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And that is where she comes into play—Stella Porter.
The night I first saw her, I had drunkenly stumbled into a jazz bar on the opposite side of town from where Eleanor Tate, my live-in girlfriend was currently cleaning out her side of our closet. The same closet I had custom made for her a year earlier. The same closet I had stood in just a few hours ago when she looked me in the eye and told me she wasn’t in love with me anymore.
Stella captivated me. Her long, black hair was pulled away from her face, her full hips encased in a burgundy velvet dress. Her pouty lips were painted bright red, begging to be bitten. Everything about her was mesmerizing. I sat wondering how someone as beautiful and talented as she was, wasn’t headlining a club in the heart of downtown or a show in Vegas.
I swirl the remaining ounce of scotch in my glass before bringing it to my lips and finishing it. I savor the burn, the sweet afternotes hitting the back of my throat. For the last nine months, I’ve spent every spare second researching a loophole in my father’s trust but it’s pointless. I have until my fortieth birthday to marry or all of his shares will be released back onto the market.
“I’m tired of asking you, son, so I’m going to start demanding an answer. When are you going to settle down with Eleanor?”
“We are settled down, Dad. She moved in a month ago. I’d say that’s pretty damn settled.” I finish the remainder of the brandy in my glass and place it back onto my father’s marble bartop.
“You know what I mean, Atlas. I’m tired of having this argument with you. You know damn well that I worked my ass off to make this company what it is and I’ll be damned if you don’t keep it in the family. As an only child, you owe it to your mother and me.”
“Then be dammed,” I reply, adjusting my cuff link absentmindedly. His face grows redder than I thought possible, a hint of purple staining his cheeks. If he were a cartoon character, steam would be blowing out of his ears.
“This is exactly what I told your mother would happen to you if she coddled you like she did.” He sneers at me, his bottom lip curling as he points a crooked finger at me. “I told her she’d ruin you.”
“Are we done here?” I stand, buttoning my coat. My father stares at me, his eyes glassy as he sits hunched over in his chair. He doesn’t look like the same powerful man I saw eviscerate people time and time again growing up. The same man who could silence a room of thousands just by standing. The same man who could financially ruin his opponents before nine a.m. on a Monday. But life hasn’t been kind to him these last few years and if you ask anyone who knows the name Byron Knight, they’ll tell you the same thing: it’s karma.
“Dad, I’m in love with Eleanor. I’m happy with her. I’m not going to promise you I’ll marry her because I’m not there yet. It could come to that, it could not, but if you plan to take this to your grave, that’s on you.” And with that, I turn and walk out of his house.
At the time, I didn’t understand why he was so hell-bent on me marrying someone. It wasn’t until I met with his lawyer after his death that I found out he had added an addendum to his trust the day we had that conversation.
Which leaves me with only one option as far as I’m concerned. Ask a complete stranger to marry me… with compensation, of course. A simple contract outlining that they will be required to stay married to me for one year, live together, zero requirements or desires for any sort of sexual relationship. The cold and callous look in Eleanor’s eyes when she walked out of my life was exactly the reminder I needed to stay focused on the only thing that matters, taking over Knight Enterprises. Never again will a woman hold that kind of power over me.
I can’t keep the smirk off my face at the thought that my father died thinking he’d won. If there’s one thing my father did teach me, it’s that control is the ultimate form of power and to be completely heartless in the pursuit of it.
Between another glass of scotch and staring at my computer screen, my attempts at distraction are fruitless. The only thought on my mind since she wrote her number on that coffee sleeve is Stella.
Who the fuck are you kidding? The only thought that’s been on your brain since you first saw her… is her or some variation of fucking her.
So I do what I always do when I can’t focus my thoughts; I call my driver. While I know she only sings on Thursday nights, I find myself telling Mac to take me to Freddy’s. It’s the only place, besides her job at the coffee shop, where I know she goes. The only place that weirdly feels close to her.
Shit. Fuck.
Thoughts like that are the ones that get you in trouble. Thoughts like that will have you falling in love and getting your heart ripped out while losing sight of what’s important. I have to stay focused. She is my only option right now for a contract and based on what I’ve witnessed of her life, she isn’t exactly in a position to turn down a million dollars and taking life off for the next year.
So, the fact that I’ve imagined fucking only her in every way possible while I stroke my cock these last months won’t even be an issue when she says yes. I won’t let it be an issue because as far as she will be concerned, I’ll want nothing to do with her.
A few moments after Mac stops outside Freddy’s, I open my mouth to tell him to head back home when I see a cab stop a few feet away and a woman emerges. It’s Stella, her long black hair flowing in the wind behind her as she runs across the street and ducks into the bar.
I reach for the car handle. What am I doing? Am I approaching her tonight with the offer or am I thinking with my cock?
This isn’t a situation where I want to feel unprepared. I need to have the upper hand. I slowly release the handle, sitting back in my seat. “Head back home, Mac. I don’t feel like being social tonight, after all.”
Chapter 3
Stella
The door swings open; the ever-present stench of stale smoke and nicotine permeating the thirty-year-old carpet in the entryway wafts upward.
There’s a lot more to this place than meets the eye, remnants of its days of glory still present with the stunning crystal chandeliers that have turned dingy and gray, and the copper detailing on the bar having oxidized more than a decade ago. Even a deep cleaning would give it a facelift, but according to Julio, Freddy has snorted more money than he’s ever put into this place.
“Hey, Dennis, is Freddy in?” I don’t bother stopping by the bar; I just ask the question in passing as I head straight to the back office.
“Oh, hey, Stell, what are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer my question and I don’t answer his either. I just grab the door handle when I’m within reach and fling open Freddy’s office door.
