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I play with my tumbler, the golden liquid swirling. It’s so peaceful here, it makes me nervous. I don’t understand how Conrad and Nora can live on their yacht longer than a week. Jesus.
On the horizon, the sun is setting, a large red ball tethered above the ocean. Even the view makes me edgy.
“You’re too involved. Don’t you have people to deal with some of that shit? Seriously, man, there is no point in making money if you have to work this hard for it. You’re micromanaging.”
Perhaps I am. I’ve always loved working. It’s my go-to place where I thrive, but lately it’s been pure stress.
I’m more involved than I’ve ever been, and things are going from bad to worse. This deal is taking up so much time and attention, that other things are getting caught in the landslide.
I’m working more because I’m avoiding my fiancée. I took the lead on two new acquisitions to keep my distance from Mila. And now I’m drowning in stupid details that are way below my pay grade.
We’ve been engaged for three months. I have successfully avoided her for most of it. Mostly to stifle the need to yell at her for ruining what we could have had.
Since my last and only serious relationship I haven’t trusted women, and they continued to prove me right in my reluctance to let them in.
I always assumed I’d end up in a marriage of convenience, to secure myself an heir. Mila is the only one cashing in on the conveniences here. I’ve been dodging social invitations left and right, just to stay away from her.
“I can’t have this fail. It’s not even about money anymore. I’m not having fucking Corrado Napolis steal the deal out from under me. He’s a mobster.”
“I’m all for some good old competition, but a little perspective, man. This much work and hustle can’t be good. When do you have time for your fiancée?” He snickers.
I grab my phone to check… I don’t even know what. Who cares? As long as I can avoid this line of conversation.
Making up business trips in the last three months has helped me stay away from her, but as much as I try, I can’t get her out of my head. I’m irrationally mad at Mila for not being who I need her to be.
Every time I see her, I want to take her home and undress her slowly and make love to her. It irritates me. At least I found some restraint, and I haven’t fucked her since the incident in the restaurant’s closet. That encounter wasn’t sweet or gentle, but still it was more intimate than I could stomach.
Conrad watches me patiently, knowing me too well. Knowing my silence speaks volumes.
“She’s marrying me for money.” I throw the phone on the table.
He chuckles. “Not this again.”
“It’s true. I went to grovel—your advice by the way—and she needed money and said yes before I even withdrew the proposal.”
“Fuck me. I’m sorry, man. I thought she was different.” He refills his glass. “Why did you go through with it?”
“I need a wife.” I shrug.
I’ll marry her, because in that moment when she kicked me in the solar plexus with her acceptance, I couldn’t stand the idea of losing her.
Not that I benefited.
Not that she cares.
I want her to consider me the way she does her family. Everyone gets a piece of her except me.
I shouldn’t have gone through with the engagement, but it’s too late now. Everyone is excited. Lucky me.
I can’t be with her, and I can’t avoid her forever, so I’m locked in this weird situation where I have what I want, but I don’t really have it.
“How is that working out for you?” Conrad’s lips quirk up.
“Don’t go there, fucker,” I growl.
“Of course I’ll go there. You’ve busting your ass working—more than your usual workaholic self. I know you better than anyone. The symptoms are too similar to post-fucking-Kimb—”
“Don’t!” I clench my fist and down the scotch.
