Epigraph

1. Barrett

CHAPTER 1

Barrett

The clinking of spoons against champagne glasses rises to an ear-splitting level around me. I use the deafening sound as an excuse to extract myself from another tedious conversation with members of New York City’s upper crust.

“Another whiskey, neat, please.” I set my empty glass on the bar.

Behind me, the sharp sound dissipates indicating that the bride and groom have given in to the obnoxious tradition and kissed.

The bartender makes quick work of filling my glass, a large square ice cube and two fingers of Macallan, but not quick enough to allow me to escape my mother, who is quickly approaching. She’s wearing a beaded gown, likely one of hundreds she owns, her makeup is professionally done for the occasion and her short, white hair is curled and styled to perfection.

“There you are, Barrett. I haven’t seen you since the cocktail hour.” She looks pointedly at the amber liquid in my glass. “It appears you’re still there.”

“Good evening, Mother.” I lean down far enough so she can access my cheek. I may be avoiding her but now that she’s found me, there’s no reason to be an asshole.

“It was a lovely wedding, wasn’t it?” she asks while waving to a couple across the room.

JoAnna St. Clair is in her element. A social butterfly regaling in the love that two people have found with each other. She’s a romantic and jumps at any chance to celebrate love. Or to try and convince me I’m missing out by being alone.

She’s the head of publishing at St. Clair Press, the publishing house she and my father started. St. Clair Press is housed under the parent company St. Clair Media, known in the industry as SCM.

I nod. “Sure.”

What I mean is I’m guessing it was. I had been checking work emails in the pew during the ceremony.

“Did you speak with Mark and Amber?” she asks.

I nod solemnly.

“Yes, I gave them my condolences,” I cough, “I mean best wishes for a long and happy marriage.”

I raise my glass in the air in a mock toast.

I find weddings and love in general to be a waste of my time.

I give her my best smile, which the alcohol has made a bit lazy. She glances around the room, a brilliant smile plastered to her face. Only I can see the tightness in her jaw.

“It wouldn’t kill you to at least talk to her.”

“Who would that be, Mother? The woman you set me up with tonight unwillingly, or her mother that is already picking out names for our non-existent children?” I take another sip. I love the burning sensation the whiskey creates in my stomach. It overpowers the headache that my mother’s meddling in my personal life always creates.

“You’re being ridiculous. It was just an idea that Estelle and I had. We thought you two might hit it off.”

Estelle being my mother’s tennis partner at the club. I’m sure this plan was hatched post victory over dirty martinis with the vision of chubby-cheeked grandbabies dancing in their heads.

“Because we have so much in common?” I practically snort.

My second drink of the evening was the only thing that got me through listening to Kristin, Krista, or was it Kristy’s sorority house drama. Kristy, I’m seventy-five percent sure. Something about her best friend’s boyfriend dating another girl behind her back, and they were all roommates, I think. Shit, I give myself props for listening that long.

Estelle’s daughter is the latest in a long line of set ups my mother has attempted. Kristy is a twenty-two-year-old socialite who just graduated college and is looking to find a husband and become a housewife. Good luck to her, because I’m not that guy.

I don’t have time for personal exploits. The sole reason for accepting today’s invitation is for business purposes. Not so my mother can play matchmaker.

I would think my mother would be running out of female relatives of her friends and acquaintances, but being the warm and friendly extrovert that she is, she will likely never run out of fresh-faced females to dangle in front of me. No disrespect, the women are nice, I’m sure. They would make another man happy and content, but that is not the focus of my life right now.

Closing a deal with Voltaire Telecom is my sole focus. Why can’t my mother see that my attention needs to be on the company my father started? The company that after my father’s death, my Uncle Leo, a delightfully charming man with no business sense, slowly ran into the ground in my late teens and early twenties. A company that she still holds the majority stock in and has entrusted me to run.

My mother side-eyes me. I can tell she’s waiting for me to cave on this. To be the obedient son she raised. That’s the thing. I have always conceded and done what I was supposed to. I’ve gotten good grades, gone to the right schools, taken over the family business. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my mother interfere with my personal life. I’m thirty-two years old and I have no intention of settling down. Especially not for someone my mother handpicked for me.

“It’s wedding season, Barrett.”

It’s her way of telling me that she’s got three months’ worth of events to ambush me with more of her future daughter-in-law candidates. It’s my mother’s version of a threat. She doesn’t come right out and tell me she’s going to drive me insane over the next few months trying to set me up with a date at every social event we attend, but I know her and she doesn’t give up that easily.

“There’s an actual season for dry cake and misery?” I ask, deadpan, then take another sip of my whiskey.

She ignores my jab.

“I know you’re working on Voltaire Telecom and the importance of that acquisition is not lost on me, but you need to find balance. Besides, it might do you some good to have a woman on your arm at business dinners. I sat alongside your father for thirty-five years, so trust me, I know how it works.”

I hum around a sip of my whiskey. I know she’s right in some respects, but I refuse to give her any encouragement.

“Tessa Green. She’s thirty and a lawyer with Cooper Stanley Williams. She’s smart and beautiful. The least you can do is meet her for lunch. I’ll have Chloe set it up.”

At the mention of my mother’s assistant, the muscles in my shoulders tense. It’s an automatic response. Chloe Anderson tests my limits with every encounter. She’s been my mother’s assistant for two years, and though I rarely see her, my mind easily conjures her image. Her fiery red hair always pulled up into a knot on her head, allowing access to her slender neck. Those crystal blue eyes, which I find on most occasions pinning me with a disapproving glare, are other worldly. For every inch her petite frame is lacking, she makes up for it in snark and bite. She’s a pint-sized human carrying out my mother’s agenda, which on occasion, like setting up blind dates, only makes my life more difficult.

The fact that my mother would request for her to set up a reservation for a lunch date that I have no interest in going on only fuels my dislike for her. It’s unwarranted, but nonetheless, it’s my only defense mechanism at this point.

“I’m sure Tessa is a nice woman, but I’m not taking her to lunch. My calendar is already full with business meetings.”

She hums her disapproval. It’s a trait we share, apparently.

“Have it your way, Barrett.”

It’s a parting shot. A warning that this discussion and her plan to set me up with every fertile woman she runs into isn’t over.

She smiles sweetly before leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. I watch as her retreating back is swallowed into the crowd of gowns and tuxedos.

With my mother off my back for now, I scan the crowd until my gaze lands on the large, bald head of Fred Hinkle, President and CEO of Voltaire Telecom. The shine bouncing off his head is like a North Star guiding me home. My feet immediately start moving, my eyes scanning the periphery to avoid being trapped into another conversation with Kristy.

Fred Hinkle and the acquisition of his company, Voltaire Telecom, will secure SCM’s place at the top of the media industry. To the company it was when my father was running it. It’s the only goal I’ve had for the past seven years. Every meeting, every deal I’ve made, every acquisition I’ve completed has been in pursuit of restoring SCM’s legacy. Now, I’m so close. There’s no way I can take my eyes off the ball now.

The shiny, gleaming ball that is Fred Hinkle’s scalp.

“Fred.” I place a hand on his suit-clad shoulder. He turns from the group he’s talking to, his jovial smile dropping when his eyes recognize me.

Fred doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m an arrogant businessman buying and gutting other businesses at the expense of the hard-working people who have made them what they are.

It would be hearsay but he told me that himself when I tried to book a meeting with him.

‘A vulture preying on the weak’ is what he likened me to.

He’d be right. I have had to make decisions along the way that cost workers’ jobs but it wasn’t personal, it was business. Decisions that were right for my company in the long run.

He also does not want to sell Voltaire Telecom voluntarily. His company is in trouble. Banks are calling on their loans, investors want payouts and his stock is plummeting. He’s desperate for a cash injection. A takeover is inevitable, and I’ve put SCM in the perfect position to do it. Fred has a crumbling empire, but he’s got enough time and wherewithal to be able to choose who is going to pick up the pieces. I need him to choose me.

But there are plenty of other companies that are jockeying for the same position.

The man talking to Fred is Ryan Shaw.

If I’m a vulture, then Ryan is a leech.

His company, Shaw & Graham, is SCM’s biggest competitor. Competition is healthy. That’s not my issue with him. But, whenever I’m at the table with a company for a deal or merger, he’s on my heels trying to beat me to it. The man doesn’t have an original idea. He waits for me to make my intentions known, then tosses his hat into the ring.

“Mr. St. Clair.” Fred’s use of formality is his way of keeping me aware of the situation. He’s in his sixties, and that generation always had their own way of doing things. Like the fact that he won’t take a meeting with me so I’ve reduced myself to stalking him at an event I knew he would be at. While it is questionable if he will be at the gala or fundraiser of the week, I knew he wouldn’t miss his daughter’s wedding.

“St. Clair.” Ryan gives me a nod and a smirk.

“Shaw.” I respond with my own nod, but I keep my attention on Fred.

“Mr. Hinkle, it was a beautiful wedding. Amber looked stunning. I’m sure you’re a proud father tonight.” Amber and I went to prep school together, and our mothers are friends. That’s the only reason I was invited to this wedding. That and I’m sure with a million more important things to do, Fred didn’t bother to monitor the guest list.

Fred’s face softens with the mention of his daughter.

“I’m a very proud father.”

A faraway look takes over his face, his smile returns and his eyes go misty. Fred looks like he’s moments away from becoming a blubbering mess. My collar feels tight, suffocating. Maybe this is what I get for trying to talk to a man who just gave away his little girl. Fuck.

For a moment I think he’s going to turn back toward the group he was talking with and leave it at that, but something over my shoulder catches his eye.

“Are you missing your date?”

“What?”

I turn to find Kristy bouncing on her heels to scan over the crowd. Before she spots me, I turn back to Fred.

“No.” I shake my head. “No date.”

The corners of Fred’s lips turn down, the frown lines near his mouth are set deep, indicating his innate preference for displeasure.

I was hoping to take full advantage of his jovial mood, and possibly the fact that like me, Fred’s had a few drinks tonight. My mind is searching for what went wrong. Fred was talking about his daughter, family and love. He was happy. He asked if I had a date, I said no and then he frowned. If there’s one thing I’ve excelled at in business, it’s reading people and being able to appeal to their emotions. While I never like to mix emotions with business, I don’t mind playing on someone else’s to get what I want.

I’m trying to find my angle when a woman approaches Fred from behind. Her manicured nails, which are a good three inches long, scrape along the fabric at the shoulder of his suit jacket before she places her glossy pink lips onto his cheek.

“There you are, baby,” she coos.

Fred lights up at this woman’s affection. Fred and Helen have been divorced for a few years now, but I wasn’t aware that Fred had a new woman in his life. She’s young, closer to my age, at least twenty years younger than Fred. In her high heels, she towers over his hairless head, her long blonde hair straight and shiny, nearly draping over his shoulder. She moves to Fred’s side to reveal a curvy body encased in a dark blue satin gown, her large breasts barely held in by thin spaghetti straps.

“Hi there.” The woman turns her attention on me. “I’m Frankie.”

She smiles and extends a hand out to me.

“Barrett St. Clair.”

I shake her hand, a surprisingly awkward task with her long nails. I turn her hand to examine said nails.

“Those are quite the nails.”

It wasn’t exactly a compliment but Frankie takes it as such.

“Oh my God, thank you. They’re part of the nail line I’m launching.” She wiggles her fingers with excitement. I take a step back to avoid an eyebrow gash. “Frankie’s Faux Nails. That’s what we’ve come up with so far, right, baby?”

We both turn toward Fred, while Frankie seems oblivious, I can see that Fred’s eyes are narrowed. And directed at me.

Uh oh. I know what that look is and it’s not ‘hey, man, can I buy you a beer and discuss your takeover of my company?’

It’s territorial. My mind goes back to Fred’s displeasure of me not having a date. Now having met Frankie, I can see why Fred would want to keep her away from any age appropriate, successful, single men. That being me.

While I have no interest in Frankie, Fred doesn’t know that.

“That’s wonderful. I bet my girlfriend would love them.” The words tumble out before I can fully realize the consequences of what I’m about to say.

“Girlfriend?” Fred asks, surprised. “You said you didn’t have a date.”

“She’s out of town. Visiting her family,” I lie.

Fred’s frown lines smooth as his mouth ticks up a quarter of an inch.

“So, there is a heart beneath that tuxedo jacket.”

“You bet.” I smile, knowing I’ve made some kind of crack in Fred’s impenetrable exterior. And because I’m on a roll, and want to assure him I have no interest in his girlfriend, I continue, “She’s the love of my life.”

“Ahh.” Frankie sighs, clutching a hand to her chest. Her nails press into her breasts, indenting the skin there.

“Good,” Fred affirms, his animosity gone. “I’m glad you’re not just tolling away in your ivory tower. That you’ve found something, someone that is more important than business.”

“Of course not. What is life without love? I wouldn’t be the successful man I am today without it. Her, I mean. She’s great. It’s a shame that she wasn’t able to make it tonight. I would have loved for you to meet her. Both of you.” I nod to Frankie. “I think you two would get along great.”

At this point, I don’t know what is coming out of my mouth, but Fred’s newfound willingness to talk with me makes it impossible to stop.

“We totally would.” Frankie nods, even though I have given zero information about my supposed girlfriend.

Fred stares at me a moment longer than feels comfortable. His blank stare makes me think that maybe I went too far, that he knows I’m full of shit and he’s going to call me out on it. But Frankie shrieks with excitement.

“Oh my God, you guys. We should totally do a double date.” Frankie bounces next to Fred, stroking his chest with her Wolverine-like nails.

The universe must be on my side because Fred breaks into a huge grin.

“Let’s do that.” Fred nods. “A week from Saturday.”

“Sounds great,” I say with all the confidence of a man who has a girlfriend.

Apparently, I’ve found an in with Fred Hinkle. The only problem now is I have a week to find this so called ‘love of my life.’

2. Chloe

CHAPTER 2

Chloe

“You fell asleep with a book on your face again, didn’t you?” Jules, my friend and co-worker at St. Clair Press, points at the crease lines that must still be prominent on my face.

While she places her coffee order, I scrub at my cheek. I’d hoped they’d have softened by now.

We’re at the coffee shop down the street from our office building.

“Please tell me you didn’t ditch me this weekend to read manuscripts,” she says.

I smile sheepishly.

“Would you feel better if that wasn’t the only reason?” I ask.

Yes, I was reading, but most of my Saturday afternoon was spent gathering supplies for my childhood best friend’s bachelorette party. Lauren, her mom and aunt, along with her friends and co-workers will be descending on New York City Friday afternoon. The thought makes the mocha latte I just consumed swirl in my belly.

“All right, you get a pass.” Jules grabs her coffee off the counter. “How’s everything going for Lauren’s party?”

“I think I’m all set.” I shrug, following her out the door. “I’ve never thrown a bachelorette party before.”

“That’s because who gets married at twenty-five anymore? At our age, how can you commit to one dick and know you’re making the right decision?” She waves to the bustling streets around us. “I mean this city alone has a sea of dicks just waiting to be explored.”

A man walking by gives Jules a concerned look, but she walks on, oblivious.

Two years ago, Jules and I started on the same day at St. Clair Press, one of the top publishing companies in the country. She’s a marketing assistant and I’m the editorial assistant for JoAnna St. Clair, the founder and publisher of St. Clair Press. We’re completely different, but I think that’s what makes our friendship work.

“I don’t know. Love, I guess?” I wouldn’t know much about either, love or committing to one dick. In this city of apparent endless dicks—according to Jules—I’ve yet to explore even one. The last dick I encountered was in college three years ago. It seems like a lifetime. Would I even know what to do? Is it like riding a bicycle, you just remember how?

Maybe that’s why I’m nervous about this weekend. I want everything to go smoothly, as anyone throwing a party for a major milestone in their childhood best friend’s life would want, but after being in New York for two years, it feels like I should have more glamour and excitement in my life. Lauren thinks I do. That was her reason for wanting to celebrate her impending nuptials in the city that never sleeps. Little does she know, I’m usually passed out by ten o’clock. The only reason I’m up past midnight is if I can’t put down the book I’m reading.

I’ll give myself some credit. I did move to New York City on my own, without knowing anyone. I found my apartment in East Harlem. It’s a shoebox, but it’s all mine. No roommates or pesky younger siblings rummaging through my stuff and stealing my dad’s hand-me-down vintage concert t-shirts. As the oldest of five kids, I earned those.

And, out of a large and highly-qualified pool of candidates, JoAnna St. Clair selected me as her editorial assistant. So maybe the pressure of living up to her expectations has put my love life, aka dick exploration, on pause. Like Jules said, we’re only twenty-five, there’s plenty of time for that.

“We were at Bounce on Saturday. It was such a vibe. Oh! And I met a guy.” She takes a sip of her iced caramel macchiato. “For you.”

“For me?”

“Yes! He’s handsome and successful. A finance guy or something. The music was really loud. I didn’t get the details, but I showed him a picture of you and he said he was interested.”

“I don’t love blind dates. You know I’m not the best at going in blind. I need talking points. Areas of common interest.”

“How about you’re both attractive people that are interested in sex at the end of the night?”

“Jules.” I level her with a stare.

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

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