Accidentally Yours

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Damien

“This is the fourth time in three months, Damien,” my Uncle Kroy’s voice cut through the tension-filled boardroom like a knife. “Page Six again.” He threw the tabloid printout of this morning’s article down in front of me.

Boardrooms by Day, Bottle Service by Night—Damien Blackwood Parties on the Edge. Insiders say his social life is as reckless as his takeovers since his father’s passing.

I sighed, loosening my tie as I stared at the stern faces of the board, all gathered around the long, rectangular mahogany table.

“With all due respect, Uncle Kroy, my personal life?—”

“Stopped being personal when our stock dropped eight percent after the photos from your drunkfest over the weekend hit the internet,” my uncle shouted, pointing at me.

“Three models, a yacht, and what appears to be several hundred dollars’ worth of champagne isn’t a good look when we’re trying for a merger.” Rufus adjusted his glasses.

“That yacht belonged to an investor I’m trying to get on board. It was nothing but pure business.”

“Was it business when you got your picture taken with your head between that woman’s breasts?” Uncle Kroy shouted.

“Kroy,” Rufus raised his hand. “There’s no need to shout. We’re all men and women here.”

“Well, he’s acting like a spoiled, entitled child. I suppose that’s my brother’s fault.” He paced around the conference room with his hands on his hips.

“Don’t you dare,” I shouted, pointing at him.

“Vale Holdings is going under, and you damn well know we need this merger just as much as they do. It was almost a done deal before your father passed away. Now, they don’t know if they can trust us, and you’re proving they can’t!” Uncle Kroy yelled. “You know how they are about family, values, and traditions. Goddamn it!” He turned and faced the window, staring at the Manhattan skyline.

“My personal life does not affect how I run this company,” I shouted, jamming my finger into the table.

“The fuck it doesn’t!” Uncle Kroy yelled. “Two potential investors already backed out of negotiations after last month’s headlines, citing ‘reputational concerns.’ Your father did not build this company from the ground up to have his only son fuck it up. He worked his ass off for this company!”

“And so do I!” I shouted, standing from my chair. “How dare you, Uncle Kroy?” I pointed at him.

“Okay. Okay.” Nadia, one of the other board members, put her hands up. “Everyone needs to calm down. I’ll have Sydney do social damage control. Until then, Damien.” She glanced at me with a stern look. “You are to stop being reckless and getting fucking caught! Your father believed in you. He left you in charge of the company after his death because he knew you’d carry on the legacy of Blackwood Holdings. This company was his baby, and I will not sit here and let you destroy it because you can’t get your act together. We all know how hard you’re taking his death, but enough is enough.” She stood from her leather chair. “This meeting is over.”

All of the board members walked out except my Uncle Kroy. With a slight turn of my chair, I stared out the window, remembering what my father told me.

“You can see the world from up here, Son. See all those tall buildings and skyscrapers? They represent wealth. This view will give you strength and empowerment when you're grown and employed here. Let it serve as a reminder of what you’ve accomplished and how much more achievement will come.”

He was always a wise man. But as I stared at today's view, it only showed me how far I could fall if I weren’t careful. I stared at my Uncle Kroy as he sat in the leather high-back chair, gripping the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Kroy.”

“Listen, Damien. I know how much you miss your father. So do I. He was my only brother and best friend. His death hit me just as hard. But do you see me living life like a fool and threatening the livelihood of this company? You’re thirty years old, for fuck’s sake. I know you’re still grieving, but get your life together or?—”

“Or what? Are you threatening me?” I asked.

“I don’t have to threaten you, Damien. You already know the consequences if you don’t clean up your act.” He stood and walked out of the conference room.

I ran my hand down my face before heading to my office.

“Excuse me, Damien?—”

“Not now,” I said to Christine, my secretary. “I don’t want to be disturbed.” I walked into my office and shut the door.

After a few minutes, the door opened, and my best friend, Charlie, stepped inside, raising both his hands.

“I come in peace.” He smirked. “Besides, your ‘I don’t want to be disturbed’ bullshit doesn’t include me. I heard about the board meeting. Are you okay?”

“Just peachy.” I leaned back in my chair.

“Donna read the article this morning and saw the pictures of your weekend on the yacht.”

“Oh yeah? Did she tell you we can’t be friends anymore?” My brow raised.

“No. But she said you need some major help and that it’s our duty as your friends to ensure you get it.” He slid a folded piece of paper across my desk.

“What’s this?” I picked it up and looked it over.

“The names of the best therapists in the city. Take your pick, call one, and set up an appointment.”

I held the paper up, crumbled it in my hand, and tossed it in the trash can.

“That’s okay,” he said, nodding. “You’re angry right now. But when you have a chance to cool off, consider getting some help.” He stood from his chair and headed toward the door.

“Hey, Charlie?”

“Yeah?” He turned and looked at me.

I held up my middle finger, cocking my head.

“Love you, too, Damien.” He laughed, walking out of my office.

* * *

“I’m sorry.” I sighed, rolling off Rebecca and placing my hand on my chest.

“It’s okay. It happens,” she said.

“No! It doesn’t happen to me,” I snapped, climbing off the bed and pulling my underwear on.

I’d been seeing Rebecca for about a month, my usual time when I started getting bored and antsy with women. I stood at the window with my hands on my hips, staring at the brightly lit city. It had been three months since my father passed and two weeks since the board meeting. Turning around, I picked up the glass of scotch on the nightstand and let the amber liquid burn down my throat as I stared at Rebecca.

“Come back to bed.” She smiled, patting the empty side. “Let’s try again.”

“No. I think it’s time you left, Rebecca.”

“What? No, Damien.”

I reached down, picked up her clothes from the floor, and tossed them on the bed.

“Get dressed. You won’t be hearing from me again.” I walked out of the bedroom with my empty glass.

A few moments later, Rebecca blew into the living room after I poured another scotch.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she asked.

“Nothing.” I tipped the glass to my lips.

“Bullshit, Damien. Tell me right now! Does this have anything to do with those whores from the yacht?”

“No. Not at all.”

“You are so full of shit. I’m surprised you’re not drowning in it. You’re such a liar, Damien.”

“You want to know the truth, Rebecca? I’m bored.” I held out my arms. “You knew this wasn’t anything long-term.”

She reached up and slapped me across the face. She wasn’t the only woman who had ever slapped me, and she wouldn’t be the last. It was something I’d grown used to over the years.

“You’re a piece of shit, Damien Blackwood. I hope you rot in hell one day!”

“Fair enough.”

“I should have known better.” She shook her head as she stomped to the elevator.

I finished my drink, rubbed my stinging cheek, and headed to bed.