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PROLOGUE
Conrad
Six months ago
Glancing down at my phone, I groan at the caller ID displaying the number one person I want to avoid most in the world. My father. Each time I talk to him, my blood pressure rises and it takes everything in me not to throw the phone against the wall. He either wants to talk about what a disappointment I am or what he’s doing to prepare for me to take over the Dugray business—one of the largest and most well-known luxury hotel chains across the world that my great-great-grandfather started.
My family comes from old money and ever since I was born, there have been expectations of me as the oldest son. After college, I am meant to join my father in Boston, where his main office is located. I’m lucky enough that he allows me to play soccer in college because he sees it as a wasteless talent.
I grew up near Boston in Blackburn, Massachusetts, and would love nothing more than to never go back to that town. It is filled with the most stuck-up people I have ever met, who only care about their money and what they can buy with it or who they can manipulate.
Groaning, I answer the phone on the fourth ring. “Hello.”
“Took you long enough to answer. When I call, I expect you to pick up right away,” he chews out. There is never a greeting when I answer his calls. He’s also not once asked about my life since moving to Braxton.
“Sorry,” I grind out through clenched teeth. Arguing or giving my father excuses is a waste of time. Howard Dugray does not do well when people come at him with either of those. I choose to avoid confrontation as much as possible with this man.
He ignores my not-so-sincere apology. “Listen, your mother has picked out a variety of well-bred women for you to meet. I expect by spring, you will have at least gone out on a date with each of them and be able to make your decision by summer. We want to announce the engagement by this time next year.”
Being the oldest son of a well-known, wealthy man means there are expectations of me. Not only to take over the family business but to marry a “proper” woman who also comes from a family like ours. The only problem? I want nothing to do with that life, not with his business nor the women my mother has picked out for me.
My jaw twitches. I want to say no. Tell him to shove his business and arranged marriage up his ass. All my life, I have been told what is to come and what is expected of me, but that does not make it any easier. It’s why I have never gotten close enough to a woman and always found a new one when I felt myself or them catching feelings. I don’t do relationships and need to keep women at arm’s length.
My biggest issue…I like Emree. Too much. I never should have given in to her at the first party before the semester, but she was too beautiful with her sweet face and curves for days. Sometimes it’s difficult to even look at her for too long. Those ocean-blue eyes and that bright, white smile paired with her sweet, Southern belle personality. Except she doesn’t have the accent and is a spitfire. I think that’s what keeps drawing me in. Emree doesn’t know about my family or where I come from, and she treats me like any normal guy at our college.
“Do we really have to go through with this arranged marriage thing?” I groan, refusing to even think about breaking it off with Emree. We haven’t confirmed we’re exclusive, but I know she wants that. She’s aware I’m not known for having a girlfriend and that I keep it casual, but it’s starting to bother her, even though I haven’t slept with anyone else since we met.
“Don’t question me, boy. You have known this would come, so do not think about changing the plan. You were born for this and will continue the family business. You will need someone from a proper background by your side and an heir to take over after you.”
The way he talks about this, you would think we’re the royal family or something. It’s how old-money families handle things, though. They join other wealthy ones to continue their empires and preserve their strength.
“Fine,” I tell him, making sure not to show that my breathing has increased. I’m tired of being controlled and having all these rules.
The sound of rustling papers comes through the line.
“I’ll have my assistant send you a file with pictures, names, and a description of each woman. These are the ones your mother has approved, so if there are any you do not think will work, let her know.” He pauses, and the paper noise stops on his end. “Personally, I think you should consider the Hawthorne girl. Her father owns hundreds of casinos across the country, and a merger like that with our hotels would be beneficial. She is easy on the eyes too, with a tight body, and her mother has held up over the years.”
The way my father talks about women is disgusting. While growing up, he made sure to point out to my mother if she was not put together or if her hair needed to be done. Image is important to him, and I am sure the Botox injections he and my mother have had over the years are because of that.
“I’ll take a look. Listen, I really have to go. We have people here.” A party at our house started about an hour ago, and I have been stuck up here talking to my least favorite person.
“Be responsible. You have an image to uphold.” He hangs up. No goodbye. No “I love you.” To say the house I grew up in was cold would be an understatement. It was the goddamn tundra in the Dugray house.
After tossing my phone on the bed, I get up from my desk chair I’ve been sitting on. The conversation with my father has put me in a horrible mood, and I want nothing more than to get plastered drunk and forget about what I need to do soon. Breaking off what I have with Emree is going to suck because she is everything I want in a woman. She is hot as hell, funny, quirky, and I enjoy being around her. Finding a smart woman with a sense of humor that I’m attracted to is like winning the lottery.
After changing out of my sweats and into a pair of loose jeans and a button-down shirt, I head downstairs through the people milling around and go straight to the kitchen, ignoring anyone who tries to stop me for a chat.
Spotting a bottle of vodka on the island, I grab it and start chugging. The burn in my throat as it goes down is just what I need. Chloe, our most famous ball chaser, saunters up to me and slides her hands along my chest.
“Where’s your team captain? Haven’t seen him all night,” she purrs.
Chloe is a beautiful woman, and she knows it. Her shoulder-length hair is an unnatural blonde color. Her body is what society deems to be the “perfect image,” with her thin frame and hefty breasts that I am sure she was not naturally endowed with. Her brown eyes are large, with several coats of mascara lengthening her lashes, and her lips are nice and plump. She is most guys’ wet dream, and I know how wild she is in bed from past experiences.
I take another swig of the vodka, already feeling warm all over from the alcohol. “With his girl tonight.”
She rolls her eyes, her hands drifting lower on my stomach. “That virgin. No clue what he sees in her. Guys like you and Cam need a real woman. One who can keep you…satisfied.” She licks her lips as she says the last word, her intentions clear.
As I maintain eye contact with Chloe, I take more chugs from the bottle and know exactly what I need to do. From how much of the bottle I have consumed, I will be numb enough to go through with this. I have tried, and I can’t break it off with Emree. I need her to hate me. She has to be the one to leave me because, clearly, I’m too much of a pussy to do it.
