Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“I’m not going to hand over one of the most profitable corporations in the United States to a soulless bachelor half the company is too scared to approach.”
My father was wrong.
It was precisely my soullessness that made me the perfect candidate for the job of delivering heavy-duty weapons into the hands of dubious governments and banana republics.
Not that he cared about my marital status.
He only cared about one thing—continuing the Costa bloodline.
“Come on, Romeo.” Bruce wedged himself back into the conversation. “This can’t be good for your blood pressure.”
Bruce’s brother ran a goliath pharmaceutical corporation that made Pfizer look like David, so he often pretended to care about Senior’s health.
The truth was, we both wanted the man dead. And we both played nice to succeed his position as CEO before he kicked the bucket.
Well, I played nice.
Bruce had his tongue so far up my father’s rear, I was surprised it didn’t tickle his tonsils.
Senior ignored Bruce, continuing his rant. “Especially with Licht Holdings breathing down our necks.”
Licht Holdings—you guessed it—belonged to Madison Licht’s father. A rival defense firm gaining popularity with the bigwigs in D.C.
To be sure, by calling it defense, what I truly meant was weapons.
My family made an extraordinary volume of weapons and sold most of them to the U.S. of A. Underwater guns, precision-guided firearms, armed robotic systems, taser shockwaves, hypersonic missiles.
If it could kill thousands in one blow, we probably manufactured it.
War was a profitable industry.
Much more than peace.
Sorry, Tolstoy. Commendable idea, though.
“Actually, I found the one.” I sighed with displeasure when I remembered that my so-called one was probably currently changing her name, forging a fake passport, and running off to a country without extradition laws.
“You did?” Monica gasped with excitement.
“You did?” Senior asked skeptically.
“You did?” Bruce sounded like I’d just shoved a ballistic missile up his rear.
“Indeed.” I called an Uber to take me to my future bride’s residence, since this hellhole didn’t even have a car service. “I cannot wait for you to meet her.”
“What’s she like?” The pearls in Monica’s fingers probably twisted with her eagerness.
“The proud owner of a pulse and a womb, your only two requirements.”
Not that she’ll be using that womb of hers.
Monica barked out a delighted laugh. “Oh, Rom. You really can be crass sometimes.”
An Uber Lux pulled to the curb. Last year’s Range Rover. I needed out of Chapel Falls yesterday.
I slid into the cab of the vehicle, ignoring the eye contact the driver tried to impose on me. The only thing that would make today even more inconvenient was small talk with a stranger.
“When are we going to meet the girl?” If it were up to Monica, Dallas would be delivered to her doorsteps via Two-Hour Prime shipping.
“As soon as humanly possible.”
I needed to destroy any chances of Bruce becoming a viable alternative to me as CEO. That, unfortunately, meant a few more hours in a confined space with Dallas Townsend.
Monica hovered on the cusp of exploding with joy. “Aww. Are you really that excited to show her off?”
I stared out the window. “Bursting at the seams.”
“Junior…Christ, kid.” And that was when I knew Bruce had found one of the viral videos from last night. “Mon, Romeo, I think you should see something. Remember Clinton Brunswick from the Pentagon? His wife forwarded a video to my Shelley. I regret to bring it to your attention, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable not addressing it since Junior did a terri—”
That was my cue to hang up.
As I killed the call and watched Chapel Falls zip past me in all of its small-town glory, I thought marrying the Townsend girl wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
I would leave her to tend to her own business—shopping? Luncheons? Botox parties?—only reentering her life periodically to drag her to black-tie events or important summits that required me to appear like a respectable family man.
She’d probably slink back to Chapel Falls within a year or two and age ungracefully, spending her time drowning in materialistic extravagance and meaningless gossip to numb the taste of her own pointlessness.
I would return to my normal life in Potomac.
My work. My friends. My plans.
After a few years, ten or twelve, when the burn of becoming a mother really seared through her, I would consider granting Dallas a divorce. Depending on how useful to me she’d be by then.
She’d sign a prenup, though.
That woman was not worth half the Costa fortune.
Yes, I decided. Marrying the Townsend girl will be an anecdotal incident in my life, not a pivotal moment.
It didn’t matter how loud she was.
My silence would always be louder.
It seemed fitting that a cookie-cutter mansion housed my cookie-obsessed bride.
With its fresh coat of white paint, black shutters, imperial columns, and bright-red door, the pre-War Colonial could grace the pages of Southern Living.
On the second-floor balcony, two rocking chairs swung from the force of whoever had occupied them seconds ago. That confirmed my suspicion.