Bound to You: Volume 2 (8 page)

As I step into my office I notice an e-mail notification at the top of my cellphone. It’s from my father. Great. I scroll through the message and find myself frowning at his request to
have a meeting to discuss something important
. Panic sets in. What if Rebecca told him about my behavior at the Lit For Kids event? Or worse, what if the tabloids somehow got ahold of a photo of me drunk and out of my mind.
Fuck.
I type my name into the search bar of my phone. To my surprise, there aren’t any new articles. Maybe it’s not about last night or maybe the tabloids haven’t spread their gossip just yet.

I call Rebecca’s office line to check in, but it goes straight to voicemail.
I wonder if she’s sick.
After checking through my messages, I come to the conclusion that she must be on her lunch break. In a way, I’m dreading having to speak with her about last night. I made a fool of myself because of past memories, and while I’m grateful that she did her job as my assistant, I do owe her apology. I shouldn’t have come on to her. No matter how much I want to do it again.

I make my way through the rows of cubicles toward my father’s office. Not a single employee bothers to look up as I pass them. I often wonder if people avoid eye contact with me because they think I’m some kind of monster. In truth, I am a bit of an asshole, but I can’t help it.

I find father typing away at his computer as classical music plays in the background. I recognize the familiar song from my childhood memories. It’s the first movement from Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonata.
Our father used to play it on the piano when we went to bed. I loved falling asleep to the slow chord progression. As we got older, the tone of the song seemed a little darker than I remembered. After my mother left, our father would play it into the earlier hours of the morning. I think it was his way of easing his sorrows without touching a bottle.

“Good morning, son,” he says. “I’m glad to see you.” For the first time in a long time, I notice the fine lines of stress on my father’s face. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes have set in deeper since the last time I remember. “There’s something I think we should discuss.” The tone in his voice lets me know that whatever he’s about to say is pretty serious.

“If it’s about the other night, I can explain –” I start to say.

He raises his hand to stop me. “I heard the Lit For Kids event went wonderfully. I’m happy you’re taking the initiative on these opportunities for publicity.” He stops for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “It seems everything is working out with Rebecca. I haven’t seen anything in the papers to tell me otherwise, and I’m very glad.”

“Yes, although she isn’t exactly what I was expecting an assistant,” I mutter.

“Rebecca is the last thing you should be worrying about,” father says. “Your wedding should be your number one priority.” He turns back to his desk and grabs a document that looks to be at least 100 pages long. “This is why I called you in. I had our lawyer draw this contract up.”

“What?” I ask, as he hands me it.

“It’s a prenuptial agreement. Alison’s father informed me that you two would be sending out invitations this following week. As soon as I heard that, I met with our lawyer, Eric Hayes. We should’ve discussed this earlier, but lately, everything has been a little crazy around here. I wanted to wait until things calmed down.”

I flip through the document, weary of what all of this actually means.

“It’s important to protect the company and this family, Nick. I learned that the hard way when I had to pay off your mother so she would stop going to the tabloids.”

I keep hoping that my father will wake up and realize that marrying me off to the highest bidder is another mistake. Alison might not be my mother, but this marriage is just another business transaction.

“Nick, are you listening?” My father sits watching me with an impatient look.

“Yes.” I say through gritted teeth.

“How are the wedding plans going?”

“I have no idea,” I admit. “I’m sure Alison is handling everything fine.”

“I think it would be a good idea if you were a little more involved,” he says. The look on his face screams disappointment. “Review the contract and let me know if there’s anything you would like to change or add.” Prenuptial agreements aren’t out of the ordinary, but somehow this all feels wrong. My gut tells me this isn’t the path my life should be taking.

“I don’t think I can go through with this.” The words are flying out of my mouth before I even have the opportunity to mull them over.

“Go through with what, exactly?” he asks, confused.

“The wedding.”

My father circles around his desk to stand in front of me. The tension vibrating off of him is unmistakable. I know it’s not what he wants to hear, but it’s the truth.

“Doesn’t my happiness mean anything to you?” I ask. There it is. The question that’s been lingering at the surface for so many years. When Alex was alive, my father was all for what made us happy, but that didn’t last long after my brother’s death. Everything changed for the worst.

“Son, you’re twenty-eight. I’ve watched you these last few years dispose of women without a second thought. Since when have you been serious about anyone?”

He’s right. I’ve never imagined settling down and having children. Just trying to envision any of those things fills my chest with a heavy feeling of despair. For the past few years, I’ve been ignoring the idea of marriage and drowning myself in beautiful women. It’s easier to deal with. I’m not ready to share a piece of my soul with someone and then watch it all burn. I don’t want to end up like my father.

“What if I choose not to marry her?”

“Nick, you will marry Alison.”

“And if I don’t… what then?” I challenge.

“You’ll lose everything.” The way he articulates each word lets me know that he isn’t joking. If I want to inherit StoneHaven Publishing, I’ll have to marry Alison Price.

“Nick!” I hear someone call as I make my way out of the elevator. My head is still going over the conversation with my father. I turn to see Emily walking toward me with a huge smile on her face. She’s carrying her backpack with her. She must be coming from school. The campus is around four miles from here, and I think she takes advantage of it being so close. I often find her hiding out in one of the conference rooms here.

“Hey, big brother. I wanted to stop by and see if you wanted to have lunch with me?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” I ask.

“Bio got cancelled for today, so I thought I would come see you.” The sheepish grin on her face makes me think she could be lying.

“Is something wrong?” she asks, encircling me in a quick hug.

“No, why?”

“You’re scowling,” she laughs. “Who annoyed you this time?”

You have no idea.
“It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Before I have a chance to tell her that my future is hanging in the balance over my impending marriage, Mary, the front desk receptionist, comes scurrying over to us.

“Mr. StoneHaven, wait!” Her flustered expression tells me that whatever she has to say can’t wait.

“I have a woman on line 1 who’s calling from
Demure.
She claims she has a lady friend of yours in the store. Should I give her the access code to charge your account?”

“Are you buying bridal lingerie for Alison?” Emily asks. I know Emily’s excited at the thought of having a sister, even if it’s a sister-in-law, but I don’t have the heart to tell her that I’m not sure Alison feels the same.

“No, there’s some kind of mistake.”

It was a habit of mine to send the women I slept with to
Demure
for lingerie, but since the announcement of my engagement, I haven’t even bothered to tell them that I’ll be closing my account. Most people know
Demure
as an upscale lingerie store, but clients know them for their discreet business practices. There are plenty of men I know who have accounts there for their wives and mistresses.

“Did she give a name for this lady friend?”

Mary’s eyes widen. “She did not. Would you like to speak with her?” she asks.

“Yes, that’s fine. I’ll straighten this out.”

Demure
isn’t your typical lingerie boutique – in any shape or form. It’s not what I would think of when someone says boutique. It’s two stories filled with frill, lace, diamonds, and satin. All of which are way out of my budget.
$200 for V-shaped thong? You’ve got to be kidding me.
Carol hands me a matching dark green bra and thong set to try on. I’m almost certain that stores like
Demure
don’t carry curvy girl sizes. I’m also pretty sure that their fine print reads: fatties not allowed.
Okay, I made that last part up.

“I know who would like you in these,” Carol says, wiggling her eyebrows. “It would look great with your red hair.” I can almost see the enthusiasm dripping from her lips. I know she’s teasing me about Nicholas. On the way over, the subject of the other night came up again, and of course she had a gleam in her eye when I told her my boss had been MIA all morning. She laughed as I told her how nervous it made me and how I couldn’t concentrate on anything.

“Carol, you’re really not helping,” I say, calling her out.

“He wants you. You’re just too proud to let yourself want him back.” Her words are so matter-of-fact that I almost want to ask her if she’s been secretly talking to him behind my back. Before I have a chance to ask, a petite Asian woman named Lola walks over to us. I couldn’t be more grateful for a welcome distraction from this awkward conversation.

"Welcome to
Demure.
How can I assist you?” she asks in a sultry voice. I catch a whiff of Lola’s rich perfume and cherry lip-gloss. If expensive had a scent, she’s what it would smell like. Carol stops to scan the store. It’s like she’s shopping for a car.

"We're looking for something hot for my friend here,” Carol says, elbowing me in the side.

"We're just looking," I explain, embarrassed. They’re definitely not going to have anything I can wear. Lola glances down at the work badge around my neck and smiles.

"Are you a friend of Mr. StoneHaven?” she asks. Something about the way she says
friend
sends my heart racing. Memories of the other night send a blush straight to my cheeks.

“She is,” Carol says, cutting in.

Lola smiles knowingly. "I think I have something that would look perfect on you. Follow me," she says, waving me over.

“Why did you say that?” I whisper to Carol.

“Maybe you’ll get a discount,” she says, grinning.

"I'm pretty sure I almost saw dollar signs pop out of her eyes,” I grumble. Carol laughs as she squeezes my hand and pulls me toward the fitting rooms.

"I'm so excited!” she squeals.

"At least one of us is.”

The fitting rooms are decorated with red satin curtains and silver trimming. I sit down on a plush couch that looks more like an oversized ottoman. Another employee with short blonde hair circles around with a tray of champagne and fresh strawberries.

"Would you like a glass?" she asks. “And some strawberries?”

"Sure,” I say, grabbing two glasses for Carol and me.

As Carol patrols the store, I watch with quiet curiosity as Lola gathers some lingerie for me to try on. I'm not sure how many outfits she's picked but I can see her hanging an assortment of colors on the fitting room rack. I toss back my glass of champagne. It bubbles slightly going down my throat.
Liquid courage
. I have to admit it's a great sales strategy.

An older gentleman sits a few feet away checking his watch. He's your typical Wall Street investor who wears way too much grey. From the silver hairs peeking out on the side of his head, he looks to be in his mid-forties. I spot a wedding band on his left hand.
He must be waiting on his wife.
On cue, a tall brunette struts out of the fitting room. She's gorgeous and definitely not in her mid-forties. She’s gorgeous in the baby doll negligee she’s wearing. The pink crème color compliments her long chestnut brown hair. The older gentleman watches with fascination as she prances outside the fitting room. She turns, giving herself a once over.