Page 1 of A Win-Win Situation

ONE

LUCAS

THREE MONTHS AGO

It’s funny how, just when you think you have everything figured out, life throws a curveball your way, testing your strength and resolve. They can be anything from small pebbles in your path to large hills that seem impossible to get over and it seems lately, there’re some pretty damn big hills in my life. My marketing manager resigned suddenly last week, and now I'm left with all of this paperwork and a hotel opening to plan. A hotel that’s opening in six months, which means I need to hire someone as soon as possible.

To make matters worse, James Harlow, the family lawyer, is here.

"As mentioned last week," he starts, "Mr. Ayoub, your uncle, has made some changes to his will, given his rapidly declining health."

My uncle Antoine, who is like a father to me, was diagnosed with lung cancer three months ago. The doctor told him he had a year left at best, but Antoine is a fighter. He hasn’t let cancer stop him from living his life - not yet, anyway.

"There’s reason to believe that he won’t make it the entire year," Harlow continues, his voice hesitant. My temples start pulsing at his words and I use my fingers to massage the spot. I’m not interested in information I’m already aware of.

I release my fingers from my temples and restlessly tap them on the table before I glance at my watch—a subtle indication for him to hurry up.I really don't have time for this.

"Get to the point," I grit out, keeping my eyes on him.

Harlow shifts uneasily on his feet, his previous nervousness heightened by my tone. He takes a deep breath before continuing. "The new clause that Mr. Ayoub has insisted upon is that you . . ." He hesitates for a moment, carefully planning how to continue. "Well, as you know, he’s stated that you have to be married before the age of forty." I stare back at him, perplexed. This condition had been made clear to me by my uncle years ago. However, with six years left until I reach that problematic milestone, I can’t wrap my head around why Harlow is bringing it up now. His untimely reminder only exacerbates the throbbing in my temples.

Harlow shifts in his seat, keeping his gaze anywhere but on me. "Well, Mr. Ayoub has made some changes. Y-You have to marry before the new hotel opens for you to be eligible to take over the business."

I stare at him incredulously.

"What do you mean?"

He swallows hard. "To take over after your uncle passes, you must marry sooner than expected."

My emotions boil over, and I feel anger building up inside me. It's as if the world is conspiring against me, and I can't catch a break.

To keep my hands occupied, I ball them into fists and look anywhere but at Harlow. Sensing my agitation he scrambles to gather his things and leaves me the new will.

"I will leave a copy for you to look over."

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself, although I can't help but think,What the hell am I going to do?

I loosen my tie. This whole ordeal has made every attempt to take a real breath impossible. The idea of finding a woman to marry within six months is laughable.

Even if I was willing to, how could any rational woman agree to marry me spontaneously—without love or an emotional connection.

This is a joke.

I let out a bitter laugh. This is going to be a shitstorm.

Remember the hills? They just turned into a mountain.

Ever since findingout about my uncle’s cancer diagnosis, I’ve felt this constant knot in my stomach, and it doubles in size every time I visit him at the hotel. Hôtel Ayoub d'Or has been his life’s work. Well, that and raising my brother and I.

He took us in after our parents passed, and he slowly began preparing us to take over when he decided to retire. Liam never had much interest in business, so his role is overseeing our international hotels. But from what I’ve seen, he would rather travel and party, which I find unacceptable, especially given our uncle's illness. We haven't spoken in three months, and that’s on him—I'm determined to fulfill my duties to our uncle. Which is why I’m heading to his office. As much as I hate to admit it, I also want to find another way to do it. One that doesn’t include getting married.

The door to his office is open, but I still knock. "Hey, Ammo, can we talk?" I ask as I approach my uncle. I’ve never called him by his name. He’s lebanese and in Lebanon, it can be seenas disrespectful to call an elder by their name, and, because I’ve been raised with Lebanese morals, I call him Ammo—uncle.He slowly turns his head toward me and stands up to greet me with his brilliant smile, making the knot in my stomach triple in size.

Ever since he found out about his diagnosis, he’s been working harder than ever, trying to lose himself in his work, despite the evident toll it's taking, both mentally and physically. Even with my ability to see through his facade—the weariness etched into every line of his face— I won’t dare tell him to slow down. The last time I broached the subject, he lashed out, the intensity of his anger causing him to be bedridden for two days.

When the discussion about chemotherapy was brought up by the doctors, he adamantly declined it. Despite their offering of a slender thread of hope, a small chance of survival, he dismissed it. His stance on treatment reflected a prideful defiance—an unwavering refusal to submit to a treatment that might extend his time with us. This decision was marked by a stubbornness that both frustrated and pained everyone around him, although his reasoning for rejecting chemotherapy was rooted in his desire to not be weakened during his last few months of life.

He didn't want to sacrifice the semblance of strength and control he clung to, even if it meant potentially extending his time. Even though it breaks my heart into pieces, I tread lightly, always respecting his choices.

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