Chapter 6

Birthday countdown: 38 days

Since meeting her: 8 days

It’s been eight days since I returned to the city, met Lexi Matthews, and had her fired. And a week has passed since I saw her last.

I spent Monday and Tuesday catching up on emails. Wednesday and Thursday, I was forced to attend meetings from dawn until dusk. Now, it’s Friday, and I’ve barely been able to piss in peace without talking to someone.

After our mid-month board meeting, I follow Weston and my father to the large corner office, the one that will be mine if a miracle happens.

“Welcome back,” my dad tells me as I sit opposite him and beside my brother. My father’s hair is grayer than I remember, and he looks tired. “Apologies for not having the chance to welcome you home yet.”

I look past him out the window, enjoying the view of the Empire State Building. I can see tiny specks of people walking around the top, viewing the city from above. It’s the perfect time of day because, in the late afternoon, the sun and sky reflect off the windows of the surrounding buildings, casting rays of silver and gold. There’s nothing like it.

In moments like this, I want to pull out my notebook and sketch, but I don’t.

“Any updates I should be aware of?”

I return my attention back to my father.

I know what he’s asking—if I’ve found a potential bride—and I don’t know how to deliver the disappointing news. After six months of traveling around the world, I’m still painfully single. I’ve given women chances, but not one lasted past the fourteen-day mark. I’ve tried.

“Not yet,” Weston says. “He’ll figure it out.”

“I can talk,” I snap out with frustration.

When I was younger, if I hesitated too long like I must’ve done, my brother would speak for me, to protect me however he can. When I’ve needed him the most, he’s been there. I have his back, and he has mine, no matter what.

But right now, I need to use my voice. Otherwise, I’ll be in a loveless marriage, just like the ones every man in this room has gotten himself into.

“Son, the lawyers reviewed the contract your grandfather created. The requirements are clear, with zero loopholes. It’s locked tight.”

I lean across the desk. “Don’t you find this ridiculous? I was born to run this company. I’m the best there is.”

“Well, the second best.” Weston laughs.

“Not now,” I tell him. I’m not in the mood.

Dad glares at me. “If you aren’t married before your fortieth birthday, I’ll have no choice but to promote Derrick to CEO when I retire. You have thirty-seven days, son.”

My brother tenses beside me. “That cannot fucking happen. He’s not family.”

“Do you want to step up?”

My father stares him down and the room grows frigid. The tension is so thick; I could cut it with a knife.

Weston has enough experience to take over the company, and he would be incredible. But last year, he was promoted to the chief operating officer. Finding a replacement for him would be nearly impossible. He’s the best there is, and he can charm a snake, which is why he was married to one.

“That’s what I thought,” my father says, unamused. He’s stern. Always has been.

“It was never my dream. You know that,” Weston tells him.

Since we were children, we were encouraged and trained to take on these roles.

CEO is mine. He wouldn’t take that from me.

Weston interlocks his fingers. “If Derrick takes over, you will receive my resignation.”

Our dad stares him down, but Weston doesn’t flinch. He can be a bigger asshole than me when he wants. Most people don’t realize he’s just like me.

I clear my throat. “Father, there has to be some⁠—”

Before I can continue, the door swings open, and it’s Derrick, the man who has been my father’s shadow since we were teenagers. He’s tall with jet-black hair and a permanent scowl, and he has a voice like he’s smoked a pack a day for the last twenty years. Weston and I are convinced he has a Death Eater tattoo on his arm because he’s pure Slytherin.

While he does have executive experience and the board of directors respects him, he’s a terrible choice, and he makes awful business decisions. I’ve never liked him because he puts profit over people. He can disrespectfully get fucked.

“Apologies for being late,” Derrick says, sliding into the chair on the other side of Weston.

I pretend he doesn’t exist.

Over the years, he’s tried to destroy my credibility and reputation, but I’ve always recovered.

I don’t like how his beady eyes dart around when I speak or how he inserts himself into situations, giving opinions when not asked. My father might trust him, but it doesn’t mean I have to.

Never have. Never fucking will.

“Perfect. The three of you are here,” my father says, interrupting the argument Weston would’ve successfully started had we sat in silence for any longer. “I’ve chosen my retirement date. Forty-five days from today.”

My hard expression doesn’t change. I have thirty-seven days to find a wife if I want to become CEO in six weeks. And I can’t have one without the other.

“Great.” I glance down at my watch, knowing this meeting could’ve been an email or something we quickly discussed over dinner, but my father is forcing us to be in the same room as Derrick. He’s studying our interactions to see if this would even be possible. It wouldn’t. Weston and I would both walk away from this. I don’t want to do that, but if my hand is forced, I will. “Anything else?”

“Have you chosen your successor?” Derrick asks. He knows my father will choose between the two of us, but I don’t believe he’s aware of the clause in our family contract.

Weston tenses beside me and balls his hand into a fist. I wish he would beat Derrick to a pulp right here. There have been plenty of times when I wanted to.

“No,” my father says in his rough tone, the one that says this conversation is over.

I stand, and my father doesn’t look at me again. He’s disappointed in me. That much is certain.

Weston follows me to my office, and neither of us speaks as we move toward the opposite side of the building. I didn’t notice the file folder in his hand until he sits in front of my desk.

This space is foreign to me. The only thing that makes it mine is my business cards sitting on the edge of the desk. I’ve never settled in this space because I know it isn’t where I belong. The corner office should be mine, along with the fucking title.

“This is bullshit.” I seethe as I pace. I lift my fingers to the racing pulse in my neck to feel my heart rapidly beating. It’s anger that pumps through me.

“It is. But I don’t think it’s the end. Not yet. Tell me about this woman you met.”

I stop pacing and give him a dirty look. “Who?”

I move to my desk and sit, recalling the few dates I’ve gone on this year. Each one was a disaster, and the tabloids never got it right. There is no one; if there were, he’d have been the first to know.

“Don’t be coy.” He tosses a pen, catches it, and twirls it between his fingers, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

He’s acting like a cocky fuck, and it frustrates me when he gets like this.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I glare at him, growing impatient with each passing second.

I’ve been gone for months, and nothing has changed here either. Derrick is still being a rat and my brother isn’t taking any of this seriously. And then there’s me, stuck in the middle of want and need, watching my dreams and everything I’ve worked so fucking hard for fade before my eyes. All because I refuse to marry for any reason other than love. I’d rather stay single.

“I’d love for you to tell me about the woman you got fired a week ago. She was …” His voice trails off, exactly like mine did when we spoke on the phone.

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t you think we have more important things to concern ourselves with right now?”

He opens the file folder and pulls out a stack of pictures and printed articles from gossip sites. Weston proudly spreads them across the desk. There are hundreds. “Now, I know for a goddamn fact this wasn’t me with this beautiful woman.”

“Shit,” I whisper, picking one up.

Yesterday, I hoped the paps hadn’t followed me, but in New York, the photographers are sly. They watch from a distance, always lurking with a telephoto lens instead of getting in your face. They want their targets to feel comfortable so they can capture the natural shots and sell them for thousands.

This is my fault. I should’ve remembered that no public space is safe. I went against my own rules … because of her.

My eyes scan over the images. Our conversation is displayed in snapshots, and I almost smile, recalling it. There is one of us standing on the sidewalk that catches my eye. She’s smirking at me as I hand her phone back. It’s fucking adorable.

“New York’s Most Eligible Bachelor’s New Lover.” I read the title out loud before glancing at my brother. “This is a lie.”

“Maybe it is. But I haven’t seen you smile like that in over fifteen years. Maybe never,” he says with a raised brow. “So, I want to know who she is.”

I inhale sharply. “Please mind your damn business, okay? It’s a lost cause. Trust me.”

“Being in your business allows me to do what’s best for the company, so hell no. The time is ticking.” He looks down at his wristwatch—another priceless family heirloom.

When my grandfather passed away, our inheritance included these watches, accompanied by a staggering amount of stock in the company. They have different inscriptions engraved on the bottom. I like to think my grandfather chose each one for a reason, although when I think of mine, it’s brutal—LOVE IS ALWAYS ON TIME—for the grandson who can’t and won’t find it. But it’s not from a lack of trying.

“I’m aware of my situation.” My words drip with sarcasm.

“So, why not her? The tabloids have already started writing the story. I can see the sparks.” He snaps his fingers and points to the word lover. “Plausible. Believable as fuck.”

“You know I said I wouldn’t get married unless I was in love.”

“So, fall in love,” he says like it’s easy. “Or maybe it’s time to take some chances. Do you want to lose everything, Easton? For a version of love that doesn’t exist?”

I clench my jaw. “Just because you haven’t experienced it doesn’t mean shit. You perpetually choose the wrong women, like it’s your hobby.”

“And you’ve chosen no one in over a decade,” he quips. He leans forward, lowering his voice. “All you have to do is get married and make it believable. That’s it.”

Weston is like a devil on my shoulder, whispering terrible things in my ear. The promise I made to myself—to marry for love only—sits on the other shoulder while my future hangs by a single thread that’s quickly unraveling.

My grandfather created this contractual obligation for his bloodline only. He once told me he never wanted us imprisoned in the business. This requirement was his way of pushing us to find love, to take risks, to start a family. It will also be the number one reason why the Calloway dynasty will be destroyed from the inside and thousands of people will lose their jobs. The thought of it makes me sick.

Weston has my undivided attention and knows it.

“Okay, so what if I meet the love of my life while I’m fake married?”

“Oh, it should be a real marriage on paper and in public. Scandals are wonderful for business too.”

I groan. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

“You only have to stay married for one year. Pretend to be the happiest, in-love couple in the world, and no one will question anything. And if you find the one, wait to pursue her until you’ve divorced your temporary wife. After three hundred sixty-five days, you’ll be free to do the same thing you’re doing right now, and you can continue your toxic affair with the company.”

“Is that what you and Lena did?”

“No. It was very real and by far the biggest mistake of my life, but I met the qualifications. I genuinely tried. It didn’t work out. There is nothing anyone can do. I did what our grandfather had asked.”

He shrugs, but I’ve witnessed how difficult it was for him. Weston loved a horrible person, the real kind of love that I’ve searched for my entire life. When it ended, he was broken. She’d nearly destroyed my brother.

“But—”

Before I can finish my thought, there’s a tap on my door, and our shared secretary enters.

“The information you requested,” Taelor says and hands me the file.

As she turns and walks away, Weston snatches it from my hand.

“Alexis Marie Matthews. Texan. Twenty-nine years old. New York University performing arts graduate. Excellent GPA. No criminal record. Not a felon.”

I yank it from his hands. “Bastard.”

“So, this is her. Alexis Matthews. She’s perfect. No one knows her. And she’s a performer, so she can easily pretend to be in love with you. Plus, the housekeeper thing could work in your favor. Make us seem down-to-Earth.”

“There is no us when it comes to this.” I glare at him, my eyes scanning over the rest of the information.

I’m aware that our reputations are intertwined. If Weston pisses off the masses, then they’re upset with me too. We rise and fall together. It’s a part of the game.

He smirks. “She must’ve made an impression on you if you ran a full background check. Admit it.”

“No. She has a bad attitude.”

“You do too.” He sits back in the chair. “She’s way too pretty for you though. Maybe I should date her? Would make a great rebound.”

He knows he’s getting under my skin and he’s doing everything he can to dig deeper.

“Don’t worry. Brody shared how you two hit it off at the park.”

My face contorts. “I’m firing my bodyguard.”

“Wow.” Weston chuckles. “You already have a thing for her.”

“I’ve known her for a week. We’ve spoken twice, and each time ended with her walking away from me like she couldn’t escape fast enough. That doesn’t qualify as a thing.”

He knocks his knuckles against the desk. “Shit. This might be the greatest story of all time. Easton Calloway finds a wife and actually falls in love. Maybe you’ll get the best of both worlds, little brother.”

I shake my head. “Get the fuck out of my office. You’re pissing me off.”

“Not even a please?”

“Now!” I point toward the door, and he stands.

He smooths his hands over the front of his charcoal-colored three-piece suit that’s identical to what I’m wearing, down to the black silk tie. If I turned it around, it would most likely be the same brand.

“You encourage the twin jokes.”

“Love them.” He smirks, but doesn’t say anything else.

I suspect he has a closet of suits in his office and changes once he sees me, but I haven’t confirmed that. He swears it’s a lucky twin guess, but I don’t trust him. It happens too often to be coincidental. I believe he’s texting my stylist and tailor.

“The only reason I’m leaving is because I have shit to do, not because it’s what you want. Are we still on for tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I confirm.

He reaches for the door, but stops and turns to me. “I hope you have the day you deserve.”

“Brody’s fired.”