Chapter 1
Wesley
I’d always tried—and failed—to forget. Enough whiskey to make me numb, a beautiful woman in my bed, and a warm place to lay my head hadn’t helped dull the ache in my gut or my heart when I opened my eyes that morning. The anniversary of my father’s death.
Somehow, the other dates never mattered. Not my birthday or the anniversary of my parents’ marriage or the day the man I’d once thought was invincible was indicted on corporate fraud charges and set to spend years in a federal prison.
The memory of that morning had never really seemed to fade away with the passage of time.
I still remembered the smell of my mother’s perfume when she’d awakened me with the news.
An accident. A fishing trip gone wrong. My father had fallen into the Detroit River.
Its turbulent waters had been too much for him.
The current was too strong, too swift. The details were a blur but the feelings …
Despair and loss mixed with vulnerability and fear.
Abandoned. Because that was the day my life had changed, and not for the better.
That was the day I’d ceased being Good Little Wesley Batchelor.
The Wes that had survived that day and the days after was not the same boy who believed good outweighed bad, that love conquered all.
No, the Wes that lived was a man that had done everything I could to achieve my goals, even if that meant I had to hurt people to get where I needed to be.
But today …
Even the raging hangover I woke up with had only served as a small distraction, a nuisance really.
One that would inevitably go away once I either took another shot or gulped a gallon of water and ate a piece of dry toast. I wasn’t sure which route I’d take but the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue sitting conveniently on the nightstand next to my bed was winning the war.
Because I had shit to do, meetings that couldn’t be pushed back, things that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
Decision made, I poured myself a healthy taste of whiskey and gulped it down.
Sighing, I glanced back at the woman sleeping peacefully next to me.
Mia … No, Alicia … Hm, Brynn? At this point, it didn’t even matter what her name was because I would never see her again.
She was nice enough, had even offered me scintillating conversation about politics and sports.
But I had rules—no promises, no forever.
I stood, stretched, and turned to her. Bending down, I nudged her arm gently. One beautiful brown eye popped open, then she sat up, holding a sheet over her naked body.
She blinked. “I’m sorry,” she grumbled. “I …” She scrambled off the bed and dressed quickly. “Thanks for—” She blew her wild hair out of her face. “It was nice. I would tell you to call me, but yeah … no.”
The woman buzzed past me, darting around my room looking for her belongings.
I couldn’t help but smile, pleasantly surprised that her demeanor this morning matched the facade I’d originally thought she might be putting on last night once I’d told her my stance on relationships.
Long story short … I’m not interested. If only I could remember her name.
She bent down and zipped up one boot. After she did the same with the other one, she stood and grabbed her leather jacket. “It really was a fun time,” she assured me in her haste to leave. “I hope you have a good day, despite everything.”
Apparently, the whiskey had done its job a little too good last night. I froze, struggling to remember the conversation from the night before. It wasn’t my style to divulge anything personal, but had I said too much? “Despite what?” I asked.
Fully dressed now, she turned to me and offered a not-so-shy smile. “You mentioned an anniversary of somebody’s death. Honestly, I can’t remember.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”
Relieved, I said, “No apologies necessary. Can I call you an Uber?”
She waved a dismissive hand my way. “No, thanks. I can take care of that myself.” She zoomed toward the front door but stopped short of opening it. “I’m not sure who Albany is, but maybe she’s the one you should’ve been with last night?”
I managed to keep my face devoid of emotion, but inside I was cursing myself out for talking too much. Not only did I mention the significance of the day, but I’d tossed out that name in what … Some fantasy gone wrong? What the hell is wrong with me?
The worst part? I’d been caught so completely off guard, which signaled I needed to tighten shit up again. I opened my mouth to speak, but … I got nothing. Swallowing, I stared at her and waited for her to finally walk out.
With a heavy sigh, the woman swung the door open. “By the way, my name is Amber. Next time, maybe do a better job remembering who you stick your dick in?” She shrugged. “Just sayin’.”
Unable to help myself, I laughed. The fact that she’d had the nerve to call me on my bullshit almost made me want a repeat. Almost. But Amber was funny.
Surprisingly, she laughed too. “Anyway, bye.”
Chuckling, I rubbed the stubble on my jaw. “Bye, Amber.”
Then, she was gone.
While I could’ve spent several more minutes dissecting our interaction, racking my brain on the specifics of the evening, I knew I didn’t have time. Duty called.
There was a bouquet of roses at the grave site, in front of the headstone.
Cedric Wesley Batchelor. Even though Mom was now happily married to her second husband and living on the other side of the state, she still sent flowers to the cemetery every Memorial Day.
For the life of me, I could never understand why.
The dark shadow my father had cast over our entire family should have destroyed any love she felt for him, but it hadn’t changed anything.
Although my mother would always hold a special place in her heart for her first love, it made me sick to think about the turmoil my father had taken her through—in life and in death.
I glanced at the words engraved on the tombstone.
Loving son, husband, and father. Every year, I forced himself to visit the cemetery on this exact day.
Every year, I read the engraving over and over again.
Every year, I thought about the lies my father had told.
Every year, I wondered if Cedric—because even now I can’t bring myself to call him Dad—even knew what love was.
And every year, I walked away resolute in the plans I’d made for my own life.
Taking one last look at my father’s resting place, I whispered, “I’ll never be like you.
I’m better. I’m smarter. I’ll succeed. And I’ll do it without you. ”
The buzz of my cell phone drew my attention away from the tombstone. I glanced down at my phone.
Hendrix: Heads up. Ms. Tea strikes again.
Closing my eyes, I typed out a response, letting my cousin know that I would handle it. I jogged back to the car and slid into the driver’s seat. It only took a few seconds to find the latest social media post from the woman who’d made me a trending subject.
After months of posting random celebrity and local news, the anonymous influencer, Ms. Tea, had zeroed in on me.
My life had become fodder for this mysterious content creator, and she’d devoted countless minutes and too many short videos on my exploits.
I clicked on the latest post and listened as the robotic voice babbled on about my penchant for no-name flings and meaningless hookups while still photos and videos of me played in the background.
The TikTok had already generated hundreds of thousands of likes.
And the comments … People who didn’t even know me had taken an interest in my life.
Some mused about the size of my dick. Others accused me of being a dick.
Then there were those who’d diagnosed me as a narcissistic asshole, speculated on my religion and labeled me a heathen.
No doubt this one reel would spawn dozens of other videos analyzing my body language or adding fake context to everything as if they’d been in the room.
Not to mention there would be that one person who claimed they were a family friend who’d seen my downfall from middle school. It was a muthafuckin’ mess.
The topic veered to my activities yesterday, accompanied by images of me at the club.
Before I’d taken Amber back to my place, it had been a typical night.
I’d entered the venue late, had several drinks with random women, picked one, then left.
Nothing too out of the ordinary for a single man. Tame. Almost boring. Until …
“Shit,” I grumbled when a pic of me cuddled up next to the daughter of a potential business partner appeared. Because Amber wasn’t the only woman I’d attempted to sleep with yesterday. She was actually my second choice. Maybe I am a narcissistic asshole?
Real talk, though. I loved a challenge. An off-limits woman was like catnip, something I could never really resist. And there was always a small part of me that wanted to fuck my life up. “Damn it.”
After a few minutes, I gave up. I didn’t bother listening to the rest of the video because the damage had already been done with that photo. It was all bad. And my grandmother would be livid. Shit, I might even get fired.
Joyce Batchelor had spent years growing the media company that she and my grandfather had founded together back in 1969.
The infamous scandal surrounding my father’s countless crimes and his subsequent death had threatened the company’s existence as well as our family’s wealth.
After that, she’d made it a point to have a hand in every single division of the company.
As long as Granny was alive, her word was final.
She’d made that very clear when she’d given me a job in the company, when she’d promoted me to my current position as Director of Commercial Strategy and Business Development, and when she’d asked me to work with her on the deal to absorb the cash-strapped Garland Production Company.