Chapter 2
“Morning, Mr. Stirling,” Nadia, my efficient executive assistant, greets me with a warm smile as she steps into my office, carrying a tray of freshly brewed coffee. She sets it down on my desk. “Your first meeting starts in fifteen minutes.”
I nod in acknowledgment, glancing at the coffee.
Nadia’s been with me for years now. Back then, she wasn’t my executive assistant, she was my intern.
It was at a different architecture firm, long before I opened Stirling Architecture and Design.
Even then, Nadia was sharp, driven, and had a talent for anticipating my needs before I even voiced them.
When I finally decided to leave and start my own firm, she was the first person I asked to come with me.
“Thank you, Nadia,” I reply, nodding as I glance at the agenda on my tablet. At the top of the list is the Waterfront Resilience Project, our bold initiative to transform Boston’s harbor front into a sustainable, flood-resistant district while preserving its historic charm.
Morning sunlight pours through the large windows of my corner office, bathing the sleek, minimalist space in a warm, golden glow.
The view of Boston’s bustling streets sprawls out below, a mix of historic charm and modern energy.
Inside, everything is quiet, orderly, and meticulously organized, just the way I like it.
My open briefcase rests on the desk, its contents neatly arranged.
Years ago, after losing my dad, I learned that control and precision are my anchors.
Now, nothing happens in my world without my say-so.
Twenty minutes later, I’m in the spacious conference room with my team of architects, urban planners, and sustainability experts.
The air buzzes with focus as we dive into the latest updates on the waterfront project.
Nadia moves effortlessly around the room, distributing printed copies of the district’s blueprints and the updated climate risk assessment.
Her efficiency keeps the meeting running smoothly.
“Our primary focus today is the shoreline infrastructure,” I announce, gesturing to the interactive display showing the harbor front.
The map highlights vulnerable zones and proposed solutions, including elevated walkways, green buffer zones, and stormwater management systems. “We need to ensure that these designs are not only effective against rising sea levels but also seamlessly integrate into the neighborhood’s character. ”
The room fills with thoughtful discussion.
Engineers discuss the viability of retractable flood barriers, while landscape architects present options for native vegetation to create natural stormwater filtration.
Others propose mixed-use spaces that combine flood protection with recreational areas, ensuring the design serves both residents and visitors.
“We need a solution that balances functionality, sustainability, and community value,” I emphasize. “The harbor front is more than a barrier, it’s a space where people live, work, and connect with the city’s history.”
By ten in the morning, we’ve identified key action items: testing new materials for flood resilience, revising timelines for construction in high-risk areas, and launching a public engagement campaign to gather input from the local community.
The team leaves energized, with a clear strategy in place.
“Sir, you have a video conference with Mr. Sinclair at eleven,” Nadia says as she rushes to meet my long strides as we make our way back to my office.
“Right. Which Sinclair am I meeting with again?” I ask, pulling out my phone and scrolling through my messages. I notice a few from a group chat I’ve been doing everything not to be a part of.
“Marcus Sinclair. Rowan Sinclair retired,” Nadia explains.
I nod, recalling the one time I met Marcus Sinclair back when he was CFO of his family’s company. He came across as intensely business-driven, so it’s no surprise he stepped into the CEO role. I also know he’s close friends with my brother, who’s spoken highly of him on more than one occasion.
“Thank you, Nadia. I’ll be ready to make the call at eleven. Can you make sure a bouquet gets sent to my mother?”
“Already taken care of, sir,” she replies, scanning her iPad.
“What kind did you choose?”
“Pink carnations.”
I smile. “A mother’s undying love, nice touch. She’s going to love it. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
I pause outside my office and glance at her. “What would I do without you?”
She smirks. “Let’s hope you never have to find out. Is there anything else you need, sir?”
I get another notification from my phone, and I know it’s that stupid group text.
“I’ll let you know,” I say as I enter my office. I scroll through my messages as I sit at my desk.
THE LEAGUE
Kingsley
Back in town, poker?
Kingsley Ashford, heir to a legacy of business empires in Canada and the USA, and great-grandson of the founder of the prestigious Ashford University, crossed my path through business.
At just twenty-three, he’s poised to become the CEO of Ecotech Innovations, his family’s multi-billion-dollar company, where he currently serves as COO.
Despite his youth, Kingsley exudes a maturity beyond his years, already proving himself a formidable force in the business world and earning respect and admiration from everyone he encounters.
Des
In Costa Rica for the time being, but I’ll let you know.
Desmond is my brother, my Irish twin, as our mom likes to remind us, since we’re only eleven months apart. He’s a respected chef who owns three successful restaurants across the U.S. and is currently working on opening a fourth.
Kingsley
Cal, how the fuck did you get engaged and not tell me?
Des
Don’t even ask him.
Justin
Hold up. Engaged? As in wedding ring engaged? Or one of those “spiritually aligned” influencer things?
Justin Williams is Kingsley’s oldest friend.
Raised together in Quebec, the two of them might as well be brothers.
His family owns one of the largest media conglomerates in the province—newspapers, television networks, and radio stations dedicated to preserving Quebec’s French heritage—but Justin never cared for that world.
He recently opened his own sports agency in Boston, representing up-and-coming athletes across North America.
He owns a gym, but that’s more of a passion project, a place for us to train, blow off steam, and spar when life gets too serious.
Des
You know what, J? Now that you mention it, “spiritually aligned” sounds a hell of a lot more plausible.
I roll my eyes. Did I say these men were mature? Never mind, that’s only when it comes to business.
My so-called engagement is turning into more of a headache than I anticipated.
I need a wife to impress the important businessman who owns the land where I plan to build my skyscraper, a dream I’ve had since I first understood what being an architect meant.
This land… it isn’t just a good deal, it’s the deal.
The kind of opportunity most architects spend their entire careers chasing and never touch.
It’s the last undeveloped corner in the financial district with direct skyline exposure and grandfathered zoning permissions.
No bureaucratic gridlock. No height restrictions.
Just raw, untouched potential. It’s the only place in the city where I can build my tower, the tower I’ve been designing since I was twenty-one.
This skyscraper isn’t just a passion project.
It’s personal. It’s the proof that I didn’t waste a lifetime sacrificing birthdays, relationships, weekends, sleep, for nothing.
It’s the culmination of every award I didn’t stop to accept, every late night I spent redrawing lines no one else could see.
And now, after years of building my name from the ground up, the only thing standing between me and that tower is a man who doesn’t believe in blueprints unless they’re backed by bloodlines.
Mr. Whitmore. Billionaire. Landowner. A relic from another era who believes that trust starts at the dinner table. That a man who can’t hold down a home has no business holding a skyline. No wife, no deal. He made that clear. He’s old money, values tradition, family, and roots.
So, I gave him what he needed to see.
Abigail and I made an agreement: twelve months of appearances, a wedding photo for the papers, and a graceful exit once the ink on the land deed is dry.
She gets a seven-figure settlement, I get my land, and everyone wins.
The board loves it; they’ve been silently hoping I’d “soften my image” for years.
Investors are reassured. All that is left is for Mr. Whitmore to come around.
It was supposed to be simple. Clean. A means to an end.
Only my brother knows that my engagement to Abigail is purely a business deal.
He’s tried to talk me out of it on several occasions, but once I make a decision, that’s it.
We’ve got a rock-solid NDA in place, so only he, Abigail, my lawyer, and I know the truth.
Everyone else thinks it’s the real deal, and I’m committed to that story.
This project is my passion, and I’ll feel fulfilled once it’s complete.
I want to prove it to myself and the world that I’ve made it, but most importantly, I want to do this for my pops.
Kingsley
No, seriously. Blink twice if you’re being held hostage.
Justin
Or if you signed a prenup written in blood.
I decide to reply because, knowing them, they won’t stop whatever this is.
You are all grown men. Act like it.
If you must know, I fell in love. Yes, it was sudden and unexpected, but I love her enough to want to put a ring on it. Now, shut the fuck up about it. We are all too busy to act like children.
Kingsley
Are we being gaslighted?
Des
sure feels like it.
Justin
So we’re just pretending you didn’t just sound like a PR statement?