Page 21 of Merry with a Tycoon

Is it… no, am I…?

No, can’t be.

I’ve always shied away from the idea of falling in love. The thought of it used to terrify me. How could I ever measure up to the example my father set? The way he loved my mother was the stuff of legends in our family that I always feared I’d fall short, that I’d never be capable of that kind of devotion.

But with Crystal, those fears seem to melt away. For the first time, I’m not worried about measuring up or falling short. I’m just... here. Present. Happy in a way I can’t remember being before.

I glance at my watch and grimace. I have an early call at the office that I can’t miss. The real world is intruding on this perfect moment, and I feel a pang of resentment. I don’t want to leave this cocoon of warmth and contentment. I want to stay here in this bed with Crystal, in this space where I can just be myself.

But I can’t. I’ve got work to do.

Reluctantly, I ease myself out of bed, gathering my clothes as quietly as possible. As I dress, I can’t help but steal glances at Crystal as she sleeps. I’m already looking forward to the next time I’ll see her, already missing her even though I haven’t left yet.

I find a notepad in the kitchen and scribble a quick note. As my pen hovers over the paper, there’s so much more I want to say, but I’m not sure how. With a sigh, I leave the note on the pillow next to her and make my way to the door.

As I step outside, I’m not surprised to see my Aston Martin is gone. In its place, a familiar black SUV is parked across thestreet. Javi, ever-reliable, steps out as I approach and pulls open the passenger door.

If the women I dated ever realized we’re never truly alone whenever we’re out and about, I doubt I’d have a robust social life.

“Good morning, boss,” he says, his tone professional, his brow furrowed as I slip inside the SUV. “Have you checked your phone at all this morning?”

My good mood evaporates instantly. “What happened? Is Mother okay?”

“She’s fine,” he replies. “It’s the Square. There’s been a leak, but that’s all I know.”

As we pull away from Crystal’s apartment, I unlock my phone with a sense of dread. The screen is flooded with notifications – missed calls, texts, emails. But it’s the news alert that catches my eye:

HOLLISTER HEIR’S REVITALIZATION PLAN: A COVER FOR MASS EVICTIONS?

My heart sinks as I skim the article. Someone has leaked Teddy’s rent increase letter to the media, and they’ve twisted it into something sinister. I can feel a headache forming as I read through the sensationalized claims and half-truths.

“Not again,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose.

It’s always been like this. The media seems to have a special kind of venom reserved for the Hollister family. Every business decision, every personal relationship—it’s all fair game for their wild speculations and exaggerations.

Even Brogan wasn’t immune to the media’s distortions. When he decided to join the Navy, the press had a field day. They spun wild theories about family discord, painting Brogan as the black sheep rebelling against the Hollister legacy. Some outletseven suggested he was running away from legal troubles or a secret scandal.

The truth—that Brogan simply felt called to serve his country—was apparently too boring for the tabloids. They never let facts get in the way of a sensational story. It didn’t matter that Brogan’s decision was born out of a genuine desire to challenge himself and make a difference.

In the media’s eyes, a Hollister choosing military service over a cushy corporate job was too juicy a story to pass up.

I think back to how they treated Vivian, too, painting her as some kind of small-town-hating socialite. Sure, she never quite warmed to Love Beach, but that wasn’t entirely her fault. She was a New York girl through and through, and the quiet charm of our little coastal town was lost on her. The press had a field day with that, portraying us as some kind of modern-day “city mouse and country mouse” drama.

In the end, it was one of the reasons we split up. Location. Vivian wanted me to move to New York, arguing it made more sense for the company. “You’ll be where the action is,” she said. “You don’t have to travel so much like your father did.”

I actually don’t travel like I used to. With video calls and live feeds acceptable in business these days, I can manage our hotels from anywhere. I don’t need to be in New York or constantly on the road like my father had to. Love Beach is my home, and I’ve never wanted to leave it behind.

But as I stare at the article on my phone, a knot forms in my stomach. How will Crystal take this news? Sure, we talked about my revitalization project in broad strokes, but we never got into the nitty gritty details. Instead, I chose to discuss her latest crystal acquisition or debating the best strategy for conquering the windmill hole at Pirate’s Cover Mini Golf. Somehow, those conversations seemed far more important than any business plan.

And why shouldn’t they be?

Crystal and I were on a date.

I realize now that was a mistake. I should have been more transparent, should have laid out all the plans clearly. Not just to Crystal, but to all the tenants of Seaside Square.

“Javi,” I say, my voice tight, “get me to the office. Now. I need to get ahead of this before it spirals out of control.”

As we speed towards the office, my mind races.How do I fix this? How do I explain to Crystal that this isn’t what it looks like? That I’m not trying to force anyone out of their homes or businesses?

---