Page 23 of Until

CHAPTER 9

Ryan

To say I've been obsessing about my Cinderella is an understatement. She's all I've been able to think about since that night at the ball. I've replayed every moment, every word, and every touch in my head since that night, trying to find the clues to who she is, but now, nearly a month later, I am no closer to figuring that out.

The next ball is coming up quickly, and I hope she’ll be there again. In my heart, I know she will. In my heart, I know this woman is my destiny.

As I pull my car up to my office building, I notice the usual photographers hanging out at the front. Some news outlets dedicate their coverage to following the city's wealthy. My being a forty-year-old bachelor is catnip to them.

This is one of the reasons that I keep the masquerade ball so private. I’m not interested in a gold digger; I want someone who cares only about me, not the money. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.

I turn the car at the block ahead of my building and enter a side street that brings me to the underground garage. I park and ride the elevator to my office floor.

The elevator opens onto the top floor of the building. When my father passed away five years ago and left everything to me, one of the first things I did was purchase this building. I considered it a good investment even though the company only used one floor. I rented out the rest of the floors to other corporations. It made a nice income on its own, paying for itself.

Stirling Plumbing and Construction was something my father and I had built together. Unlike many other billionaires, I wasn’t born into wealth.

My father was a plumber, just like his father before him. When I was around ten, he got an opportunity to be part of a team doing construction at a huge resort. From there, he networked and sought out high-profile construction jobs. Eventually, he became the go-to contractor in the Traveler Accommodation and Entertainment Complex industry.

After getting my MBA, I joined my father’s company, and he taught me everything from the ground up. I even earned my plumber’s license.

Today, Stirling Mechanical is the company’s new name, and it does more than just plumbing. My father and I shifted the company to mechanical design and building. It was an intelligent decision, and the growth from that is what makes the company what it is today.

Sometimes, though, I can’t help but miss the simpler times. Growing up like I did made me appreciate what I have even more.

It upset me that my father included the marriage stipulation in his will. He wasn’t the warmest person, especially after Mom died, but with how much they loved each other, I expected more from him as a father.

Beverly, my secretary, rises from her desk and smiles. Her narrow reading glasses appear to grow out of her severe black bob as they rest on her sharp nose. Her tweed skirt suit is freshly pressed as usual. I sigh as I approach, knowing what’s waiting for me.

“Good morning, sir,” she says.

“Good morning, Beverly. I’ve told you you don’t have to call me sir. You’ve been working for me since my father retired. What’s it been? Seven years?”

“Yes, sir, seven years.”

“You can call me Ryan.”

She always gives me the same horrified yet confused look whenever we have this conversation. It doesn’t change anything. I know she’ll always call me sir, but I get a deep enjoyment out of telling her to call me by my first name because of how she always reacts.

I enter my office, where Beverly had previously turned on the lights and placed a cup of coffee made exactly how I like it on my desk. I hope she doesn’t follow me, but she is right at my heels.

“Harold Weinberger is on line one. He’s been waiting for some time now,” she says.

“He can wait longer then. He’s only calling because I didn’t show up to their monthly meeting yesterday.”

“But I cleared your schedule for it, sir.”

“I know you did, thank you, but I didn’t want to deal with them. I’m under enough pressure.”

“Ignoring me isn’t going to make that any better.”

Harold’s baritone voice booms from the doorway. Beverly hops, startled by the sound of his voice, then spins around and rushes to the phone.

Harold was one of my father’s closest friends. He’s a big man with bright silver hair who acts much younger than his age.

“That’s very rude of you,” she says. “Tying up the line then deciding you’re going to show up anyway.”

Harold looks startled, then lets out a loud laugh. He turns to me as she leaves my office.

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