Page 5 of Bad Boy Husband

JAMESON

I t was probably the worst idea I’d had in years, and that was saying something. Bad ideas were practically my specialty, but it really couldn’t get much worse than this.

I chewed on my lower lip as I stared at Sadie’s profile on Instagram. Her heart-shaped face looked back at me from most of the pictures, that American sweetheart smile always present as long as she was holding mangy-looking kittens or a squirrel with one nut.

I used to make her smile like that. Like she was at her happiest when I was near. Not anymore. Not by a long shot.

Her latest post was a blurry photo of a mud-caked puppy that looked like it had crawled through a swamp, but she smiled at it like it made her heart melt. It made me desperately want to make her smile at me like that again, which was insane, and an entirely unnecessary complication in my plan.

Yep, this was stupid. Monumentally, fantastically stupid .

“Mr. Jameson?”

So surprised that I almost dropped my phone, I looked up to find Wanda standing in the doorway. Her cleaning kit was slung over her shoulder like a warrior queen’s sword, which as far as I was concerned, it kind of was.

She’d worked for me for years, the only person besides my tailor who could rearrange something in my house without giving me a coronary. “Hey, Wanda. Are you heading out?”

“Yes, sir. Same time next week?”

“Yeah.” I hesitated, rolling the phone between my palms as I leaned back on the couch. “Before you go, I have a serious question for you. Would you marry me?”

She barked a laugh so sharp, I nearly dropped the damn phone again. “Have you lost your mind? You’re not old enough for dementia. So it’s not that. Oh, no. Is it me? Am I finally losing it?”

“I’m serious,” I said, though I could feel the corners of my mouth tugging upward. “I wasn’t actually asking you to marry me. I’m asking if you think I’m marriage material.”

Her milky green eyes swept across my features for a moment, as if she was trying to ascertain if I really was serious. She gave it to me straight, though. She always did. “That depends. Are you planning on letting anyone else load the dishwasher or fold your towels?”

I grimaced. “Probably not.”

She shook her head. “Then no. Marriage is about compromise and I’m not sure you know the meaning of that word.”

“Fair enough,” I muttered, watching her hike her kit up higher on her shoulder before she walked out.

The front door clicked shut behind her and a quiet settled over the house.

I lived on the Westwood Estate, but I’d had my lakeside mansion fully renovated and modernized before I’d moved in.

Although I was on the same property as my parents, I had ten acres of woodlands and lawn of my own between me and them.

The house had been given to me when I’d turned eighteen and I’d taken it because who wouldn’t?

Still, I felt a measure of guilt that my entire life had been handed to me on a silver platter, usually by someone wearing white gloves and a practiced smile.

Women, too—beautiful, charming, perfectly polished women—showed up as soon as I invited them to one of my famed yacht parties.

Finding company had never been a problem.

If anything, shaking said company after a night or two was the issue.

In my extremely humble opinion, I’d always been the best-looking of the Westwood boys.

Compared to my ice-blue-eyed brothers, I was pretty fucking hot in a whole different way and that had always made me a popular choice.

Plus, I was good in bed, fun when I cared to be, and I had a family name people would literally kill to get in on.

But anything long term? Nah, it just wasn’t my style.

Living with someone who might move my things? Someone who would definitely touch them? Having to answer questions about why my prized possession was my new Airflow XXL Power Steamer Mop? Explaining my habits, my rules, and the little obsessions I didn’t let anyone see?

No, thank you. To all of the above.

When my phone buzzed against my palm, I almost flinched when I saw it was my dad calling. I already knew what it was about and I also knew I couldn’t put it off any longer.

I briefly considered letting it go to voicemail, but even while I was still thinking about it, my thumb swiped across the screen. When Harlan Westwood called, you answered. Even if you didn’t want to. Especially then.

“Jameson,” his voice boomed over the line the second I picked up. I hadn’t even put the phone to my ear, but I could hear him just fine. “Come to the house. We need to talk.”

I stared out over my marble kitchen, every surface gleaming and the fruit bowl arranged just so. If he had his way, someone would be moving in here. Real soon. My skin crawled at the thought, but I nodded.

“Sure thing,” I said, wondering if there was any chance I was wrong about what he wanted from me today. “I’ll be there soon.”

After I hung up, I set my tumbler on the table next to the couch, lining it up with the edge before I stood. I’d known this was coming. Another talk about legacies, responsibilities, and carrying the family name into the next generation.

A couple months ago, he’d issued the ultimatum. Sterling and Laney had announced they were pregnant. Dad had announced he’d be expecting my marriage and progeny next. Just a regular fucking Friday night.

I took a golf cart to the main house, a place that hadn’t changed in at least thirty years and that was unlikely to undergo any major changes in the next thirty.

It had the same polished floors, the same cavernous foyer where footsteps echoed like accusations, and the same oil paintings of dead Westwoods that glared from the walls as if daring me to screw it all up.

Dad’s office door was open, the smell of old leather and cedar spilling into the hall. He didn’t even look up from his phone as I walked in. “Sit, Jameson. I’ll be done in a minute.”

I glanced at my watch, my gaze tracking the hand as the seconds ticked by. Almost precisely one full minute later, he leaned back in his chair, blue eyes narrowing under those thick, silver eyebrows.

“You know why I called you here,” he started.

“It’s time to grow up, son. Sterling’s going to need you when he takes over as the CEO of Westwood and Sons once I step down.

As soon as that happens, the vultures are going to start circling.

They always do when there’s a big change like that.

All eyes will be on you boys, waiting to see if you buckle under the pressure or if you man up and take it. ”

“How does getting married and popping out a few babies change that, though?” I genuinely wanted to know.

Ever since the spring, when he’d given this same lecture to Sterling, I’d been wondering about that question. Why it was so important to him that we settle down before we took over. Well, before Sterling took over. The rest of us were just spares anyway.

Dad sighed, but he didn’t look surprised that I’d asked. “What this family needs to do is project strength and stability. Not more of your nonsense .”

He always said nonsense like it was code for parties, headlines, and a personality that didn’t quite fit into the duty-bound mold they’d used when they’d formed my oldest brother. Then again, I’d always idealized the guy. I would never tell him or anyone else that, but I did.

He was my big brother, for God’s sake, and just like a big brother should, somehow, he always seemed to have all the answers. Protective as hell and as loyal as if it was his religion, it was damn hard not to respect him.

“Right,” I drawled, scratching at the edge of my watch strap. “So I have to get married, have a kid or two, and look pretty next to Sterling on the company Christmas card. Anything else, or is that enough to ensure that we project strength, stability, and unity?”

Harlan leaned back, steepling his fingers like he’d practiced it in a mirror until he’d perfected the movie villain look.

“John Sterling Westwood came to California during the Gold Rush with nothing but the clothes on his back. After he struck gold, he turned that nothing into an empire, and ever since, our ancestors have kept it growing. Do you know how we did that?”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to, even if I knew the answer. It was the same speech I’d heard after every tabloid headline and every weekend bender. He wouldn’t stop until he’d delivered the whole damn lecture no matter what I said.

“We did it by approaching life with the same tenacity, efficiency, and clear-headedness as we do business. When you have the intense generational wealth we do and a list of people longer than our driveway who would love to see the empire fall, you have to do everything in your power to protect it.”

I sighed. “Everything in your power except marry for love, right?”

Dad’s expression wasn’t unkind, but he was getting impatient.

I could see it in the way his nostrils flared and his gaze hardened.

“Look, Jamie, I know you’re not a fan of the whole idea of arranged marriages.

You’ve been perfectly clear about it, but you’ve known for months that we expect you to leave your reckless, childish ways behind, and where is she then, huh?

Where is this great, epic love you’ve been holding out for? ”

Usually, this was where I argued. This was where I admitted that I didn’t know yet who she was, if she even existed, or if I even wanted to find her, but that I refused to settle for less. Today, however, something else edged into my voice and I shrugged.

“Fine. Have you got anyone in mind? It’s like you said, I haven’t found her, so if you’re really serious about this, I suppose it’s time you step in.”

He blinked hard. Once. Twice. Three times before his face split into the closest thing Harlan Westwood ever got to a grin. “As a matter of fact, yes. I do have someone in mind. She’s a lovely girl and she comes from a good family. You’ll meet her tonight.”

I forced myself to nod, fighting the urge to laugh in his face. “Great. I can’t wait.”

“Seven o’clock. Dress properly. I’ll make the reservations.”

“Awesome. I’m going on a blind date set up by my dad. Yay.”

He pursed his lips at me. “Give her a chance, boy. You’ll like her. I know it.”

He gave me a nod I knew meant I was dismissed.

I stood up and left without telling him that I doubted he was right.

My dad didn’t have the first clue what or who I would like.

Once I got back to my place, I turned the music up loud enough to shake the windows and it still didn’t drown out the thought hammering at the back of my mind.

Sadie .

Her name had no business being there. Dad was finally off my back, even if this would only buy me a week at most, but there it was anyway, as stubborn as ever.

I went upstairs, poured myself precisely two fingers of scotch, and got ready, preparing myself to be the smooth, charming bad boy the public liked to think I was. I could play this part. I’d been playing it for years.

But under the perfectly cut suit that made me look just mysterious enough to keep things interesting, and the careful smirk that would keep the gossip pages happy, my mind kept drifting back to her.

The girl with the dusty jeans, a mouth made for trouble, and eyes that saw more of me than I liked to admit.

No other woman stood a chance against her, no matter how much my dad thought I would like them.