My irritation peaks. I swallow it down, informing her, "I'm coming home for the month."

"A month!" she shrieks.

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Yeah. I'll be there on December 1st. I'm leaving on New Year's Day."

As soon as that clock strikes midnight, I'm out of there.

"Oh, Sebastian. I'm so happy to hear this. Everyone will be so excited," she declares.

Sure they will.

One thing I can always count on is being the black sheep of the family. I prefer the excitement of the city to the dull quiet of the country. The family gatherings I wouldn't mind, if everyone in town wouldn't try to pry into my business or point out my failures when they indulge in their gossip.

So I prefer to be by myself. It's easier that way. I reply, "Alright, Mom, I gotta go. I'll talk to you later. Let Dad know what's happening."

"I sure will. I'm so excited. Are you bringing anybody this year?" she inquires.

Here we go...

I answer, "I haven't thought that far."

"So you aren't dating anyone?" she asks.

"I didn't say that," I claim, then regret the words.

"You are?" she pries.

"Mom, I have to go. We can discuss this later," I say, to buy myself some more time.

She blurts out, "There are a couple of women I'd really like to introduce you to if you come alone. I know you're super picky, but I think—"

"Mom, do not try to set me up," I warn.

"Honey, you're getting older. I need some more grandbabies," she tells me for the millionth time.

"Mom, please."

This is going to be such a disaster. Why did I agree to do this?

Because I've worked my ass off to become CEO.

I quickly state, "I've got a meeting and need to go. Love you. Bye." I hang up and put my forehead on the desk, groaning.

What am I going to do for a month?

Go nuts.

She's probably already inviting all the single women in town to hang out at our house and attend the parties.

How many parties will they have?

I count the family birthdays in December plus holidays in my head and groan.

Too many.

I rack my brain about what to do. I debate about bringing home a fake fiancée, but then I cringe.

All the gossips will be placing bets on if I make it to the altar or not. I should have learned after the first, at the very most, the second time. Four times was asking to give them extra ammo.

I kept thinking each one would never hurt me.

I thought they were different.

I'm an idiot.

Why do I care what the gossips say?

I don't care.

Yes, I do.

God, I hate my life sometimes.

There's a knock on my door, pulling me out of my thoughts. I sit up straight at my desk, answering, "Come in."