The Bachelor Auction (The Bachelors of Arizona Book 1)

By: Rachel van Dyken

Chapter One



He’s senile. Last night he asked if I believed in unicorns.”

Brock suppressed a groan at Bentley’s insensitive statement. No doubt about it, or way around it. Their grandfather, the CEO of Wellington, Incorporated, was losing his damn mind.

But still, someone should come to the old man’s defense, and ever since he was twelve years old, that someone had always been Brock. Always.

His younger brothers—twins—were a united front against anything and everything that happened, not only within the family, but especially with Brock. It had always been them against the world, leaving Brock the awkward job of defending them to his grandfather while simultaneously living with the ever increasing aggravation of their sex- and alcohol-filled lifestyles.

“His medication…causes…” Brock clenched and unclenched his fists, mainly so he wouldn’t do something stupid like punch one of them. Sleep. He needed more sleep, and a life outside of running a company he’d never wanted to run in the first place. “Visions,” he finished. Bitterness took hold like it always did when he thought of the company, his grandfather, and the heavy weight of the world on his shoulders.

“You think visions of unicorns is bad?” Brant, the younger of the twins, gave Brock a disgusted look. “Just last week I found him skinny-dipping in the pool.”

Brock frowned as the elevator doors opened to the main offices of Wellington, Inc. “Why is that strange?”

“Alone,” Brant said. “Who skinny-dips alone?”

Bentley smirked, pushing past both of them. “Not you…clearly.”

Brant’s lips pressed into a smug grin. “Jealous?”

“Of the skank from last night?” Bentley snorted and sent off a text, most likely to the very same girl who had left Brant’s bed the night before. Always a competition with them. “Hardly.”

“Hello, boys.” Mrs. Everly, their grandfather’s secretary, was like family. She refused to acknowledge the brothers were well past the “boy” stage and had been for years.

“Hello,” they all said in unison. Bentley reached for her hand and kissed the top of it.

“You get younger every day. Amazing, almost like you’re aging backwards.” He winked.

Brock’s patience was already on edge. Running the company for his grandfather was one thing. Keeping the twins from making asses of themselves was another.

“Bentley.” Brock gripped his brother’s shoulders with a jerk and shoved him toward the door. “Don’t keep Grandfather waiting.”

The twins exchanged an eye roll.

“So responsible,” Brant said under his breath. It wasn’t meant to be a compliment.

“So…old,” Bentley added, because that’s what he did. “Brock, when was the last time you even got laid? If you say anything past seven days I may need to disown you.”

It had been more than seven.

Way more than fourteen.

But with a company to run…

And two brothers to keep under control…

Not to mention the accident that had nearly taken his grandfather’s life this last year. Resentment washed over him.

When would he even have time?

For fun?

Sex?

Women?

Anything?

“You’re not getting any younger,” Bentley interrupted Brock’s depressing thoughts. “Aren’t you turning thirty-eight this year?”

“I saw a gray hair when he turned his head,” Bennett added. “Depressing as hell.”

“It’s not gray,” Brock snapped, clenching his jaw so tight his teeth ached. “And if you haven’t noticed I’ve been busy.”

“Boys?” Brock flinched at the sound of their grandfather’s booming voice. “Boys, is that you out there?”

“He may be losing his mind but he sure hasn’t lost his vocal chords,” Bentley murmured as all three of them stepped casually into the office and shut the large wooden door behind them.

It closed with a resounding thud and Brock felt an ominous current of anxiety travel down his spine.

It was the same feeling he’d had when he was twelve and his grandfather had told him his parents had died in a plane crash.

The same feeling he’d had last year when he’d gone head to head with his grandfather over an acquisition—and won. The board had approved his decision. And less than twenty-four hours later, he’d almost lost his grandfather in a car accident.

As if reading the direction of his thoughts, his grandfather winced. The pain was still there, Brock knew, even if Grandfather refused to admit it.

Charles Williams Wellington the Third was seated behind his desk as if he sat on a throne, his mass of silver hair flowing into a deep curl that fell over his forehead. His wrinkled and tanned face didn’t look older than seventy, though he was pushing eighty-two, only weeks away from celebrating his birthday.

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