Chapter 3
Alexander
I t’s laughable, really, to even think about marriage when I’m not even in a relationship. And yet, here I am.
I pace the length of my new office, the thick carpet muffling my steps. The city stretches out beyond the wide window, shifting from day to night, skyscrapers flickering to life one by one.
From up here, everything looks orderly. Contained. Unlike the mess my father dumped in my lap.
The irony doesn’t escape me. I’ve spent the last five years building other companies from the ground up, proving I’m more than just Senator Hawthorne’s son.
I’ve closed deals worth hundreds of millions, expanded our reach across three continents, and earned a reputation for being the coldest bastard in every room.
But I can’t negotiate my way out of this.
Cameron’s voice breaks the silence. “Man, you look like you’re about to storm a castle.” He’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips.
Cameron Reed has been my closest friend since our time at Harvard, and he’s one of the few people who can read me like an open book. He’s relaxed, almost amused by my agitation.
“Maybe I am.” I yank my tie loose. “At least storming a castle would make sense. This is a goddamn political minefield.”
The sun dips behind the skyline, orange light spilling across the office. Most people have gone home. Only the die-hard workaholics like me and Cameron remain.
He drops into a chair, fixing me with those sharp brown eyes. “Tell him you’re not going to do it.”
“You overestimate my power to control how things work around here,” I reply with a sigh, my eyes scanning the paperwork on my desk but unable to focus on it. My mind is consumed with thoughts of my impending demise. I release a deep breath and rest my elbows on the desk.
“No, I don’t. Sometimes you have to stand your ground, Alex. Especially when it comes to something you don’t want.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Indeed, it is,” Cameron agrees and tosses a piece of paper onto the desk in front of me. “But that doesn’t mean you should disregard my advice. You know I’m not one to meddle in your affairs without reason. Just because something is expected of you doesn’t mean you must follow through.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “I don’t have a choice. It’s not just about me. It’s about the company, the family…”
“Stop making excuses. You always have a choice. Find someone who actually makes you happy, not just someone who ticks a box on a contract.”
With a sigh, I rub my forehead, the beginnings of a headache pressing behind my eyes. I know he’s right. It’s absurd, this idea that my father can hand-pick a wife for me. But in my family, it’s expected. Required, even.
“Have you met my father? His word is law, and if I told him I don’t want this marriage, he’d disown me on the spot.”
“Then you’ll have to change his mind.” Cameron shrugs, infuriatingly calm. “He’ll be pissed, yeah, but he loves you. He wants what’s best for you.”
That’s the problem. My father truly believes this marriage is the best thing for me. He’s obsessed with the idea of cementing our family’s legacy, marrying power to power, money to money. It’s led to an endless parade of would-be brides, each more insipid than the last.
Last month alone, he introduced me to three daughters of political allies. All of them beautiful, all of them calculating. The whole thing feels like a livestock auction, except I’m both the prize and the unwilling participant.
And then there was the secretary. My new hire turned out to be an heiress from some ancient Scottish banking clan. She was useless at her job and even worse at hiding her intentions. Lazy, incompetent, always batting her eyelashes at me like I’d fall for that.
My father is delusional if he thinks any of these women are right for me. Judging by her track record, marrying someone like her would be the fastest way to lose my fortune—and my sanity.
I love my father. But I refuse to let him destroy my life for the sake of appearances and this outdated belief that marriage will fix everything.
“I’m not marrying anyone. Not yet. It’s only a temporary inconvenience while I figure out how to get out of this mess.”
Cameron plucks a stress ball from my desk, tossing it up and catching it one-handed. “What about that Carter girl? Tiffany, wasn’t it? Your father seemed pretty thrilled about that one.”
Understatement of the year. My father practically glowed when he announced the arrangement with Dean Carter. The merger of political power and old money, he called it. A union to secure our family’s dominance for generations.
I’ve never even met Tiffany Carter. Not once. That should tell you everything about how invested I am in this so-called perfect match.
“She seems fine, I guess,” I say. “Young, beautiful, well-educated. Everything a political wife should be.”
“But?”
“But she’s twenty-two, Cam. Fresh out of college. She should be living her life, not shackled to some stranger. The last thing either of us needs is a marriage built on resentment.”
Cameron stops tossing the ball. “You know, for someone who’s supposedly heartless in business, you sure have a conscience about this.”
“I’m not heartless. I’m practical. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” He leans forward, eyes glinting. “So what’s your plan?”
I hesitate. “I haven’t figured it out yet.”
I need more time.
“What if you got a fake fiancée? Someone to play along for a few months, then call things off. No harm, no foul.”
I stare at him. “Where am I supposed to find someone willing to go along with that? You have experience with fake relationships now?”
“I can make some calls.”
I snort. “Let me guess, you’ll pick the shallowest blonde you can find?”
“No way. I know you prefer curvy brunettes. I’ll find one for you.”
“Keep dreaming.”
He smirks. “Suit yourself. But in the meantime, I need you to come with me to this event tonight.”
I glance at the invitation he tossed onto my desk. A thank-you dinner for donors at a local college. Suspicion creeps in. “What’s this about?”
“Just an event. Thought you could use a break from your dramatic life.”
“I’m not in the mood for socializing.” I push the invite away.
“Come on, Alex. You need a break. Besides, it’s a good chance to network with people who matter.”
“I have a late meeting tonight.”
“I took the liberty of clearing your schedule.”
My head snaps up. “You did what?”
“It’s an intervention.”
“Cam, I—”
“No excuses.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “It’s time you took control of your own life.”
“And what does this ‘intervention’ entail?”
Cameron perches on the edge of my desk, radiating confidence. He flicks invisible lint from his sleeve. “Networking. Not the boring kind you’re used to.”
“Networking,” I repeat, deadpan.
“There will be eligible women there. Women who have both beauty and brains, the kind you wouldn’t meet if you continue to bury yourself in these files.
” Cameron’s grin widens, and I can already sense the trap he’s setting.
“Maybe you’ll meet someone who makes you forget about the arranged marriage.
Someone you might enjoy spending time with.
You know, someone who laughs at your bad jokes. ”
I lean back, crossing my arms. “And if I don’t?”
“Then at least you’ll have enjoyed a good meal and some decent conversation. It’s a win-win.”
I sigh. There’s no escaping Cameron once he’s made up his mind. He has a way of wearing me down until I reluctantly agree to his schemes.
“Fine.” I gesture at the invitation on my desk. “But if this turns out to be some elaborate setup, I’m holding you personally responsible.”
“Deal.” Cameron claps his hands together, clearly pleased with himself. “Now, let’s get you out of this office before you morph into one of these filing cabinets.”
“Why do I put up with you?” I glare, but there’s a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. For all his meddling, Cameron is the one person who’s always had my back—even if his methods are questionable.
“Because I’m delightful,” he calls over his shoulder, already striding for the hallway. “See you at nine. Don’t be late.”
I watch him go, pausing at the elevator to flash that infuriating smirk and wave.
A fake fiancée is a ridiculous idea. But so is marrying a stranger for the sake of business. Maybe Cameron’s right. Maybe it’s time I take control of this mess before it gets any worse.
I look at the clock. Two hours until the event. Enough time to wrap up work and figure out how to survive tonight without losing my mind.