Chapter 2 #2
I roll my eyes again and send them a middle-finger emoji before getting out of the text thread. Despite my eye-rolling, I can’t help but chuckle. They might be a pain in my ass, but I know they’ve got my back.
After my video conference with Marcus Sinclair about being a potential investor, I feel a little more relaxed. It went better than expected; he seems down-to-earth. I pull out my phone and text Abigail.
won’t be home till later. Don’t wait up.
A few minutes later, my personal phone rings. Usually, I’d let it go to voicemail, but when I see who it is, I know I have to answer.
“Mr. Whitmore, it’s good to hear from you,” I say when I pick up. “What can I do for you?”
“Please, call me Jameson. I heard about your engagement, and I wanted to congratulate you personally,” he says. I can’t help but roll my eyes.
Jameson Whitmore is the kind of man who built a legacy from the ground up and made sure the ground belonged to him first. A self-made billionaire with a storied career in real estate and land development, he started out flipping modest properties in his twenties and turned that into an empire of high-rise landmarks and generational wealth.
Every major developer in this city has, at one point or another, shaken his hand or been shut out by it.
His portfolio spans coastlines, skylines, and everything in between.
I’ve always respected his mind. The man sees value where others see risk. He plays the long game. I know he thinks I’m too clinical, too cold, but I also know he recognizes talent when he sees it. His respect isn’t given; it’s earned. And right now, I need more than his respect. I need his land.
“Thank you. We’re excited for this new chapter in our lives,” I say, forcing enthusiasm into my voice as I get up and walk to my small bar to pour myself some Hennessy.
“I’m happy to hear that. Family is at the core of everything we do,” Jameson says. I suppress a scoff.
It’s not that I don’t believe in marriage; my parents were happily married for twenty-six years before my dad passed away.
They were so in love that I had no choice but to believe in it.
But that doesn’t mean I’m ready for that kind of commitment.
I’ve always told myself that if I ever get married, it will be to someone I can’t imagine living without.
Until then, I am perfectly fine with the single life.
Of course, plans changed, which is why my mom knows nothing about Abigail.
I don’t want to break her heart if she finds out our marriage is fake.
“I would love to have you and your fiancée over for dinner on Friday,” he says, and I have to restrain myself from pumping my fist in the air.
Instead, I coolly respond, “We would love to. Thank you.”
“Alright, I’ll see you then.” I sigh in relief after he hangs up, taking a moment to soak in this victory, before I check my messages.
Abigail
Actually, me too. I have some errands to run. Blair is doing her own thing, too.
I read the text again, surprised to see that she’s not spending the day with her sister after all. Maybe I can work from home.
No, don’t even think about it, I tell myself firmly, but the idea continues to swirl inside my mind. I have so much work to do, and I don’t need the distraction that is my fake fiancée’s sister. I let out a heavy sigh, running my fingers through my beard.
Fuck.
All morning, I have tried and failed not to think about her sister.
During the initial background check, which was a routine part of the process, I’d seen the pictures of her, so I knew Blair was pretty.
However, I did not expect my body to react to her the way it did.
It was like a magnetic pull had been formed the first moment I set my eyes on her, and I couldn’t fight against it.
At least not mentally. Externally, I appeared as composed as ever, but my insides were on fire.
Abby had one rule: do not touch her younger sister. I, of course, promised that wouldn’t happen. Now, I wonder how hard it may be to stick to that arrangement. It’s been a long time since someone has affected me that way… much less someone this much younger.
She’s a terrible choice for a multitude of reasons. Aside from her ties to Abby and age, I also have a certain taste that only like-minded women go for.
I lean back against my chair, letting out a soft sigh. I’d figure a way to deal with this. I always do.
I resolve to work from home, convincing myself I probably won’t even see her. Right? Right.
“Nadia?” I call out as I gather my things and walk out of my office. She stands up quickly, grabbing her iPad.
“Sir?”
“Cancel my face-to-face meetings and forward me all the emails I need to review today. I’m working from home,” I instruct her, making my way to the elevator. She follows closely behind.
“Uh… okay, not a problem, sir. Is everything okay?” she asks, surprised. I’ve only done this a handful of times in emergencies. This isn’t an emergency, per se, but no matter what I tell myself, I know I hope I’ll get to see Blair back home.
“Everything is fine, Nadia. Just stay in the office in case I need you,” I reply, snapping back to reality.
“Of course, sir.”
I head down into the garage, and my driver opens the car for me.
Our drive is silent, just the way I like it, and I spend most of my time working on my phone.
Time is money, and a single moment of distraction can cost you everything.
That’s why work comes first, before anything else.
As we pull up at my building, I walk over to the elevator, pressing the button that takes me upstairs.
I eye myself in the mirrors that surround me. Every muscle in my body appears tense, and I suspect I know the reason behind it. In my head, I already try to justify this foolish move. I should get to know my fiancée’s family, shouldn’t I?
The thought of it sounds ridiculous, even inside my head.
When the elevator door opens, the penthouse is quiet, eerily so.
I glance at the time, almost noon. I sigh.
I’m too busy, too old, and frankly, too rational for this.
Younger women have never been my type, so I can’t quite wrap my head around why Blair has me so off balance, why I want to see her again.
Deciding that enough is enough, I retreat to my office and bury myself in work. For a while, it works. Emails are answered, deadlines addressed, tasks ticked off. But the harder I try not to think about seeing her again, the more I want to do exactly that.
It’s nothing more than intrigue. After all, I just met her, I tell myself. There’s no reason I should be obsessing about seeing her again.
An hour passes before I finally push back from my desk, deciding it’s time for a water break. I could stretch my legs, anyway. I move toward the kitchen, where an unexpected noise draws my attention.
I stop in my tracks. There she is. Blair, her back to me as she dances to a song I can’t place in the middle of my kitchen. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches her hair, and for a moment, I just stand there, caught between amusement and something I can’t quite name.
She’s completely lost in her own world.
She’s wearing a skin-tight, ankle-length dress that hugs her perfect figure. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail by a hot pink bow, and I find myself drawn to the graceful curve of her neck.
She starts swaying her hips from left to right, completely unaware of my presence. I can’t help but smile, captivated by the way she moves as her laughter mixes with the music. It’s intoxicating. For a moment, I forget about everything else screaming at me not to do it.
Once more, I tell myself that this is just initial interest. It will pass soon.
It has to.