The Teos owned one of the biggest retail chains in the UK. My mother was best friends with Philippa Teo, and our family mansions stood side by side in London’s posh Kensington Palace Gardens.
“You were neighbors and attended the same social functions,” my mother said. “It counts in my book. Regardless, aren’t you thrilled she’s moving to Manhattan?”
“Hmm.” My noncommittal answer contained all the enthusiasm of a defendant sitting trial.
Despite our families’ closeness, I barely knew Clarissa. I hadn’t been interested in hanging out with a girl five years my junior as a kid, and an ocean separated us when we were both adults—I’d studied at Cambridge for my master’s while she’d attended Harvard. By the time she returned to London, I’d already moved to New York.
We certainly weren’t close enough for me to feel any type of way over her comings and goings.
“She doesn’t know many people in New York,” my mother said with the subtlety of a thousand neon sparklers spelling ask her out at night. “You should show her around. The Valhalla Club’s fall gala is coming up. She would make a lovely date.”
A sigh traveled up my throat to the tip of my tongue before I swallowed it. “I’m happy to take her out to lunch one day, but I haven’t decided whether I’m bringing a date to the gala yet.”
“You are a Young.” My mother’s voice grew stern. “Not only that, you could become CEO of the world’s biggest media company in four months. I’ve let you have your fun, but you need to settle down soon. The board does not look favorably on people with unsettled home lives.”
“Didn’t one of the board members find his wife in bed with the gardener? A married home life sounds more unsettled than an unmarried one.”
“Kai.”
I rubbed a hand over my mouth, wondering how my smooth, easy day had devolved into this. First Tobias, now my mother. It was like the universe was conspiring against me.
“I’m not asking you to propose, though it certainly wouldn’t hurt,” my mother said. “Clarissa is beautiful, well-educated, well-mannered, and cultured. She would make a wonderful wife.”
“This isn’t a dating app. You don’t need to list her qualities,” I said dryly. “Like I said, I promise I’ll meet up with her at least once.”
After a few more reassurances, I hung up.
A headache throbbed behind my temple. My mother gave me the illusion of choice, but she expected me to marry Clarissa one day. Everyone did. If not Clarissa, then someone exactly like her with the proper lineage, education, and upbringing.
I’d dated multiple women like that. They were pleasant enough, but there was always something missing.
Another image flashed through my mind, this time of purple-black hair and sparkling eyes and a husky, irrepressible laugh.
My shoulders tightened. I pushed the image out of my mind and tried to refocus on work, but glints of purple kept resurfacing until I slammed my folder shut and stood.
Perhaps my mother was right. I should take Clarissa to the fall gala. Just because my previous girlfriends hadn’t worked out didn’t mean a similar relationship wouldn’t work out in the future.
I was destined to marry someone like Clarissa Teo.
Not anyone else.
“Who the hell pissed you off today?” Dante rubbed his jaw. “You were throwing punches at me like I was Victor fucking Black.”
“Can’t handle it?” I quipped, sidestepping his question. I ignored the mention of a rival media group’s smarmy CEO. “If marriage made you soft, let me know, and I’ll find a new partner.”
His glare could’ve melted the marble columns lining the hallway.
I suppressed a smile. Riling him up was even more therapeutic than our weekly boxing matches. I just wish he didn’t make it so easy. One semi-critical mention of his wife or marriage and he reverted right back to his scowling, pre-Vivian self.
We typically boxed on Thursdays, but I’d convinced him to move our standing appointment up given yesterday’s CEO vote bombshell.
“Be my guest. I’d much rather spend my evenings with Viv anyway.” A short pause. “And I’m not fucking soft. We ended in a tie.”
We usually did. It galled my competitive side to no end, but it was also why I enjoyed sparring with Dante so much. It was a challenge in a world filled with easy wins.
“Honeymoon stage is still going strong then?” I asked.
Dante and Vivian had recently returned from their actual honeymoon in Greece. The Dante I’d known for the better part of a decade would’ve never taken two weeks off from work, but his wife had accomplished the impossible. She’d transformed him into an actual human being with a life outside the office.
His face softened. “Don’t think it’ll ever end,” he said with surprising frankness. “Speaking of which, what are you going to do about Clarissa?”
I’d told him about the CEO vote and my mother’s call earlier. As expected, Dante had displayed the sympathy of a chipped boulder, but he never missed an opportunity to hound me about my mother’s determination to marry me off.
“Take her out like I promised. Who knows?” I stopped at the entrance to the bar. “She could be the one. This time next month, we could be double dating and wearing matching couples’ outfits in Times Square.”
Dante grimaced. “I’d rather cut off my arm and feed it through a grinder.”
I swallowed my laughter. “If you say so.” If I convinced Vivian, she could get him to yodel naked on the corner of Broadway and Forty-Second Street. Luckily for him, I also found the idea of couples’
outfits and visiting Times Square abhorrent.
We usually grabbed a drink together after our boxing matches, but he excused himself tonight for a date with his wife, so I entered the bar alone.
I wove through the room, instinctively searching for a glimpse of dimples and violet, but I only saw Isabella’s blond friend and another bartender with red curls.
I settled at an empty stool and ordered my usual scotch, neat, from the blond. Teresa? Teagan?
Tessa. That was her name.
“Here you go!” she chirped, setting the drink in front of me.
“Thank you.” I took a casual sip. “Busy night. Is anyone else working today?”
“Nope. We never have more than two people working the same shift.” Tessa’s brows rose. “Are you looking for someone in particular?”
I shook my head. “Just asking.”
Luckily, another customer soon diverted her attention, and she didn’t press further.
I finished my scotch and spent the next half hour engaging in the obligatory networking and information gathering—there was nothing like a little alcohol to loosen people’s tongues, which was why I had a strict three-drink limit in public—but I couldn’t focus. My thoughts kept straying to a certain room on the second floor.
Not because of Isabella, obviously. I was simply bothered by how she’d outperformed me, and I couldn’t rest until I’d perfected the piece.
I lasted another ten minutes in the bar before I couldn’t take it anymore. I excused myself from a conversation with the CEO of a private equity firm, slipped out the side entrance, and took the stairs to the second floor.