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“We’re not having this discussion again,” I say.
Emma is always trying to tell me that I don’t have to be alone for the rest of my life, I can afford to have a woman by my side, I won’t fuck it all up.
But how can she know that? She knowsaboutmy dad and what he did. She doesn’tknowhim. She doesn’t know how cold he is, how calculated. Just like I am. She hasn’t seen the monster he can be.
I haven’t seen my father since I was fifteen. When my mom wouldn’t leave him, I left alone. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t my father, his blood doesn’t run in my veins.
What if I’m exactly like him, not only as a cold and calculated person but as a monster, too?
I won’t do that to someone. I can trust Emma, but I can’t trust myself.
“Besides, I don’t know her, anyway.” Women are always the same. They might be sweet and funny and beautiful, but once I get to know them, they often turn out to be too shallow for me. I need more.
“You cangetto know her,” Emma says.
I shake my head. “I don’t need another suit.” When Emma frowns, I add, “She’s the wardrobe consultant responsible for my look tonight.”
Emma raises her eyebrows and looks me up and down, nodding in approval.
“I thought you look more put-together than usual,” she jokes. “So, you only need one suit, huh? Not, say, a whole new wardrobe?” Her laughter is warm. Emma is the one person who can mock and tease me and it won’t piss me off.
“Mr. Ford?” someone asks, coming to the table. He’s the young blond guy Rachel arrived at the party with. “I’m Alexander, a journalist with The Metropolitan Observer. I was hoping I could take a few minutes of your time for a few questions.”
Oh, God. She’s here with ajournalist? And here I was, the fool hoping someone as breathtaking as Rachel would be single.
I scowl at the snot-nosed kid.
I don’t like journalists. They’re slimy snakes who take my words and twist them to prove whatever point they’re trying to make. I start to say so, but Emma nudges me under the table.
“We have a few minutes,” Emma says smoothly. “But nothing personal, only business-related questions. I’m going to limit you to five.” She’s playing my PR manager tonight and I’m grateful. I’m not the nicest guy on the block—I run people off and scowl and curse and that doesn’t always go down well. I don’t have a PR manager; I don’t like people getting too close to me.
The closer they get, the more they know, and I’ve worked hard to keep my background a secret. But Emma jumps in now and then, my first line of defense on nights where I just want to take a breath and not be on my guard all the time.
“That’s fine,” Alexander Evans says and sits down. “Are you making a contribution to the charity tonight?”
I nod. “I’ve donated five million to the cause.”
Alexander makes a note. “Is this a cause close to your heart?”
“Shouldn’t all causes be?” This charity event is for a children’s hospital and I’m more than willing to give to those who need it. I have so much money, I can part with a few million now and then. When people do good without personal gain, I support that.
I don’t partake in any charity that deals with battered women, domestic violence, or children’s abuse. Although that’s a lot closer to my heart, I can’t have journalists like Alexander Evans find something when they start digging.
“The way I see it,” I continue, “it doesn’t matter what the cause it. What matters is that we all stand together and find a solution when there’s a problem. There’s enough money in this world if we spend it right.”
“That’s a very selfless statement,” Evans says. “How do you justify your luxurious lifestyle in light of those words?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you suggesting it’s wrong for me to live in luxury when others are struggling?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m referring to your statement about spending money in the right places. Yachts and parties don’t exactly fall under charity, helping the needy…”
“You’re right; it doesn’t. Let me ask you something, Mr. Evans.”
“Alex, please.”
I bristle. I won’t use his first name as if we’re friends. We’re not. He just challenged me on how I use my money. I worked myself to the bone for this money.
“Do you get paid for your work?”
