The Temporary Bride (Thorne Billionaires #1)

Tristan

I’ve never been a fan of crystal.

Unfortunately, among the people I most often rub shoulders with—or at least their interior decorators—this is apparently a rare opinion.

The ballroom housing the annual Primetime Information Awards is decked out in the stuff, from the sconces lining the red-velvet walls to the glittering chandeliers overhead.

I sit at my family’s designated table, foot tapping under the cover of the white tablecloth, and stare at the scattered light the cut crystals throw across the ceiling while the evening’s host drones on from center stage about the industry’s importance.

These galas are rarely entertaining, and this one is no exception.

“Tonight, we find ourselves surrounded by the pioneers of the information age, the people who have spent their lives making the news of the world more accessible to all. Without their tireless efforts…”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Without their tireless efforts, and so on and so forth.

I’ve heard some version of this speech at least a dozen times.

I’ve been schmoozing with Thorne Enterprises’ partners all night, pretending to be part of a close-knit family.

Although I don’t particularly enjoy either task, I’m good enough at both to get by.

All I have to do now is sit through the presentation of my father’s lifetime achievement award, survive another couple hours of networking, and then I can go home.

On stage, the host presses on, lips too close to the microphone. “Of course, among all titans, there are those who stand tallest. Tonight, we are here to recognize the accomplishments of a giant in this industry, a man whose name has become synonymous with not only news, but media.”

Here we go. I pick up my whiskey and take a slow sip. The irritating part is almost over.

“The winner of this year’s award hardly requires an introduction,” the host continues, “but nonetheless, we ought to take a moment to reflect on his impressive resume. The CEO of the country’s largest media conglomerate for four successive decades, he has revolutionized the landscape since its founding. ”

Next to me, Dominic scoffs under his breath. “Wonder if they’re going to mention what a stubborn asshole he can be, or if that’s not relevant here.”

Across the table, my mother shoots us a quelling look. I huff a laugh, and on Dominic’s other side, Gabriel doesn’t quite manage to hide a smirk. Because it’s true. The tallest of titans also happens to be the biggest bastard of them all.

“Of Thorne Enterprises… the inimitable Julian Thorne!”

The crowd breaks into applause. My father ambles out onto the stage, one hand raised in acknowledgment.

For most of my childhood, he seemed timeless.

Now his lined face and gray-streaked hair tell the story of a long life lived.

He crosses the stage to the podium, accepts the award—an elongated prism of gold topped with, inevitably, crystal—and steps up to the microphone as the host disappears into the wings.

My father clears his throat, resting the award on the edge of the podium and staring at it for a beat. “Well, would you look at that hardware!”

Chuckles ripple across the room. He smiles. He’s good at this, just like we’re all good at our respective roles.

“I’d like to thank everyone in attendance tonight, and everyone who submitted my name for nomination,” he continues. “Never in my life did I expect to be honored like this.”

“Never in your life, my ass,” Reid mutters to my left, quiet enough that only I catch it.

“But that’s what this industry is about.

Adapting to circumstances,” my father adds.

“Becoming fluid enough to be unsurprised by where one finds oneself, despite one’s expectations.

The news must reflect the reality around us, after all, and can’t afford to be tempered by our unwillingness to see the world for what it is. ”

I glance around the table. Dominic is the easiest to read.

He’s never been the type to hide his feelings, and right now his expression says everything I’m already thinking.

The others are more closed off. My mother has her back to us, facing the stage.

Gabriel, the oldest, sits tall and unreadable.

Beckett, the youngest at twenty-nine, wears his signature lopsided smirk, the one that tends to get him whatever he wants.

Reid, beside me, looks like he’s biting down on something he’d rather say out loud.

My father has moved on to the standard self-congratulatory portion of the evening.

“I founded Thorne Enterprises over forty years ago, when the world was very different than it is now. It was born out of my ownership of a local paper, and at the time of its founding, the company oversaw a handful of newspapers in three cities. I thought it might remain that small forever.”

He clears his throat. His eyes sweep the crowd, landing on mine for a beat before moving past.

“But times change, and we changed with them. It became clear on the heels of the Cold War that we were entering an age where the proliferation of media was of paramount importance. The soil beneath us was fertile, and we decided to grow.”

He sweeps a hand toward our table, and I brace for what’s coming.

“I’m proud to say that this is a family business,” he declares. “I built Thorne Enterprises from a single newspaper to a multinational media conglomerate, and today, I share the task of running it with my five brilliant sons. My family has been the greatest investment of my lifetime.”

Beneath the table, my hands curl into fists. A family business. My brilliant sons. The greatest investment of my lifetime.

The truth is, this family is hardly a family at all.

We work together. That’s about it. Julian Thorne has been cold and distant for most of our lives, and I can’t think of the last time he talked to me about anything other than business.

My brothers and I put on a united front for the outside world, but behind closed doors, we’re closer to strangers than anything else. Strangers who argue, anyway.

At Thorne Enterprises, I head up strategic development, identifying where we need to push next and how to keep the company growing.

Reid is our Chief Technology Officer, always having had a head for systems and innovation.

Gabriel oversees all content, everything from films to the streaming service we recently launched.

Beckett runs marketing, and Dominic is our CFO, working directly below our father.

None of that makes us a family business, though, not in any real sense.

Our father decided when we were young what roles we’d each fill, and our education was shaped around those decisions.

We were never asked. We’re not so much Julian Thorne’s sons as his succession plan, and we always have been.

So it grates, hearing him describe it otherwise, like we’re some tight-knit dynasty and not five men who can go weeks without a conversation that isn’t about quarterly projections.

“I look forward to continuing our vital work,” my father says, “and I look forward to seeing my sons prosper in their roles at our company.” He hefts the award one more time, letting the god-awful crystal catch the light. “Thank you all for this honor.”

I’ve heard enough of his speeches to know when one is winding down. I start clapping before he’s stepped back from the mic, and my brothers and mother follow suit, all of us applauding on cue.

As the host retakes the podium, I get to my feet and button my jacket, leaning over to kiss my mother on the cheek. She looks up at me, penciled brows drawing together.

“Are you going somewhere, Tristan?”

“Duty calls.”

Reid snickers quietly beside me.

I head into the crowd, moving toward the bar on the far side of the room.

This is the part of the evening I’m actually here for.

The speeches are theater. This is where the real work happens, where deals get floated and you take stock of what your competitors are planning.

Everyone is doing it, except my father, who has always operated on the assumption that people will come to him.

I know better. The media landscape shifts fast, and if we’re not pushing forward, we’ll stagnate. My father won an award tonight, but from the top there’s only one direction left to go, and lately I’ve been quietly worried about how close to the edge we might be.

I’m almost to the bar, eyes already on Weylan Davies, CFO of one of our biggest rivals, when a flash of gold at the far end of the room pulls my attention sideways.

There’s a woman leaning against the bar with her back to me, talking to the bartender.

Her dress is black with gold embroidery that catches the light every time she shifts her weight, her dark hair twisted up off her neck, a thin gold necklace sitting at her nape.

I can’t see her face, but she stands out in a room full of people I’ve known for years, and I’ve completely lost track of what I was doing.

Then she turns around, and I realize I do know her.

It’s Chloe Dawson, head of business development at MediaSphere, one of the few companies that can actually give us a run for our money.

She’s been a pain in my ass for years, although if I’m being honest, I’ve always respected how good she is at her job.

Her eyes find mine across the room, and her expression tightens, going a few degrees cooler. She’s gorgeous in a way that catches me off guard every time, with dark gray eyes and sharp features, her mouth currently pressed into a flat line that does nothing to make her less attractive.

She holds my gaze for a beat, then deliberately looks away.

I change course anyway, leaving Weylan Davies where he is. There’s no strategy in walking toward Chloe Dawson tonight, no business rationale at all. Just spite, and the fact that she clearly doesn’t want me to.

I sidle up beside her at the bar where she’s still got her back to me.

“So…” I lean in slightly, dropping my voice. “Did you come to celebrate all of my family’s achievements, or just to scope out the competition?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even glance at me, just keeps her eyes fixed somewhere across the room, her expression unchanged, like I haven’t said a word. My smirk holds for a beat, then another, before it starts to slip a little at the edges.

Well, damn. That’s not the reaction I was expecting.

I’m about to step away, salvaging my wounded pride, when she suddenly turns to face me. Her gray eyes flash as they lock with mine.