Chapter One
SULLIVAN
“Stag again, Sullivan? Really?”
I sighed into my glass of scotch and silently wished I was drowning in it before turning to face my mother. She was a beautiful woman, with Grace Kelly features, ice-blond hair pulled into an elegant knot, and a dress that was probably custom-made by one of the top designers at Fashion Week. She was small; even in heels, she only came up to my shoulder. But with her shrewd hazel eyes that matched my own, her regal stature, and a never-take-no-for-an-answer attitude, she was intimidating as fuck.
She could send every man in our company running away with their balls retreated into their stomach with just a look. Except my father—I had no idea how she didn’t scare the hell out of him.
I was not a man to be trifled with and had a reputation for being lethal in the business arena. Yet she somehow managed to make me still feel like her little boy whenever the mood struck her.
“How are you, Mother?” I asked while giving her a polite kiss on the cheek and hoping to change the subject. “I didn’t know you and Dad were planning to attend.”
I’d even double-checked the guest list with the host since Miles Deveraux was a friend of mine. As of last night, my parents hadn’t RSVP’d, so I’d felt safe spending the evening dateless. I was going to wring Miles’s neck for not alerting me the minute they’d decided to make an appearance.
My mother looked down her nose at me. Don’t ask me how she did that from below…but she did. “Yes, well, we had a last-minute cancellation and wanted to show our support to the Deveraux Foundation.” She glanced down at my half-full glass and grabbed it from my hand, placing it back on the bar before slipping her arm through mine. “Since you are here alone, I have some people I’d like you to meet.” A serene smile plastered itself on her face, and she began to walk into the thick of the mingling crowd, dragging me behind her like the dutiful son I was.
“I’m not interested in your friends’ debutante daughters, Mother,” I protested softly. “I’m too busy to date, anyway.”
This was not an exaggeration. As Vice President of Bradford Enterprises and Real Estate, I spent almost all of my waking hours working. I hadn’t even managed to find the time for a quick fuck in months.
“Humor the woman who gave you life, Sullivan.”
Another sigh escaped, and I resigned myself to watching the clock tick as she introduced me to airhead after airhead. Finally, after almost two hours, I felt I’d put in my dues and could bow out for the night and head back to the office. I had a teleconference at 5:00 a.m. with a company in Singapore that I needed to prep for.
My mother looked none too happy with my excuse, but I hightailed it out of there before she could locate my father and double-team me.
I had no idea why they were so fixated on marrying me off. I was only thirty-two years old and at the height of my career, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t have time to look for a wife, much less deal with the bullshit that came with dating in New York City.
Particularly when I stood to inherit a company worth billions.
My meeting wrapped up at around seven in the morning, and I was beyond ready to return to my penthouse apartment and crash for a few hours. Living in the same building as my office definitely had its perks. I yawned as I stood from my plush leather chair and reached for the jacket hanging on the back. As I slid it on, I went over a mental checklist of everything I needed to get done today and calculated how much time I could give myself to sleep.
“Sullivan.”
“What the fuck?” I shouted, then immediately wished I had better control over myself when I realized it was my parents standing just inside my office door. I’d been so focused on my goal to get out of the office that I hadn’t heard anyone enter, and the sound of their voices had startled me.
“Watch your language in front of your mother, son,” my father scolded, his displeasure clear in the deep grooves of his furrowed brow, even though his frown was obscured by a thick, gray mustache and neatly trimmed beard.
“Sorry,” I apologized grumpily, though sincerely. “I was just headed home for a few hours, can this wait?”
My father shook his head and ushered my mom all the way inside and helped her into one of the brown leather wingback chairs that faced my desk. In many ways, they were an odd couple. I’d gotten my height from my father, and at six-four, we both loomed over her more petite frame. But no one could dispute their connection. Emotionally and professionally, they were a united front.