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“My lack of dating has nothing to do with Amanda. It’s more time related. I promise.” I raise my fingers up in Scouts’ honor. “I’m dedicated to taking Hammond Press to the next level in publishing. The book world is changing, and I don’t want what Dad built to be left behind in the dust.”
“Neither do I, but don’t let work rule your life. You see what happened to Dad. At least he has us around for support.”
I cringe at the topic. My father left Hammond Press a year ago when his doctors said his forgetfulness was more than him just getting older. I’ve tried to step in and take his place as CEO, but I have big shoes to fill. So far, the board of directors approve of my actions, and I plan on keeping them and our investors happy.
“I promise I’ll get back in the game this summer. Maybe I’ll meet someone in the Hamptons.”
“Oh please, none of those phony types.” My sister rolls her eyes, and I can’t say I disagree with her. I want the woman I fall for to be genuine—not full of pretense and social climbing. Those kinds of women bore me after the first sip of champagne.
“You know me. I’m always looking for the diamond in the rough. And by rough, I mean the shallow pond of Manhattan’s dating pool.”
“Okay, you win. Let’s change the subject. Mother wants you to join them in Greenwich for Father’s birthday in three weeks.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll call her tomorrow with the news.”
“Better get ready for her to grill you on bringing a date.” Victoria laughs, but I know she’s right. My mother wants what’s best for me, and in her eyes, that’s a wife and two kids.
“On second thought, why don’t you just tell her I’m coming?”
“Not on your life, Barc. You need a little push. After all, you’re inching closer to forty. And you know what they say about never-married men in their forties.”
“No, but I’m sure you’re about to inform me.”
“They’re commitment-phobes.”
“Fine. I’ll bring a date to Saturday’s Warwick Awards and prove you wrong.” My hands perspire as I tap my fingers on the table. I don’t have time to worry about this, but my mother’s persuasive tactics are worse than my sister’s. I need the server to bring something sweet for Victoria to eat this instant. It’s my only hope. “Just please tell Mom I’ll be there in three weeks.”
“I’ll give you a pass this once, but if you’re dateless, I’ll pick a date for you for Dad’s birthday party.” She giggles, and I know I can’t face whatever doomed date she’s concocting, which will likely be with one of her friends. “Oh, there’s one stipulation to this Saturday’s date. She can’t be anyone you already know. I want you to work for this one.”
I’ve never been desperate enough to call an escort service, though my lifelong friend, Trevor, swears by them. He uses the services when he needs a date to an event or a discreet hookup. If push comes to shove, I could call him for the number, but the thought makes my stomach turn.
You can’t be more phony than a fake date, and knowing my sister, she’ll see right through my ruse.
Basically, I’m screwed.
“One more thing. My and Danton’s three-year anniversary is next week, and our nanny’s mother has surgery. Can you watch Beatrice for us?” Her smile has a side of glee with it, meaning she already knows she’s won this round too.
“I thought you wanted me to settle down, not scare the shit out of me. Hell, I’ve never changed a diaper in my life.” My three-month-old niece is an adorable mini version of my sister, which means she also has an attitude. Heaven help me. “You can be quite evil.”
“It’s just a little reality check.”
4
Tessa
When my phone alarm blares, I reach out from under the covers and search the nightstand in hopes of silencing the obnoxious sound. Without opening my eyes, I hit the screen a few times before the noise stops. Hallelujah. I hate mornings.
After a couple minutes, I open one eye as my sleep-infused brain tries to fire up. An unfamiliar gray wall with chrome fixtures fills my view, and it hits me: I’m in New York City.
I sit up straight in my bed and glance out the window. Last night, I left the curtains open with the twinkling lights of Manhattan serving as a nightlight. Now, my view is filled with shiny buildings catching the first glimpse of the sun.
I throw the covers off me and jump out of bed, heading toward the bathroom and getting my morning routine underway.
Forty-five minutes later, a doorman dressed in a tuxedo and top hat opens the door for me as I near him in the lobby. “Good morning, miss,” he says with a serious expression. How can he be so somber on such a beautiful sunny morning?
