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NICK
Maybe I should just fucking marry her,I think.
I let out a breath and run a frustrated hand through my dark hair. Problem is, Margo York is giving me an ultimatum and I don’t like that. She’s backed me into a corner and is now demanding that I propose marriage or we break up.
How romantic.
Sure, we’ve been dating for a year, but what the hell is the rush? And, when I ask her that, she gets even more pissed. I seriously can’t win.
“Nick,” she snaps and I force myself to look back over into her pale green eyes. She crosses her arms and taps the empty ring finger on her left hand as though reminding me there should be a sparkling diamond there. “If you don’t want to marry me then what are we even doing? Because it feels like you’re just wasting my time.”
When it comes to women, I have three rules: 1. Never get emotionally-involved. Keep it purely physical. That doesn’t mean I can’t develop a modicum of affection for her. I’m not a robot, for chrissake. But, when all is said and done, love is for suckers and it’s important to be able to walk away, if need be, and not look back.
My second rule: Never let her take control in bed. I’m in charge and she doesn’t come until I say. This doesn’t mean she can’t initiate sex. Sometimes that turns me on, knowing that she desires me. But, when it comes down to it, I’m the man, the alpha, and I call the shots.
And, lastly, my third rule: Never mix business with pleasure. This is the most important one because I’m a photographer and my job requires me to work closely with models. Young, beautiful, empty-headed girls who will do anything to make it in this Industry. But, if they try to cross the line, I will ignore their advances because the last thing I want is a sleazy reputation or sexual allegations or charges against me when they decide they aren’t happy with the shoot or something I said pissed them off. #MeToo is taking down quite a few power players and I want nothing to do with that shit. I am a professional with a sterling rep and I plan to keep it that way.
Right now, Margo is a perfect example of why I have rule number one. Even though we’ve been together for about a year, though on and off, I am not attached to her. I can kick her out of my life and my bed right now without blinking.
Maybe that makes me cold, but I think it’s smart. Heartbreak is a horrible thing and I don’t ever want to set myself up to potentially experience it. I saw firsthand how it broke my Mom when my Dad left her. It took her years to pick up the broken pieces and get her life back together. Now, she’s with John, my stepdad, who is a good and kind man who treats her with the respect she deserves.
But, what if he had never come along? I think she’d still be curled up in bed, crying her eyes out over a man who never gave a shit about her or me.
Fuck that.
I have a bit of a dilemma, though. As much as I want to tell Margo to walk, there’s something she doesn’t know. She thinks I’m pretty well-off financially, but that’s hardly the case. The truth is I’m drowning in debt. Mostly because of her.
Here’s the catch, though. My eccentric Grandmother died last year and, since I was her only grandchild, she left me a nice-sized inheritance around $200 grand. Problem is, there’s just one stipulation. I don’t get a dime until I get married.
So, I can marry Margo and roll in the dough. Or, retain my sanity and debt and break up with her.
Margo York has me by the balls and doesn’t even know it.
Money never concerned Margo because she’s a trust fund baby who spends her days shopping, doing yoga and meeting her wealthy girlfriends for lunch. Her biggest concern is usually a chipped nail. Her family is worth around half a billion, old money, and I think her great-grandpa was a first-class passenger on the Titanic. Shit, if his wife was anything like Margo, he probably chose to go down with the ship.
I’m not going to lie. She’s my meal ticket, the answer to my current financial problems. But, hell, the majority of my debt is due to her. Even though she’s loaded, Margo expects me to pay for everything. And, I don’t mind that, but, at the same time, when we have to go to the most expensive restaurants for dinner, fly first class, take exotic vacations and stay in 5-star resorts, the great money I make as a fashion photographer disappears quicker than a virgin on prom night.
And, now she wants a ring?
Christ, help me.
I can only imagine how much that would cost because if I know Margo, she’s already picked the ring out and it probably costs a fortune. I can already hear her whining:“But, Nicky, I have to have it. Yellow diamonds are all the rage now so I can’t very well have a plain, boring, clear diamond.”
God fucking forbid.
I feel a headache begin to pound behind my eyes and I just want her to leave. All I want is a quiet night with a couple beers and some In-N-Out burger. Or, better yet, a nice greasy pizza.
Margo would probably rather die than consume fast food. And, beer? Well, that’s the poor man’s drink. Margo only sips $30 martinis. Half the time, she doesn’t even finish them.“I just want to try a sip, Nicky,”she says and orders three.
I can’t support her lavish lifestyle any longer and I’m drowning in debt, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care. If I marry her, though,hermoney becomesourmoney. Right?
And, then there’s the inheritance that I’ll finally be able to get my hands on.
So, do I marry her and be debt-free and miserable? Or, do I break it off and just fucking declare bankruptcy?
I grit my jaw hard, not liking either choice.
“You’re not even paying attention to me. I can’t do this anymore,” Margo yells. I blink back to attention and see her snatch her designer handbag up off a chair and storm toward the front door. She grabs the handle and glances over her shoulder. “You have one week to make a decision, Nicholas. Either propose or it’s over.”
