Bound to You

Nicholas

This weekend would’ve been hell if it weren’t for the redhead I met on the plane. My cock stirs at the thought of her round little ass pressed up against me. It doesn’t matter that she was wearing jeans. I knew she could feel me growing hard underneath her. It took all of my strength not to take her into one of the lavatories and fuck her until she begged me to stop. Her lips were a tease for something even more delicious. I bet she tastes like peaches.

“Good morning, Mr. StoneHaven.” Mary, our building receptionist breaks me from my thoughts as she hands me a manila envelope. Mary Striver has been with our company for over thirty years. I feel strangely close to her, although she doesn’t usually say any more than hello or goodbye to me. I do have to admit, she has a quirky character. Sometimes I refer to her as Mona Lisa because she always seems like she’s hiding something funny.

“Good morning, Mary. What’s this?”

“It’s the folder of resumes your father wanted you to look over before Monday. He’s looking to hire a new personal assistant for you.”

“This has to be the fifth assistant this year.” PAs don’t seem to last too long with me. It’s partly my fault. Most of them end up in my bed and they don’t stay there long, which means they don’t stay here long.

“Yes, it is,” Mary says, half smiling to herself. “Your father is expecting you upstairs.”

“Thank you, Mary. Don’t go home too late.”

“Of course, sir. Goodnight.”

I swallow the irritation nipping at my heels as I make my way up the elevator to the thirtieth floor. The sight of the familiar marble flooring and gunmetal windows eases my nerves somewhat. I’m home. StoneHaven Publishing has been my home for as long as I can remember. It’s filled with countless memories of summers spent helping my father as he built this company piece by piece. Every summer I watched him labor over it for hours upon hours. I’m pretty sure this company is and will always be my father’s baby. No, I’m damn sure.

After a four-hour flight, and two hours spent trying to get through the city, I’m exhausted. This past week has been grueling. I thought Los Angeles would be a nice break from the hectic New York scenery, but LA was just one of my father’s distractions. He had me meeting with potential investors almost every day. I thought he was looking to expand and open up an office in California. I should’ve known better. He agreed too easily to send me to California. While I was working, he was planning an engagement.

As of this morning, I am supposed to announce my engagement to Alison Price, the daughter of one of my father’s investors. It isn’t as if I actually asked Alison to marry me. No, my father bartered with Grayson Price and this is the deal they came to. This is the 21st century, and yet somehow this feels archaic. The roles have reversed over these past centuries. Now, I’m being put up for auction. My father has a new mission for me – marriage. Just the thought of it sends my stomach turning. Married to one woman for the rest of my life is insanity. And it isn’t even one I particularly like.

I thought we settled this argument before I flew to Los Angeles, but apparently our conversation was moot because I received a text message from a fellow colleague congratulating me on my upcoming nuptials. The part that had me confused was why I was supposedly getting married in the first place. I thought it was some cruel joke. But I was so wrong.

My father’s office sits in the furthest corner of the floor. Much like his egotistical self, he demanded the office with the best view overlooking the city below. I’m not sure why he wonders who I get my traits from. It’s obvious. The floor is clear of employees, with the exception of security doing their nightly rounds of each floor. Sometimes I wonder if we need so many people clearing all of the floors.

I find father sitting at his desk reading over a slew of documents. He doesn’t bother looking up as I enter the room. He’s wearing his bifocal glasses again. Emily, my little sister, is always teasing him by telling him that he looks like Benjamin Franklin with them on. If only she could see him right now. Father mutters something, which as far as I can guess, is him telling me to sit down.

“Good evening, I’m glad to see you finally made it in,” he says, taking his glasses off and rubbing the dark circles under his eyes.

“Father, I need to speak with you about this impending marriage you seem to think is happening.”

He looks up with a smirk of amusement. I know all too well that he’s up to no good. If I could stare daggers at him right now, I would. I don’t understand why he wants to micromanage everything, including my life. He places the stack of documents in his desk and leans back in his chair. His composure reminds me of when I was in high school and we would talk about the importance of studying. Father hated that I wanted to play sports in school. He’d rather me read all day. He finds greater value in the mind than in the body. I beg to differ. I think there’s plenty of value in the body, especially when it comes to women.

“Yes, I think now is a good time to discuss your upcoming marriage, but first I would like to discuss this issue of getting you a new personal assistant. I went ahead and had HR post a temporary position up on the site. We have several candidates lined up. Interviews will be held Monday morning. If you’d like you can be there, but if not I think I can manage on my own.”

"Father, I don't need another assistant,” I say with annoyance.

"You're right, son." he says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "What you really need is a babysitter."

"What?" A babysitter? “I’m 28, not ten.”

“You haven’t proved that to me yet.”

“I spend this past weekend speaking with investors under the impression that we were looking to open another office in California.”

“I’m just glad to see you finally taking an interest in the family business,” father says.

It’s difficult to appreciate something that’s nearly destroyed our family. But I’ve learned to love this business.

“I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.” I begin to stand, but my father’s words stop me.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says, turning in his chair. “You forget your income comes from this company. You were born into wealth. You haven’t really worked a day in your life. I’ve been trying to teach you to be responsible, because one day you’re going to inherit this company and with that comes certain expectations.”

“Yes, and marrying me off to one of your investors’ daughters isn’t enough to show my commitment to this company, and to this family?”

“No, Alison Price’s money may save this company, but if you don’t handle things properly, you can still run it straight into the ground.”

“I refuse to marry someone I don’t even like.”

“When I married your mother I wasn’t in love with her. The love came later on. Sometimes it’s better that way.”

“Yes, because you and mom are a perfect example of a lasting relationship.” The words come out more bitter than I intend, but I can’t help the anger rising in my chest. My mother isn’t an easy topic for either of us. She married my father because of his wealth and she left us when we were at our lowest. She was everything to my father, to my brother, to me, and my sister Emily. Was being the keyword.

"You understand you’re making my life a living hell, right?" I ask.

Father chuckles softly. "Since when is living in luxury hell?”

"You know I'm not going to make this easy,” I warn.

"Of course not," he says, smiling. “I wouldn’t expect any less. Nicholas, just give Alison Price a chance. I need you to behave while we're in negotiations with her father. You’ll see; at the end of all of this, you’ll understand why I’m doing what I’m doing."

I highly doubt it.

"Keep her happy,” he says, eyeing me. "Our relationship with her family is critical. At this time, they're one of our biggest investors. I hope I don't have to remind you that any ties you have with other women need to end. Now."

“Like I have a choice,” I mutter. My father looks up at me with a smirk. He doesn’t have to say it. I know the answer.

"Perfect, I understand."

“I want you to know that this was all Alison’s father’s idea. Apparently, she has a strong attachment to you. With good reason I’m assuming.”

It was one night. One big mistake. I should’ve known Alison couldn’t see it as a one-time thing.

“It meant nothing.”

“I was afraid you might say that. I think you should seriously consider spending more time with Alison. You may find that she grows on you.” Father drums his fingers at my silence. "Perhaps, at some point, you may find the idea of her becoming your wife a pleasant thing. She’ll make you a great wife."

Yes, like mother? The idea of having a wife gives me a headache.

“Are we done here?” I ask, bored.

“One more thing. You will have a personal assistant. He or she will be here to keep an eye on you and keep you out of trouble. You're a public figure for this company, and I can't have your face splashed all over the tabloids because of your 'extracurricular activities.'"

His words sting with each emphasis. We couldn’t be more different. My father doesn’t seem to remember the importance of mingling at social events or parties with other New York powerhouses. He thinks all I do is sleep around, while he spends his time buried away in his office. He wasn’t always so cold or hard with me. He changed when my mother left. The memory of her still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

“I guess there’s nothing else to discuss.”

“Good, then will I see you Monday for the interviews?”

“Yes.”

I leave my father’s office without another word. Although I’m fuming inside, can’t but hope that this mess will somehow fix itself. Maybe if I speak with Alison I can make her understand how marrying me would be a mistake – for both of us.

On my way home, I get a call from Tristan Knight, my childhood best friend. I haven’t heard from his mug for several weeks now. He’s been working on some top-secret project and he’s pretty much kept me out of the loop. All I know is it has something to do with his art.

“Nick! How have you been, buddy?” From the blaring sound of the music blasting from the other end, I know Tristan’s out somewhere, probably starting his weekend early.

“Tired, I just flew back in town,” I grumble.

“Aw, but not too tired for drinks with some lovely ladies, right?”

“Tristan, I refuse to get pulled into one of your double date fiascos again. Plus, there’s probably something I should tell you.”

“Look, just get down here. I have some big news and it sounds like you do too. I want you to be here.”

Big news? Tristan doesn’t throw around those two words lightly, so I’m genuinely intrigued. I guess I won’t be staying home and catching up on some much needed sleep. I do need to stop by my apartment to change. I can still smell the sweat from sitting for four hours on the plane.

“Alright, where do I meet you?”

“You’re going to like this place. It’s called Riptide. It’s over in Chelsea.”