The endless parties on my yachts, the over the top parties on my rooftops had lost their appeal over the years, and the only reason I continued to be seen with supermodels was to distract the media from whatever business deal I was sealing behind the scenes.

If they cared to look a bit closer, they’d see that everything in my life was now a permanent stage of déjà vu, so much so, that I could predict all the conversations I had with people and nothing surprised me anymore. I kept to myself, never made friends, and kept tabs on all my enemies.

Since my relationship with my family was nonexistent, I buried myself in work and expected everyone around me to do the same. If I was capable of working a minimum of one hundred hours a week, they were capable as well. If I didn’t need to sleep, they didn’t need to either.

When I finally arrived at my headquarters, I took a second to admire the silver and grey “P” that was engraved in the center of the marble lobby. I waited to see if my executive assistant would meet me with the required morning reports and my favorite coffee, but three minutes passed, and nothing came.

Of course …

Annoyed, I took the elevator up to my office and was immediately greeted by the floor’s lead receptionist, Cynthia.

“Good morning, Mr. Parker!” She was always too perky for the morning hours. “How are you today?”

“The same as I was yesterday. Do I have any calls waiting?”

She didn’t answer. She just smiled and stared at me, batting her big brown eyes every few seconds.

“Do I have any calls waiting?” I repeated. “Any new files to sign off for morning delivery?”

She still didn’t answer.

“Is there any particular reason why you’re staring at me like that instead of answering my questions?”

“I’ll reply to your questions when you reply to mine.” She lowered her voice. “I texted your personal phone last night. Why didn’t you answer?”

“Because I blocked your number three weeks ago.”

“I was trying to send you a picture that I took on my vacation,” she said. “I wasn’t wearing anything but a bikini bottom.”

“I’m expecting a call from the Rush Estate this morning.” I refused to continue this conversation. “Can you make sure it gets routed to my second line, so I can record it, please?”

“The picture made me look like a supermodel,” she said. “I know you used to date supermodels, right? According to all those Rumor Reports anyway.”

“I’m also expecting a file delivery from the new Berkley team. You have my permission to sign for it.”

“I think it’s time you date a woman who actually eats her French fries instead of a girl who just poses with them on social media, you know?” She swayed her hips and smiled. “I also think you should give someone close to you a chance for a change.”