Page 13 of One Wealthy Wedding

“You might just convince me to go corporate,” Blair says.

“Yeah, well. It’ll never happen.” In the movies, the villain doesn’t get away with ruining everything, but this is real life. My father is going to win, and the thousands of employees at Peterson International will be collateral damage.

“I’m sorry, babe.”

My mouth twists as I look at Blair. She’s always relentlessly supported me, ever since that night in college when I told her ex-boyfriend to fuck off or I’d key his car.

“I’m supposed to be running Peterson International,” I say. “It should have been me getting an MBA at twenty-two and an internship at twenty-three. I should be the CFO, not Arnold Worth the Fourth.” It’s what Grandma wanted, anyway. It’s why she left me the shares. Well, I imagine that and because my father is such an overbearing prick.

“But because you’re a woman…” Blair tosses the rag on the counter as I replace the bourbon bottle.

“Exactly. I don’t get to run a company. It’s easier to control me through a marriage. My grandma dropped enough hints over the years. My dad knew I was going to inherit the shares. He just didn’t realize it would be her full 40 percent.” Watching my father’s head nearly explode had been deeply satisfying. Sweet justice after all those years of him brushing me aside and telling me that “little girls don’t belong in the boardroom.”

Tequila glugs into the nearly full bottle as Blair watches it carefully. “And now that you’re not marrying?”

I wince. I’d held out hope for the last year, but it’s time to admit that my plan to find a husband didn’t work. My shoulders lower. “He gets all the shares. And then he sucks the company dry. I’d say they have about two years left. There are thousands of employees.” Every time I think about it, I feel sick, so I try to focus on what I can do to fix things.

“That sucks,” she says bluntly. “Your dad isn’t even a Peterson.”

“I know. And maybe it’s dumb, but part of me wanted to take it back for my mom.” I force the words out around the lump in my throat. My mom’s been gone since I was eight, and it never gets easier talking about her. “She never seemed interested in running Peterson International, but now I know it’s because she was never encouraged to try.” The diary I found three years ago said as much, and it changed everything for me.

“So that’s it? A few more days, and this is all just…done?” Blair looks at me unhappily. She’s watched me fight against my family since the will was read. It’s like fighting the tide.

“I think so.” I blink away the heat gathering behind my eyes. “I’ve asked so many people to marry me, B. My father has gotten to all of them. Each of them has told me they’ll give the shares up to him.”

“You should walk out onto 7th Avenue right now and ask the first person you see.” My best friend crosses her arms. “Hell, I’d marry you.”

“I know you would.” I smile gratefully at Blair. “I don’t think Donny would appreciate that.” She doesn’t know it, but her boyfriend is planning to propose this summer. I can’t do that to them. Donny is madly in love with her, and if I let her, she’d definitely marry me and tell Donny to get in line.

“So get out there on the street. There’s a construction site on 37th Street. I saw lots of hot guys in hardhats there last week. Find someone and ask.” She gestures wildly. I love her for how angry she is on my behalf.

“I don’t think so.” I swallow. “Look how it turned out for my mom. She barely knew my dad when they got married, and he took everything.” She died when I was eight, but my dad started sucking her inheritance dry long before that. I learned the full extent of it in her diary.

“Not everyone is bad,” Blair protests. “In fact, most people are nice if you give them a chance.”

“I can’t do it.” I shake my head. “I can’t marry a total stranger.”

Blair gives me a look. I can’t. But before I can respond, I hear, “What’s this about marriage?”

Theo.

5

Theo

I’m back at Cat’s bar. Now that I’m sober, I question again my decision to bring friends here on Friday night. I better send Rose some flowers or something. I take in the sticky floor, the dim lighting, the bottom-shelf tequila. Yeah, definitely flowers. It’s worse than I remember.

And Cat works here.

It makes no sense.

Her friend, a slender Asian woman with an undercut and an amused look on her face, leans over the bar. “Yeah, marriage. You interested?”

“Blair, no,” Cat exclaims. Her face is dewy from what I’d assume was sweat with anyone else. Knowing Cat, it’s probably expensive skincare products.

Her beauty still causes a sharp pinch behind my ribs. She was lovely in high school and college, during those summers back home. But now, she’s alluring in a sharper way.

Her silky dark hair is twisted up, but a few tendrils have escaped during her shift. The hairstyle sets off her smooth skin, her large, dark eyes, her impossibly full lips, with a freckle right at the edge. I was twenty-one when I pressed a kiss to that freckle. The rain poured down on our heads that night. We were just supposed to swim in the lake, but she was so tempting. And then everything went to hell.

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