Michael
“I’m going to that damn wedding.”
“No chance,” Jonathan shoots back.
He fixes me with a steely glare from across the conference room where tensions are high. His dark eyes are hard, jaw clenched in frustration. While I try to appear nonchalant, leaning against the cooling vents, inside I’m seething just as much as he is. Well, almost. Jonathan’s capacity for irritation knows no bounds.
“Her father just screwed us over. Showing up at that wedding makes it look like you’re playing his game.” Not twenty minutes ago, an email landed confirming Amora’s father had outbid us on another project—suddenly motivated by revenge. He’s wealthy, influential, and now believes I’ve wronged his daughter. Idiot. She called off the engagement. I would have endured that loveless marriage indefinitely.
“Hear me out.” I push off from the vents and start pacing, laying out my thoughts. “Cataleya won’t consider selling the Montauk property with my tarnished reputation. We’re losing deals left and right. Our investors are nervous. Amora’s father has made us a target.”
Jonathan’s expression remains tense as he listens. When we founded the business with Theo, we pledged to hear each other out, even if we disagree. So, he’s obliged to give me a few more moments.
“What’s your alternative? Beg them to reconsider?”
“To attend the wedding. With a date.”
I halt my pacing, locking eyes with him triumphantly.
His brow furrows in contemplation. “These connections matter. Our reputation matters. We’re wealthy but not the wealthiest. We’re powerful but not omnipotent. You’ve alienated someone important. We need allies, not adversaries. Attending that wedding might provoke her father even more.”
“Not if I arrive with someone I’m genuinely in love with.”
Jonathan arches an eyebrow. Love isn’t a currency he trades in.
“Consider this. The endorsement of a good woman and all that. It was my plan with Amora, remember? I’ll prove to Cataleya I’m turning over a new leaf. I’ll show Amora’s father I’m a decent person. And that he’s not just hurting me, but our entire enterprise if he continues this vendetta. It’s a compelling narrative for investors, too. Amora and I mutually call off the engagement for true love? The public will eat it up.”
Jonathan remains skeptical. “Assuming it’s genuine—which I’m not convinced it is—where will you find such a paragon? You need someone flawless. Charming. Someone who can tolerate you for an entire week. Someone you can trust. Because if it goes sideways like it did with Amora? We’re finished. You better be certain this plan will succeed.”
“Lilly.”
Jonathan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Lilly Woods?”
Jonathan was friends with Lilly in college. He knows a bit of our history.
“It’s perfect. She would never betray us.”
“She hates you.”
“That’s true. I’ll have to make it worth her while.”
“If she accepts.” Jonathan sounds doubtful. He’s not wrong to be skeptical. Lilly has never been motivated by money.
I nod my agreement, and Jonathan sighs.
“Glad to know my business partner won’t look like he’s panting after his ex on her wedding day.”
“I don’t pant.” I glare at Jonathan. I’m being childish and I know it, but damn, I need Montauk. The darkness I keep shoved down most days is snapping at my heels.
He rolls his eyes. “Christine will be happy with us, for once.”
I smile faintly. Christine is Jonathan’s brilliant sister. She and her wife run our PR boutique and they are absolutely the best at what they do.
“Alright.” I sigh. “I’ll ask George to make the travel arrangements. And I’ll get a wire ready for the bribe I intend to offer Lilly.”
“Romantic.” Jonathan opens the door. “And make sure to look like you’re having fun.”
“With a directive like that, how could I not?” I grumble at his retreating back and head back to my office, which occupies one corner of the floor. The floor-to-ceiling windows in the hall showcase what has to be one of the best views of Manhattan, but the sunlight does nothing to improve my mood. Jonathan is right. This plan might not work.
George is at what they call the “command station” outside my office. George is my chief of staff and eminently capable. Party planner, hiring manager, HR liaison, George does it all.
“Green today, George?” I greet them, and they hold a green-polished nail up while speed-typing. I grin and wait. George has absolutely no respect for me, and I love it. They’ve been with us since we opened our doors.
“Rhonda in HR is on my last fucking nerve. I told her to send us candidates for the opening with Jonathan last week. Now she claims there’s no one suitable.” They punch the “Enter” key and turn around. Their green nails match bright green eyes under finely arched brows.
“Want to come with me to a week-long wedding in Montauk?”
George frowns. “Not really. I have tickets to a show. They were very hard to get.”
“There’s a spa.”
“Tempting.” They tap a finger against their chin and eye me appraisingly. “But no. Whose wedding is this, anyway?”
“Amora’s,” I say shortly, and George lets out what can only be described as a cackle.
“You’re going to that?”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah. It’s the only way to convince Cataleya Peterson that I’ve turned over a new leaf. But I need a date.”
George nods thoughtfully. They’re used to analyzing PR nightmares, and I can see the wheels turning. “Of course you need a date. You can’t look weak. Besides, you’re already in the gossip columns. Better nip that in the bud.”
I grimace. Weak is the kiss of death in our world. Ruthless, ambitious, Machiavellian — those are all compliments. But weak? You don’t get to have a soft underbelly. Mine was drilled out of me years ago.
“How did this even end up in the gossip column?”
George frowns and turns to their computer. “Look.” They hover over the byline under the title “Merciless Michael Breaks Society Darling’s Heart.”
“Merciless Michael,” I mutter as I look over George’s shoulder. “I hate that fucking nickname.”
“Yeah, well, it’s better than what she says later in the article.”
“Don’t tell me. I avoided reading it for a reason.”
“She calls you ‘Merciless No Longer.’” George sounds way too pleased with this development.
“I can still fire you.”
“But you won’t,” they respond cheerfully. “Look at the byline. It’s the same reporter who’s been putting out articles about Jonathan.”
There have been a spate of articles recently that seem designed to take Jonathan down. Or maybe it’s pure coincidence.
“Want me to let him and the PR firm know?” George is already typing an email.
“Yes, please. Thank you. And will you make sure the plane is available for the wedding? The small one. I’ll also need a hotel room. If it’s the most lavish one they have, even better.” I give a vicious smile, the one I’m known for. The one that featured in photographs after my father’s death. It doesn’t reach my eyes.
“And your date?”
“Lilly Woods.”
“The wedding photographer? Are you that desperate? Maybe try that cute girl from the mailroom who has a crush on you.”
“She’s barely 25,” I growl. “And no. It has to be someone I trust.”
George’s brows go up. “You trust Lilly?”
“She’s an old friend from college.” That’s the easiest way to describe it, though it leaves out a lot of detail. “She’s the only one who would say yes.” Especially if she thinks she has to.
“Some women would consider it a huge red flag that you have no female friends.”
“Thank you for that,” I say blandly.
“Anytime.” They turn back to their computer and start speed-typing an email.
George is nothing if not efficient. And thank god for them. Because going to this wedding is the last thing I want to do. One week in Montauk, a place full of nothing but painful memories. The good ones were mostly with the woman who’s about to walk into my office. If George can convince her, that is.
