Page 8 of Falling for the Billionaire Best Man

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KAISEN

Isat in the boardroom of my New York City headquarters, my fingers drumming impatiently on the polished mahogany table. The room was filled with the usual suspects—suits, ties, and enough ego to fill a stadium. Someone was droning on about quarterly projections or market trends or some other nonsense, but I wasn’t listening. My mind was elsewhere. I glanced down at my watch. I inwardly groaned when I saw it was only a quarter to three. I still had hours of this torture ahead of me. I was already counting down the minutes until I could escape.

The presenter—some junior analyst whose name I couldn’t be bothered to remember—was clicking through a PowerPoint slide deck that looked like it had been designed before he’d even been born. He was talking about “synergistic opportunities” in the Brooklyn market, throwing around buzzwords like confetti at a parade. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

I made my fortune in luxury real estate. I knew a little something about what actually worked versus the buzzwords these guys thought I wanted to hear.

“We’ve identified several underutilized properties in the Williamsburg area,” he said. He spoke with the kind of enthusiasm only someone who’d never actually dealt with a Brooklyn landlord could muster. “With some strategic investment, we can cater to the influx of young professionals and creatives relocating from Manhattan.”

I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, and suppressed a sigh. “Young professionals and creatives,” I repeated dryly, interrupting him mid-sentence. “You mean people who can’t afford Manhattan rents and think paying four grand for a one-bedroom in Brooklyn is a steal?”

The room went quiet. The analyst froze, his mouth slightly open as if he hadn’t anticipated being challenged. A few of the senior execs exchanged glances, some amused, others clearly uncomfortable with my tone. I didn’t care. I was in no mood to waste time on fluff.

“Mr. Seely,” the analyst stammered, adjusting his tie nervously. “I understand your concern, but the data suggests that this demographic is growing rapidly, and their spending power⁠—”

He droned on and I went back to my daydreaming.

I checked my watch again, frowning. My day was packed, as usual. But it was all in preparation for my vacation. I was going to be away from the office for four whole weeks. A month. I’d never taken that much time off before. Sure, I’d taken the occasional vacation—usually to justify the existence of my yacht in the Mediterranean—but never this long. Never for something like a wedding.

Cullen’s wedding.

I leaned back in my chair, trying to focus on the meeting, but my thoughts kept drifting. Cullen wasn’t just my best friend; he was the closest thing I had to a brother. We’d met in high school, two kids from different worlds thrown together at some prestigious private school. He’d been the scholarship kid, the one who worked twice as hard to prove he belonged. I’d been the rich kid, the one who didn’t have to try at all. Somehow, we’d clicked. We’d been inseparable ever since—through high school, college, and now, as adults navigating the cutthroat worlds of finance and real estate.

I respected Cullen. He had gotten out of college and climbed the ladder on Wall Street. He now managed a hedge fund and was doing very well for himself. He was one of the few real people I knew. He wasn’t my friend because of my name or the money. We respected each other. Cullen was one of the only people I allowed to call me out on my shit. And when he did, I knew it was warranted.

But this wedding? It was a lot. Four weeks of wedding planning, bachelor parties, rehearsals, and ceremonies. Four weeks of dealing with people I didn’t know, pretending to care about things I didn’t understand.

And then there was Dorie.

I scowled at the thought of her, my jaw tightening. Dorie Blake. The woman had somehow managed to get under my skin in the span of one infuriating conversation. She was intolerable. She was beautiful. She was… distracting.

“Kaisen, do you not agree?”

The voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I looked up to see the entire boardroom staring at me. I had no idea what they were talking about. I hadn’t been listening for the last five minutes. I cleared my throat, leaning forward in my chair. “I think we’re overcomplicating this. Let’s table it for now and revisit next week.”

There were a few murmurs of agreement, but I didn’t stick around to hear them. I stood, grabbing my suit jacket from the back of my chair. “Carry on without me. I have somewhere to be.”

I didn’t wait for a response, striding out of the boardroom and down the hall to the elevator. My driver, Doug, was already waiting for me on the street, the sleek black town car idling at the curb. I slid into the back seat, pulling out my phone to call Cullen.

“Hey, man,” Cullen answered. “What’s up?”

“I’m done for the day,” I said, glancing out the window. I barely noticed the people on the street or the stream of yellow cabs. “Meet me at the usual spot.”

Cullen didn’t need to ask where. He knew. Twenty minutes later, I walked into the dive bar in Midtown that had been our go-to spot since we got our fake IDs in high school. It wasn’t the kind of establishment that looked too hard at a license to determine just how real it was. The place hadn’t changed in years—sticky floors, dim lighting, and the faint smell of stale booze. March Madness was blaring on the TVs, and the only things on the menu were cheap beer and bottom-shelf whiskey. It was perfect.

Both of us could obviously afford one of the uptown lounges or cigar clubs, but that was not where we liked to be. At least not usually. There was a time and place for the exclusive clubs.

Cullen was already there, sitting at our usual table in the corner. He raised his glass in greeting as I approached. I slid into the seat across from him, signaling the bartender for a whiskey.

“You ready for the next month of wedding madness?” Cullen asked.

“I think that’s the question I should be asking you,” I said.

“Yeah, but you’re going to be right beside me doing a lot of the heavy lifting.”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked with a smirk.