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Most days, I never had time to admire the view, but today was a big day for me. If I were prone to cliche, I’d say that today was the first day of the rest of my life. However, that would imply that my future was bright, as opposed to the bleak, loveless road ahead of me.
Albert sat across from me. He adjusted the collar on his black dress shirt and ran his fingers through his salt and pepper pompadour.
Sometimes when we went to clubs, Albert got confused for a bouncer. He was portly and severe, with the sort of “take no shit” attitude secret service agents exude. “Miss Taylor arrived home safely and with minimal fuss.” Albert tapped on his tablet.
I sipped the strong brew. “Have you heard from the dealership?”
He nodded. “Miss Cavanaugh’s car will arrive shortly. Everything is as scheduled.”
I drummed my fingers on the table. I bought the car as a birthday present for Rebecca. I didn’t want the fuss, nor did she, but our parents insisted that a lavish gift was necessary to sell our relationship. How else was I supposed to capitalize on the Cavanaugh name if people thought our marriage was for show?
“Good.” I dabbed a napkin at my mouth. “I’ll be at the office until the party starts.”
“Do you have the ring, or would you like me to deliver it to you?”
I patted my jacket pocket. “I have it.” I raked my hands through my dark hair and sighed.
“She’s a lovely girl,” Albert noted with a sparkle in his eyes.
“Yeah, but she’s not my type.”
A sweet girl like Rebecca could never satisfy me in the bedroom, yet I was going to marry her.
“Sir,” Albert said, pulling me out of my thoughts. “She is leaps and bounds better than any of the women you’ve been with. The women you date, and that is using the word date loosely, are … how shall I put this delicately … promiscuous at best?”
I chuckled at his choice of words. “You’re right, Albert. I prefer a more experienced woman.” I shrugged. “Tonight is the first big step towards the altar.” I took a bite of toast. “At least a woman like Rebecca is simple. She’ll probably have one drink since it’s her birthday, and the whole thing will be over by nine-thirty.” I rub my temples, still feeling the effects of the hangover.
Albert looked sympathetic. “Feeling all right, sir?”
I nodded and stood up from the table. “I’ll be fine, thanks.” I clapped him on the back as I left the dining room.
My stomach twinged. I understood why I had to marry her.
This marriage was the key to furthering my family’s business and receiving my inheritance. I was not a man that made decisions under pressure and threats, but my hand was being forced. The resulting fortune from my initial investments ten years ago was dwindling.
When Regina and Achilles Cavanaugh initially suggested that I married their daughter last fall, my first thought was that it was ridiculous, an antiquated old money tradition reeking of WASP bullshit and respectability politics.
Were they really that ashamed of the idea of Rebecca bringing someone home who wasn’t a millionaire? Would that cause their friends to shred their season tickets to the opera and blacklist them for life?
Then, Achilles explained that we could help each other. Marriage, at its core, was about partnership.
He gave me the email for the representative for the Dover Mall and showed me a picture of Rebecca: large blue eyes and porcelain skin without so much as a blemish.
Her hair was soft and golden. Her body had a seemingly endless supply of supple curves and natural breasts.
If I saw Rebecca from across a crowded bar, I would buy her a drink. She was a catch. At the same time, I could walk away from it all.
My sister did it, and she survived. But my sister didn’t spend a decade pouring her blood, sweat, and tears into Steele Realty. My family’s success was vital to me.
I stepped onto my private elevator and tried to convince myself that the marriage would be worth it. It was a win-win for both families.
As the elevator descended to the lobby, I grumbled, “At least Rebecca will be a headache-free wife.”
My office was on the top floor of the mid-rise building. The boardroom, the CEO’s office (my father’s), my office, and the CFO’s office were the only ones on the top floor, so it was relatively quiet. I spent the workday attending meetings in the boardroom, going through emails, and checking up on a few projects. I headed to my father’s office to discuss the Dover Mall project.
I entered the outer office. Olive, the secretary, stiffened when I entered her line of vision. It was a shame. Olive was beautiful, with russet-colored hair, a svelte figure, and large green eyes. If only she could do her job correctly. How hard was it to keep track of the company calendar?
“Is Mr. Steele available?” I prompted, meeting her stern glare.
