Page 39 of Wreck Me
Quiet chatter filled the air, everyone made small talk amongst the table, talking about mundane things such as the weather and plans for the remaining holidays. At one point, Blake leaned toward me and asked if I’d like to take a walk with him between dinner and dessert. Against my better judgment, I agreed before shoving a large bite of stuffing into my mouth.
“So! Isla. Your father tells me you opted for Ridgewood U instead of an Ivy. That’s awfully humble of you. What are you studying?” Steven asked with glee. His question seemed genuine, and for some reason, it unnerved me.
Looking down at my plate, I pushed food around with my fork, mixing the mashed potatoes with the green bean casserole. “I did,” I replied, lifting my head in his direction and offering him a small smile. “Going to an Ivy didn’t feel like it was the right path for me. Ridgewood University has been wonderful. I’m almost finished with my degree in business.”
Steven patted the corners of his mouth with his napkin before placing it back in his lap. “Blake here is working on his degree in business communications at Yale. Aren’t you, son?” A smile spread wide against Steven’s face, pride radiating out of him.
Blake gave me a tight-lipped smile, embarrassment pouring out of him in waves. It was obvious what was happening here: Steven was serving his eldest son on a silver platter, hoping the next thing I would consume would be him.
See, my father thought I was a complete moron, but I had thought ahead and done my research the moment he uttered the nameBlake Bradley.
Blake Bradley, the eldest son of Steven Bradley, founder and CEO of Interface Technologies, Inc., which, not so coincidentally, was Skyline Tech’s biggest competitor. Twenty-two years old and about to graduate Yale University with a degree in Business Commutation and enough volunteer time at the local animal shelter he could have made a career out of it. Blake was the first in line to take over his father’s company once his father stepped down from his position.
At least he was an animal lover.
The writing was on the wall for what our fathers were planning, and I just couldn’t help but wonder if Blake knew of their scheming.
“Blake,” I sing-songed, touching his forearm. I felt eyes drilling into me from both heads of the table, encouraging me to widen my fake smile. “I’m incredibly full and could use some movement. Are you ready for that walk?”
Setting his napkin down next to his plate, he stood, stepping away from his place at the table. “Absolutely,” he said, pulling my chair out for me. I tossed my napkin on top of my plate, watching my mother cringe from my periphery. Blake offered me his arm, covering my hand with his as he pulled me away from the table and out of the dining room.
Once we were out of earshot, I expelled a huge breath, tugging at the neckline of my sweater dress.
“That room was stifling,” he groaned as we walked to the French doors leading out to the back porch and down to the gardens. There was a bench where we could sit and talk. I had questions.
“It always is around the Donohues.” Once we reached the bottom of the stairs, I removed my hand from his arm, sidestepping to put some distance between us. Keeping a close-proximity wasn’t necessary.
“So Ridgewood U, huh?” he asked. “How’d you talk your father into that one?”
His tone was curious, but I knew better than to trust a rich boy right off the bat. I wouldn’t be divulging any more information than was absolutely necessary to him. “It took a lot of persuading, but eventually it was a battle he chose not to fight. At the end of the day, a degree is just a piece of paper, right? Doesn’t really matter where it came from.”
“Doesn’t it though?”
“Not when your path is already laid out.”
He laughed, the deep chuckle floating into the night air. “Touché.”
Taking a seat on the stone bench nestled between my mother's rose bushes, I decided to cut right to the chase. I’d already been here longer than I wanted and the pie hadn't even been served yet. If I had any shot of getting out of here and getting back to Caleb anytime soon, I needed to be the one to speed things up. And that started with finding out if my assumptions about this Thanksgiving dinner were correct. “Why are you here, Blake? Why is your family here? I have my theories, but I’d love to hear the truth. I’m assuming you know?”
He nodded, confirming they had filled him in on the matter.
So I was the only one left in the dark. Per usual.
“Skyline Tech and Interface Technologies are merging next summer. Our fathers are golfing buddies, despite their deep-rooted competitiveness toward each other. They came to the conclusion two heads are better than one and decided to merge. They plan on making a lot of changes together in an effort to catapult the company further.”
“And you and I come into this how exactly?”
His eyes met mine. “Like I said, two heads are better than one. I could have sworn this was the twenty-first century but evidently being wealthy kicks you back a century or two. The short answer to your question, Isla, is our parents are trying to force us into marriage. My mother has already set aside my grandmother’s wedding ring, all polished and ready to be slipped onto your finger.”
A frustrated laugh bubbled out of me at the conclusion of his words. I knew it. I freakingknewit.
The final nail in the coffin of my father dictating every aspect of my life. So full of himself, he was trying to dictate who Imarrytoo.
“This is the twenty-first century, Blake. While I’m sure you’re a stand-up guy, I’m not interested in being someone’s trophy wife or being told who I can or can’t—wait a second. Why are you so calm about this? I get that you’ve had more time to digest it, but you can’t possibly be interested in this arrangement? You don’t even know me!”
Again, he laughed loudly. “Despite you being absolutely stunning—like, drop-dead gorgeous, honestly—I won’t be marrying you. Truly, if I was interested in an arranged marriage, I wouldn’t be disappointed about you crawling into my bed every night. But, as it is, I’m more of the ‘never going to get married and will happily just stick his dick into whomever I please’ type of guy. That, and I have no interest in being my father’s puppet. What I am interested in, however, is taking over I.T., and unfortunately it means I have to act like I’m willing to do whatever it takes. At this time, whatever it takes—by my father’s standards—is getting you to fall in love with me. Or atleastagree to marry me.”
“I don’t agree to marry you.”
