Chapter 22
twenty-two
. . .
Marco
I stood in my corner office at Rossi Media, staring out at the Columbus skyline without really seeing it. My mind was a million miles away.
I’d always prided myself on being the consummate professional, the golden boy who could charm clients and close deals with a flash of my signature grin—even if I did show up a little late once in a while. But lately, I was going through the motions, playing a role that no longer fit.
The office door swung open and my father strode in. He was just back from vacation, but his expression was already stern. I straightened my tie and hitched on a smile, bracing myself for the inevitable lecture.
“Marco.” He stood in front of my desk, arms crossed. “We need to talk.”
“What’s up, Dad?” As if I didn’t already know.
He tossed a tabloid onto my desk. Staring up at me from the front page was a photo of me with Meghan and Wick, our arms around each other, faces too close. I flinched inwardly but kept my expression neutral. “Those rags just make shit up for sales. It’s nothing.”
The lie left a bad taste in my mouth, but the reflex to keep my personal relationships away from my toxic father had me speaking before I knew what I was saying.
“Nothing? Your little dalliances are becoming a liability, Marco. This company can’t afford any more of your thoughtless antics and drama.”
“I’m handling it.” I insisted.
“Are you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re too busy playing the lothario to focus on what really matters.” He raised a finger and jabbed me in the chest. “It’s time to step up, son. No more excuses.”
I met his steely gaze, biting back my retort. “Actually, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that,” I said.
Meghan and Wick’s faces stared up at me from the tabloid. My chest constricted. No matter what my father said, they weren’t just some tawdry affair, a checkmark on my list of conquests. His words were meaningless. Just as they’d always been.
“Marco, get in here. Now.”
I winced as my father’s voice boomed through the house. I knew that tone.
I was in for it now.
I slunk into his study, my heart pounding and my mouth dry. He was sitting behind his massive oak desk, glaring at me over steepled fingers. “You want to explain to me why I got a call from your principal today?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm. “Something about you skipping class to make out with Tiffany Delmonico under the bleachers? ”
I licked my lips nervously. “It wasn’t like that, Dad. We were just talking.”
He slammed his fist on the desk, making me jump. “Don’t lie to me, boy. You think I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours? You’re selfish. Reckless. Determined to throw away every opportunity I’ve given you for a pretty face and a quick fuck.”
Hot, humiliated tears stung my eyes. “That’s not true. I care about Tiffany. I lo ? —”
“Love?” He cut me off with a sneer. “You don’t know the first thing about love, Marco. And you never will if you keep going down this path. You are a Rossi. You have a legacy to uphold. And I will not let you throw it all away for some teenage infatuation.”
I wanted to argue, to tell him that my feelings for Tiffany were real. But the words died on my tongue, withering under the force of his disapproval.
“You will end things with that girl. Today. And you will focus on your studies, on preparing yourself to take over the family business. Do I make myself clear?”
I nodded, my chest aching with the weight of his expectations. “Yes, sir.”
He waved me away, already turning back to his work. “Good. Now get out of my sight.”
I fled his study, tears streaming down my face. But even as I wept, a small, stubborn part of me railed against his words. I would prove him wrong. I would find love, real love, the kind that consumed you and transformed you and made everything else fade away.
And when I did, I would never let it go .
“I’ve been giving my future a fair bit of thought, and I’ve decided to resign from Rossi Media.”
The look of shock on my father’s face was both immensely satisfying and utterly terrifying. He stared at me, his eyes narrowing. “You’re what?”
“I’m resigning from Rossi Media. Effective immediately.”
“You can’t be serious. This company is your legacy, your birthright. You’d throw it all away for what—some blonde piece of ass and her brooding boy toy?”
“Don’t talk about them like that. This isn’t about Meghan and Wick.”
“Isn’t it?” He stabbed a finger at the tabloid. “You’ve been distracted, unfocused. Neglecting your duties.”
I shook my head. “That’s not true. I’ve been pulling my weight, same as always. But my heart’s not in it anymore, Dad. It hasn’t been for a long time.”
“Your heart? Since when do you have one of those? I thought you preferred to think with your dick.”
I refused to rise to the bait. Not this time. I looked him in the eye, my voice level. “I know you’re disappointed in me. And maybe you’re right, I have been distracted lately. But this isn’t some impulsive decision. I’ve been thinking about leaving for months now.”
“To go where? Do what?”
I shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure yet. But I need to find my own path, figure out what I really want.”
“What you want.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve given you everything, Marco. An education, a career, a future. And this is how you repay me?”
“This isn’t about you, Dad. Or what you want for me. I’m grateful for the opportunities you’ve given me, I am. But I’m not happy here. I haven’t been for a long time.”
“Happy? You think happiness matters in business? In life? Grow up, Marco.”
I sighed. “You’re not hearing me, Dad. This isn’t some whim. It’s my life. And I’m done living it for you, or Rossi Media.”
My father gaped at me, his face reddening. “You ungrateful little shit. After everything I’ve done for you?—”
“I know.” I cut him off quietly. “And like I said, I’m grateful. But I need to do this, Dad. I need to figure out who I am, what I want, separate from the family name.”
His eyes hardened. “If you walk out that door, Marco, don’t expect to come crawling back when you fall flat on your face.”
“I won’t. I’m sorry.” I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door, a newfound sense of purpose propelling me forward. I had a plan, one that had been percolating in the back of my mind for months. It was time to make it a reality.
Meghan opened the door to her penthouse. Her blue eyes widened when she saw me standing there. “Marco? What are you doing here?”
I grinned, holding up a bottle of champagne. “I come bearing gifts. And good news.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
I stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind me. “I quit my job today. ”
Meghan blinked. “You what?”
I popped the cork on the champagne with a flourish. “Yep. Shoulda seen my dad’s face. Priceless, really.”
She shook her head, a bemused laugh escaping her lips. “I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”
I poured us each a glass, handing one to her with a wink. “Because I finally figured out what I want. And it’s not some corner office that I didn’t earn and a fancy title.”
Meghan took a sip of her champagne, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. “And what is it that you want, Marco Rossi?”
I set my glass down and pulled her close. “You. Wick. This crazy, beautiful, messy thing we have together.”
She smiled, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. “And what about your career?”
“That’s the other part of the good news,” I said, my excitement building. “I’m starting my own agency. Rossi Creative. No more kowtowing to stuffy old men in suits. No more compromising my vision for the bottom line.”
Meghan’s eyes lit up. “That’s amazing, Marco. I’m so proud of you.”
I kissed her, long and deep, pouring everything I felt into the press of my lips against hers. She climbed onto my lap to straddle me, and seconds later she was lowering herself down on my cock. We moved together slowly and sweetly with aching tenderness. And as I lost myself in the warmth of her body, I knew I’d finally found my home.
“What the fuck?”
Neither of us had heard Wick enter the penthouse. Judging by the look on his face, shit was about to go down.