Page 19 of The Wife Situation

I pretend he doesn’t exist.

Over the years, he’s tried to destroy my credibility and reputation, but I’ve always recovered.

I don’t like how his beady eyes dart around when I speak or how he inserts himself into situations, giving opinions when not asked. My father might trust him, but it doesn’t mean I have to.

Never have.Never fucking will.

“Perfect. The three of you are here,” my father says, interrupting the argument Weston would’ve successfully started had we sat in silence for any longer. “I’ve chosen my retirement date. Forty-five days from today.”

My hard expression doesn’t change. I have thirty-seven days to find a wife if I want to become CEO in six weeks. And I can’t have one without the other.

“Great.” I glance down at my watch, knowing this meeting could’ve been an email or something we quickly discussed over dinner, but my father is forcing us to be in the same room as Derrick. He’s studying our interactions to see if this would even be possible. It wouldn’t. Weston and I would both walk away from this. I don’t want to do that, but if my hand is forced, I will. “Anything else?”

“Have you chosen your successor?” Derrick asks. He knows my father will choose between the two of us, but I don’t believe he’s aware of the clause in our family contract.

Weston tenses beside me and balls his hand into a fist. I wish he would beat Derrick to a pulp right here. There have been plenty of times when I wanted to.

“No,” my father says in his rough tone, the one that says this conversation is over.

I stand, and my father doesn’t look at me again. He’s disappointed in me. That much is certain.

Weston follows me to my office, and neither of us speaks as we move toward the opposite side of the building. I didn’t notice the file folder in his hand until he sits in front of my desk.

This space is foreign to me. The only thing that makes it mine is my business cards sitting on the edge of the desk. I’ve never settled in this space because I know it isn’t where I belong. The corner office should be mine, along with the fucking title.

“This is bullshit.” I seethe as I pace. I lift my fingers to the racing pulse in my neck to feel my heart rapidly beating. It’s anger that pumps through me.

“It is. But I don’t think it’s the end. Not yet. Tell me about this woman you met.”

I stop pacing and give him a dirty look. “Who?”

I move to my desk and sit, recalling the few dates I’ve gone on this year. Each one was a disaster, and the tabloidsnevergot it right. There is no one; if there were, he’d have been the first to know.

“Don’t be coy.” He tosses a pen, catches it, and twirls it between his fingers, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

He’s acting like a cocky fuck, and it frustrates me when he gets like this.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I glare at him, growing impatient with each passing second.

I’ve been gone for months, and nothing has changed here either. Derrick is still being a rat and my brother isn’t taking any of this seriously. And then there’s me, stuck in the middle of want and need, watching my dreams and everything I’ve worked so fucking hard for fade before my eyes. All because I refuse to marry for any reason other than love. I’d rather stay single.

“I’d love for you to tell me about the woman you got fired a week ago. She was …” His voice trails off, exactly like mine did when we spoke on the phone.

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t you think we have more important things to concern ourselves with right now?”

He opens the file folder and pulls out a stack of pictures and printed articles from gossip sites. Weston proudly spreads them across the desk. There arehundreds. “Now, I know for a goddamn fact this wasn’t me with this beautiful woman.”

“Shit,” I whisper, picking one up.

Yesterday, I hoped the paps hadn’t followed me, but in New York, the photographers are sly. They watch from a distance, always lurking with a telephoto lens instead of getting in your face. They want their targets to feel comfortable so they can capture the natural shots and sell them for thousands.

This is my fault. I should’ve remembered that no public space is safe. I went against my own rules … because of her.

My eyes scan over the images. Our conversation is displayed in snapshots, and I almost smile, recalling it. There is one of us standing on the sidewalk that catches my eye. She’s smirking at me as I hand her phone back. It’s fucking adorable.

“New York’s Most Eligible Bachelor’s New Lover.” I read the title out loud before glancing at my brother. “This is a lie.”

“Maybe it is. But I haven’t seen you smile like that in over fifteen years. Maybenever,” he says with a raised brow. “So, I want to know who she is.”

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