Page 17 of Morally Black Betrothal

Liza’s mouth pressed into that line again. She was looking at me like I wasn’t almost forty but still that gangly fifteen-year-old who would barge into her office after Dad’s and my latest shouting match.

I opened my mouth, wanting to go off again.

But I wasn’t that kid anymore.

I took a deep breath, then expelled it forcefully. “Fine. Why do they think I can’t commit?”

Liza shrugged. “Think about it. They just see you from the outside, and what does that look like?”

“A workaholic who is married to his job?”

“Perhaps. But maybe that isn’t a good thing. When’s the last time you had a girlfriend? Most men your age have settled down. Been married at least once.”

I rolled my eyes. “Plenty of men aren’t married by thirty-nine. And what the fuck does that matter? Maybe Iammarried to this company.”

Part of me understood her point. I knew these men (and two women), most of whom had started out on the ground floor with Dad. Blackguard was founded by some of the most staunchly Irish Catholic men in Boston. At least two board members had ten kids each, simply because they didn’t believe in birth control. It was a belief system from a different time, but apparently, it was in mine now too.

But it was Dad too. How many times had we heard him rant about the fact that he was eighty-two with four children and no future heirs in sight? Despite having torched two marriages and doing whatever he was doing with his third, he still expected the rest of us to create a gaggle of heirs like we were off the boat in the nineteenth century.

And apparently, his cronies felt the same way.

“The board wonders whether you can commit to a job if you’ve never committed to a woman,” Liza replied. “They’re also wondering if you’ll throw everything away once you do, in fact, meet the right person.”

A pair of bright blue eyes flashed through my mind.

That warm smile.

Those rose-kissed cheeks.

I shook the image away. “I don’t get it. Do they want me to be in a relationship or not?”

“They want to know that any relationship will be business as usual. Appearance and image matter. You want to project a solid image, and to these people, solidity means a house, a wife,a family that you only give as much attention as you absolutely must, if you catch my drift.”

“I’d be a much better CEO if I wasn’t distracted by all of that image shit.” I rubbed a hand through my hair and yanked. Hard. This was ridiculous. These people literally wanted me to create a family just to neglect it for the company’s benefit? What in the actual the fuck?

“I know that, and you know that,” Liza agreed. “But the board is…old-fashioned. And so is your father.”

“You sound like him.”

“He hired me for a reason.” Liza gave my arm a friendly pat. “Look, I just wanted to mention it. But if you just happened to acquire a new, completely harmless girlfriend by tomorrow’s board meeting, that may help your case. And if she looks nice in pictures and is willing to sign a prenuptial agreement, that might help you too.”

The more she spoke, the more I wanted to tear my hair out. Then I wanted to go into Dad’s room and shake the bastard awake just to tell him to stay out of my personal life.

Because this was just like him, wasn’t it? There was always one more thing we had to do to get the carrot. First, it was school. Grades. Becoming the perfect, ruthless businessman, just like him.

Now it was this.

Nothing was ever going to be enough.

“I’ve got to get back. I’ll have Olaf start drafting an announcement to the board and a press release,” Liza said. “Let me know when he wakes up.”

I nodded farewell but remained in the hall while I absorbed the conversation.

CEO, first interim and then possibly permanent. If I could get my shit together and be the family man a Black heir approaching his forties was supposed to be.

Goddamn it.

From my dad’s room, I could hear my siblings bickering. Dad’s coma, the length of Shea’s skirt, Ronan’s latest affair. The chaos of the Black family was nothing new. Love and kindness were not ingredients in this particular cocktail. Every interaction was laced with arsenic and spite.