Chapter 2
Alexander
I'm on my way to the company, and according to my GPS, I should be there in about twenty minutes.
A call comes in. It’s Marc, and I hit accept. My phone is connected to the car, and the hands-free system activates with a touch.
"Hey, how are you?" I ask.
My best friend was actually supposed to call me earlier, but I completely understand that he wanted to enjoy his wedding night and the following Sunday.
The interruption during the ceremony had been catastrophic enough.
Stephanie had nearly called everything off and walked away but fortunately, we were able to salvage the situation, and everything turned out well in the end.
"Better," he mumbles and yawns. "Stephanie's still asleep. I snuck out."
"I'll be at the office in about twenty," I announce.
"I don't plan on talking your ear off for that long." Marc chuckles. In the background, there's clattering and clicking. He's probably making himself coffee. "Man, what a night. And the one before wasn't bad either," he admits, amused. "Your tip was worth its weight in gold," he adds.
"Told you so," I reply with a broad grin.
They’d both abstained from sex for a month and even slept in separate beds. They definitely had a lot to make up for in the two nights after the ceremony.
"But she brought up that crazy woman again. I think she's still a bit unsettled. What am I supposed to do now?"
He sounds a little annoyed, but mostly just as insecure as his wife is.
"I memorized the license plate but my buddy from the police hasn't gotten back to me yet,” I tell him. “He doesn't start his shift until later today. As soon as I find out who she is, I'll pay her a visit. It would be best if she apologizes to Stephanie personally and clears up the situation."
"If a guy had shown up, I'd probably have doubts too. Honestly. I really understand where she's coming from."
"Trust is good, control is better," I quote.
"Man, I would never cheat on her. She's my dream woman," he gushes and then adds: "I would fall apart if she started something with another guy."
"That's called love," I say as I stop at a red light. The traffic in London is a disaster, but not nearly as bad as in New York. But I had a driver there.
That’s what I get for wanting to drive myself to be more independent and take my favorite sports car.
"Yeah," he says dreamily, which makes me smile.
"If the marriage lasts, don't forget my medal," I remind him. "A bet's a bet."
I’d been convinced the two of them would make the perfect couple, and he thought their relationship wouldn't last three years. After eight months of them dating and right before a romantic wedding, we’d changed the terms to three years of marriage.
If they divorce before that, he wins. If not, I get a medal that he’ll get made for me. "It has to be gold," I place my order.
"And so heavy it'll knock you to the ground," Marc says, laughing. The coffee maker in the background starts to rattle.
"I'll work out even harder so I can wear it with pride," I joke and continue driving.
"I want to thank you again, Alex," he says, then adds with a slightly melancholic tone: "For introducing me to Stephanie and setting us up, and of course for the financial jumpstart. Without you, I'd still be a single loser who gets rejected by banks. And now? Look at me. I'm living like a king."
"A king who still uses the coffee maker from his student days."
I'd recognize that rattling and clicking anywhere.
"It does what it's supposed to," he defends the old thing.
"That alone should be proof enough for Stephanie. You don't easily part with things that mean something to you."
"I'm just afraid if I compare her to my coffee maker, she'll be damn mad."
Yeah, he should probably avoid that.
"I better make sure I'm on time. My father hates it when people are late, and especially if it's me."
"You're the epitome of punctuality," he jokes sarcastically. "How many alarms did you have to turn off this morning?"
"Nine."
"Nine?" he asks, shocked.
"I just hate getting up so early. Why does he schedule the meeting at such an ungodly hour?" The sun feels like it rose just five minutes ago. "A week ago, I’d just been coming home at this hour. And I already suffer by jetlag from hell," I complain.
"Hey, we specifically scheduled our wedding for last weekend so it would work with your timing," he points out.
"And I'm really grateful for that. I wanted to enjoy New York to the fullest and thoroughly say goodbye to all the amenities." I can't help but grin broadly as I say this.
"The eternal bachelor."
"You know it."
"Stephanie has a lot of friends, I could ask her..."
"Definitely not."
"Well, I know that some of the bridesmaids found you damn hot," he reminds me.
I did notice that, but they were practically family.
I've known Marc since school and Stephanie is a very good friend, so her cousins, sisters, and friends are part of the inner circle. Never fuck the company, as they so nicely say. I count them among the company, so no, it would be kind of weird. So, I’m not even touching that.
"London has beautiful women and tourists. And if I feel like a hot Italian, I can just hop on a plane to Rome."
"Do you feel like a second bet?" Marc sounds excited, but I sense trouble.
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On whether I have a hundred% chance of winning it. Otherwise, I'm not getting involved."
I handle my private life the same as I do my job: Risk minimizes my interest.
"Coward," he provokes me.
"Alright, shoot!" I am goaded. Least I can do is listen to what he has to say.
"In a year at the latest, you'll have a woman you want to marry."
I start laughing and almost miss the exit because of it.
"I'll do my best find the perfect woman for you," he adds.
"That'll be a full-time job that'll be ultimately hopeless," I promise him.
"Yeah, resist all you want, but in the end, I'll set you up with someone and you'll be happy. Just like me."
"Not in this lifetime. Maybe in the next one. In this one, I'm just me."
And that is successful and always busy. If I ever get reincarnated, then I can deal with love and starting a family. But not now. Not in my current form.
"Since when do you believe in that stuff?" he asks.
"I don't."
"You're such an idiot," he says, and I grin.
"So, how do you like London these days?"
"Eh, it's just London," I say, and my mood immediately drops considerably.
"It's not so bad. After all, it's home."
"Yeah, sure, but I really miss New York. These two cities couldn't be more different. Like a steak and a vegan cutlet," I laugh. Stephanie has been vegan for some time and Marc has to suffer a bit because of it.
"I get it," he says, and we both laugh, even though I don't feel like it.
We chat a bit more about the wedding until I reach the company and park in my assigned spot.
"So, I’ve arrived. I'll check in later as soon as I know anything new about the license plate."
"Alright. Talk to you later."
I hang up and remove my phone from the mount, put it in my pocket and adjust my tie and my watch.
As I get out of the car, I cast a critical look around.
The parking lot is clean and well-maintained, and the landscaping also gives a good impression.
My father insists on such details. Punctuality.
Precision. Intelligence. Good manners. A well-groomed appearance.
The five pillars of his success. I’ll be following in his footsteps soon, and it won’t be easy.
To live up to his standards, I’ll have to work hard.
I walk calmly toward the entrance. It’s as imposing as anything I’ve seen in New York.
He spared no expense in shaping the first impression for potential clients.
For a tech company, the extravagance feels more suited to a fashion brand, but that’s my father.
He loves the grand and flashy. I prefer classic and simple.
The reception hall is massive, with a soaring ceiling topped by a glass dome. From here you can see all the way up to the eighth floor, the galleries lining each level clearly visible.
My gaze drifts to the black furniture arranged near the tall windows. A few employees sit there, chatting over their morning coffee. Laptops are open on the tables, phones in hand or next to them. Young, polished women in heels hurry past me. I catch a few surprised looks but ignore them.
The reception desk stands in the center of the entrance hall. Several employees are busy there, answering phones, typing at their computers, helping colleagues with questions.
I pull out my ID card, which gives me access through security and into the restricted area.
As I head toward the metal detectors, guarded by several large, broad-shouldered men, I notice a woman just ahead of me.
She strides toward them confidently, and they’re already smiling and greeting her warmly.
The people before her only received a curt nod, nothing more.
She must be someone important, but apparently not important enough to have an assistant. She’s juggling four large boxes while her small handbag keeps slipping from her shoulder.
"Good morning," the security guards greet her as she walks through the checkpoint and heads toward the elevators. I pause briefly, watching her struggle to press the elevator button with her pinky finger without dropping the boxes. It’s not going well, and I’m gonna help, once I get past security.
But then she turns, and for the briefest second our eyes meet. I can’t believe my eyes: It’s her! The woman who almost ruined my best friend’s wedding.