . . getting your little company here on the Estate gets my boy to me, and his sweetie with him, so I consider that a win all the way around, wouldn’t you?”

“Nan, please. I did explain about the Estate and that while I do own the land now, the council will not approve the zoning changes, so it’s a moot point. I’ve suggested that we consider finding a secondary site in London—”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort, boy. There’s nothing in London that’ll work like the Estate, anyway.”

If I could reach through the telly screen, I would shake her. Hug her, and then shake her, and then hug her again. A secondary site is my only move in this proposal race, and she just torpedoed it.

Allan’s lips press together, losing all patience for whatever shitshow this is. “Well, I do thank you for your candor, Nan. If that’s the case, perhaps we’ll continue on with our other option and build out in Tennessee.”

Nan leans forward, too close to the camera, and all we see is a close-up of her eye. She’s got a dried-up eye bogie that makes me blink hard as I recoil. “Are you daft, man? I just said the Estate is perfect.”

She didn’t say that at all. No one argues with her.

“Here, maybe this will help. Mr. Hamish? You’re up. Make these American blokes see the good sense their Mums didn’t bless them with.”

And now she’s insulting Mr. Fox. Bloody brilliant, Nan.

Mr. Hamish comes on screen, perching on the arm of Nan’s leather chair uncomfortably. He waves awkwardly, but he at least seems professional in his proper suit and tie.

“Hello. I’m Harold Hamish, an attorney for the family. Perhaps I can help clear up any . . . misunderstandings?” He looks to Nan, not saying that she’s nutters, but we’re all thinking it.

“Allan Fox. Please do explain, Mr. Hamish. Quickly, if you can.”

He nods and clears his throat, holding up a piece of paper. “I’ve been the family attorney for decades, my father before me and my grandfather before that. It was my grandfather who originally wrote this particular trust. It seems Colton Wolfe inherited the land upon his grandfather’s passing, but until recently, it was being managed under the larger family trust. Colton’s activation of his rights under the trust had me taking a second look and visiting with Ms. Seymour . . . I mean, Nan.”

Her angry face melts back to glazed happiness.

But she interrupts Mr. Hamish. “You’re taking too long to tell it. I’m going to die of old age before you get to the part about Coltie coming home and giving me grandbabies.”

My head thunks to the table. It doesn’t make what she just said disappear, so I do it again for good measure. Thunk. Nope, still happened.

“Nan.” I’m begging, pleading for her to stop.

She winks at me as if having the time of her life. “So Mr. Hamish brought some things to my attention about the trust, or shall I say trusts. We’re rather wealthier than God himself over here, and it does get tiresome trying to manage things. Mary, that’s my daughter, was supposed to be handling things because she’s my heir, but she’s got a rather poor constitution, that one.” She shakes her head sadly. “Not sure where she gets it from because her father was stout stock and I’m perfectly willing and able to fight for what’s right.”

She smiles a shark smile at Allan. “Like now. With Mary not doing things properly and letting Edwin . . . that’s her louse of a husband and Coltie’s father . . . run roughshod over good sense, I’m taking back ownership over the whole lot of it.”

Her words don’t sink in at first. But slowly, they start to make sense, just a little, to me.