Chapter 1
Present Day
I barely heard any of the meeting. I’ve worked out a way to tune boring shit out, yet still be able to retain some of the conversation, in case my employees asked questions.
I’ve been in advertising for as long as I can remember. Devereaux Media had been my father’s company, and since his retirement, the torch had been passed down to me. Of course, this is what I know. What I’m good at. But after a while, it all got monotonous.
For some reason, I’ve been craving to get away from the city these last few weeks. Work has been crazy, and though I’d never care to admit it aloud, I’m burned out.
I have a manor in Elstone, Gloucestershire, nestled in the picturesque Cotswolds. It’s my sanctuary. A place I like to go when I need to reset. It’s quiet, for one, and surrounded by nature — something I never knew I craved until my forties —and most of all, I like how I switch off from everything whenever I’m there. That doesn’t happen as often as I’d like.
My three-story apartment in South Kensington, however, is where I spend most of my time. It’s opulent with 3,000 square feet. Three bedrooms; mine has a dressing room, and three bathrooms all finished in marble with brass fixtures. The kitchen, which I rarely use, is equipped with every appliance under the sun. The reason I bought the apartment in the first place was the 360 degree wrap-around terrace with views across London.
My life is hectic, to say the least. I run a multi-billion-dollar company, and with that comes sacrifices. I’ve never remarried, not after Abigail died, and I’ve never desired children. Some would say I’m a ladies’ man, but just because I know how to fuck a woman right, doesn’t mean I’m any kind of gigolo. I just know what women want, and there have been many, but I’ve never really been capable of more.
However, lately I’ve been feeling less and less like meaningless sex —which isn’t like me — and I don’t know if it has anything to do with my upcoming 45th birthday, or if it’s something more sinister. Maybe I’m facing a mid-life crisis? I usually bed a woman two to three times a week. I think that’s normal for a bachelor my age who doesn’t have any other commitments aside from work. Admittedly, sometimes I use an escort service, but more times than not, I’ll pick women up in a bar or one of the clubs my friends drag me to on the weekends. The opposite sex are complicated creatures, which is why using an escort agency can be less harrowing. We both know why we’re there, and the women are exactly my taste because I only use élégance. A high-class, professional service and above all else, discreet. I’ve used them before when I needed a date without the romantic hassles. Not all the women who work there are your typical bimbos. Without trying to sound arrogant, I don’t need to buy women, but they are a hell of a lot less complicated.
“You know that the second you start thinking about staying in on your birthday, rather than hanging out with us, is a sure sign your balls have already shrivelled up to the size of grapes.” My best friend, Devon’s words ring in my ears.
We’ve known each other since my early rugby days, and then we studied together at Eaton. He’s always the first to tell me what he thinks, whether I want his opinion or not.
I’d told him to fuck off. Then again, if I don’t let my friends throw me some meaningless party, then I’ll have no friends at all. I’ve left the details completely up to Devon and my sister Layne. My sister is ten years younger than me, and a royal pain in my ass. Literally, she will stalk me and hunt me down if I don’t let her have some say. To me, it’s just another birthday. Just another way to be reminded of getting older and how lonely my life really is.
I have no one to blame but myself. I take full responsibility for throwing myself into my work and leaving little time for anything else. My father was a workaholic, and he only retired early because of a second heart scare, and my mother giving him an ultimatum. There’s nothing like the onset of an oncoming heart attack to make a person realise that not everything revolves around the office.
I’d do well to heed some of my mother’s advice. She has always been the stronger one emotionally out of the two.
I was lucky; I came from a house with loving parents and a great childhood. I thank my lucky stars every time I hear about one of my friend’s fucked up family life. There is nothing I would change about my family, even my annoying sister who I often forget is a thirty-four-year-old woman.
My phone vibrates on the table and I glance down.
Layne
Hey bro. I was hoping we could catch up for lunch today? Discuss the party?
I roll my eyes. And so it begins.
I quickly tap out a message, completely tuning out anything anyone is saying.
Me
I don’t need to be involved. Use your imagination.
I see the grey bubble appear, knowing this isn”t the end of it. I take a sip of my coffee and wait. Sure enough…
Layne
Seriously? I’m disappointed in you, A. I need your input for the ice sculptures.
I blow air out of my cheeks, earning me a few looks as I type back quickly.
Me
Ice sculptures? Don’t even think about it. Next you’ll be saying you want swans with little bows tied around their necks, greeting all the guests.
Layne
Actually. That’s not a bad idea!
Me
I was kidding
Layne
Giving me full access to your credit card didn’t mean that you get to just sit back and let me do all the work.
I smile when I imagine her indignant face.
Me
So don’t do it. I was happy having dinner with you and the olds.
Layne
Honestly, A. I wonder if we’re even related. Speaking of which, tell Devon there are to be ABSOLUTELY NO strippers at this party!
Me
Tell him yourself. Strippers have feelings you know.
A grin spreads across my face when I think about my 40th birthday and the shit my friends got up to. Much to my sister’s dismay. She’s right though; this is a family affair and we don’t need to get crazy.
Layne
If I even catch a whiff of Devon or any of your other scummy mates doing anything inappropriate, so help me, I’ll cut their balls off
I laugh.
Then I look up and everyone is staring at me.
I give my second in charge, Timothy, a heads up. “Are we almost done?”
He nods, knowing that I’m lost in translation and this meeting is boring as bat shit.
Me
I have to get back to work.
Layne
Meet you at Sushi Heaven at 1pm
I sigh.
This is exactly why I don’t want or need a damn birthday party. Because there’s too much to organise. And I don’t do fucking parties or goddamn ice sculptures. I swear my sister has too much time on her hands.
There is no point replying. If I try and dodge it, she’ll turn up at my office and then I’ll never get rid of her.
I look up from my phone.
“Fine,” I say, at the tail end of Oliver ranting about our rivals, Prime Media, and their new ad campaign. Their CEO Jeremy Fuller is a bag of dicks. He inherited the company from his grandfather, but doesn’t know the first thing about how to run the place, or how to be a leader. I’d love to buy it one day and dismantle it, just to see the look on his pretty boy face. “We’ll run with Timothy’s suggestion and ride out the storm. If fuckface Jeremy thinks he can win his new board over with the shit he’s been putting out lately, then let him sink his own ship.”
Timothy snickers. He’s just waiting for a battle. “Agreed. I’ll keep you updated.”
Yes. Dismantling a fifty-year-old, well-respected company and sub-dividing it so there’s nothing left but spare parts, making Prime Media nothing but a blip, might actually put me in a better mood.
I get a sick satisfaction, however, watching people sink themselves. And Jeremy has enough rope to hang himself.
Everyone gets up to leave but I stop Jerard, my PA. “I need to run over this week’s schedule with you again.” I run a hand through my hair.
“Did I miss something?” he asks. It’s not unusual for us to reschedule things several times a day. Sometimes it seems like everyone in this fucking town wants a piece of me.
“Push my one o’clock to two. I’m having lunch with my sister.”
“Very well, is there anything else?” He taps away on his iPad.
I like Jared. He’s efficient and good at what he does. He also doesn’t do stupid shit or fawn over me — being a heterosexual male — and I never have to ask him to do anything twice. Fuck knows why he’d want to be my PA, but he enjoys organising and he is one of the few who don’t make my life a living hell.
“Remind me of anything important I need to do today.” I look at him pointedly.
He clicks around. “After your two o’clock, you have a meeting with Japan about their new beer commercial, you told me to remind you that Lachlan was, and I quote, ‘as useless as balls on a chicken,’ sir.”
I roll my lips. “I did?”
“Yes, but since you fired him last week, I don’t see it being an issue.” His eyes meet mine and I laugh.
“I think you need a raise.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “My jokes are very good, but I think I can do better.”
“The drunkards from last year”s Christmas party would agree with you.”
“At four you have a workout scheduled with Lamar, and I’ve got those season tickets you asked for last week. They’re on your desk,” he goes on.
“Good. Thank you.”
“I made dinner reservations for you and Natalie Simmons.”
My eyebrows raise. Who?
Seeing the confusion on my face, he says, “The designer for Modelz and Co. They have a new self-tan out that has some ‘staying-power technology’ they claim they invented. It’s the number one fake tanning brand on the market at the moment.”
“Then why do they need us?”
“They’re currently with Prime Media.”
I smirk. “Ah, that’s making more sense.” I pause, then add. “Did we fuck?”
He sputters, pushing up his glasses as his cheeks redden slightly. “I don’t know, sir. It’s a possibility.”
I sigh. “I think I’ll send Timothy.”
“Sir?”
Even if she is cute, I’m not sitting around discussing fake tanning with a woman I probably already fucked and then there will be questions why I never called. It’s not personal, I’m just not very good at remembering important shit like that. Plus, I’ve rarely met a woman that I want to see more than once. Unless it’s élégance.
“You’re right. I should send Deidre. She’ll keep the meeting strictly business. Good idea. Rearrange it and send my apologies.”
He nods, standing to leave. “Would you like me to arrange Sergio for dinner?”
Sergio is my chef. He comes into my home and cooks a few times a week, leaving leftovers in the freezer. I’m a busy man. While I like the idea of cooking a meal in my designer kitchen, I have nobody to cook for. When me and my friends eat, we go out.
There are a lot of amazing restaurants around London, and I own three of them.
“That won’t be necessary, Jared. I’ll pick something up on the way home.”
“Just a reminder that you have a conference call in thirty minutes with Luca from the New York office,” he says as he leaves.
“Where would I be without you?” I call after him.
“Definitely not on time,” he calls back.
I gather my papers and roll the chair back.
Another day of endless meetings.
Another day of nameless faces.
Another day of going through the motions and feeling empty.
This is my life.