Page 2 of Stick to the Deal (Friendship Springs Romance #3)

Meet Reginald

A s the car inches along the busy streets of New York City, I gaze out the windows at the noisy life around me. Maybe I should have walked. It’d certainly be faster. After a day of pounding the pavement from Chelsea to Brooklyn and back, my Armani loafers couldn’t take another step.

My heart quickens at the colors and sounds outside.

Vendors shouting, taxis beeping, storefronts, and billboards.

In many ways, it’s similar to my native London.

We do share common ancestors after all. In others, so very different.

Especially from the upper echelons of society I grew up in.

Here, I can disappear. Both cities may sport over eight million people, but here I’m one of the throng.

Back home, I’m Reginald Bancroft, Viscount Ravenscourt, favored son and all around golden boy.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, revealing a text from my best mate Daniel.

Daniel

So what do you think? You in?

The morning had started off well, meetings with lawyers and accountants, reviewing contracts and business proposals. Everything looks good, but looks can be deceiving. My gut is screaming yes, jump in with both feet on this venture with Daniel, but something is holding me back.

Me

I want to, not sure how I can make it work though.

Getting away this week was tough enough, but I don’t want to admit that to him.

Daniel

How many charity events is one man expected to attend?

Me

More than you can possibly imagine.

Daniel

You deserve this, Bancroft. Do something for you for once. Most parents would be happy their son is starting a business!

Me

I guess you’re right.

Daniel

Of course I am. When are you going to stand up to him?

One block down and twenty or so to go, I collapse back against the seat with a tired sigh.

When am I going to stand up to him? That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’ve never raised my voice, pushed back, or said a cross word. I’ve simply gone along with my father.

Am I crazy? My brother certainly thinks so. Montague is more than happy to play polo and live off the family name. He’s told me more than once I should do the same. Hell, as the oldest, I have more reason to stay home.

I’m thirty-four years old, and I’ve never had a job. All of my money is from my maternal grandparents. I want something that’s mine. Something I built with my own two hands. Something... meaningful.

Twenty minutes later, we finally arrive at my hotel and I shuffle through the lobby, still deep in thought .

We’re in good shape. True, media, especially publications, is an incredibly competitive industry. Daniel and I have done our homework, though. We’ve identified a clear gap in the market and are working to fill it with an extremely conservative and risk-averse plan.

Feeling a little lighter, I hurry to run a bath to soak my aching feet while I consider room service. A crime in NYC I know, but there’s no way I’m heading back out for takeaway. Even if they’ll deliver to the lobby.

My cell blares from the desk. With a wistful glance back at the steaming water, I limp into the main room to answer.

“Reginald, you need to come home immediately. I’ve had Foster book you the first available flight, but it’s not until Monday.” Leave it to Edward Bancroft, Earl of Silverbrook, to jump straight to the punchline. No ‘hello, son. How is your trip going?’

“Whatever for, father? Is mother alright?”

“You’re getting married.”

I couldn’t have heard him correctly. “Pardon?”

“It’s time you do your duty by this family and marry. We’ll arrange it all when you arrive.”

Bloody hell, I did hear him correctly. My legs give out and I sit on the edge of the bed as my heart pounds in my temple. Through gritted teeth, I ask, “And to whom am I getting married? Have you already picked my bride?”

“Don’t be cheeky, boy. You can choose the young lady. As long as she’s rich.”

“Rich?” I snort. “Why the hell does she need to be rich? The Silverbrook holdings are vast. How much money does one family need?” The silence is loud. “What did you do, father?”

“Don’t take that tone with me. I’m still the bloody Earl of Silverbrook, and you will show me respect. Just a spell of bad luck,” as in bad luck at the gambling tables I’d wager, “but we can fix it with your marriage exactly as we’ve done for generations.”

My jaw aches from grinding my teeth to physically hold back words I long to say. Words a proper British son would not.

He must take my silence as obedience, because he continues on.

“Luckily, there’s a top matchmaking firm with an office in New York.

Foster has engaged them for a list of acceptable brides.

They’ll send a dossier over to your hotel and you can review it.

When you arrive at Silverbrook Hall, have your final candidates selected and we’ll take it from there.

This is happening, Reginald, or so help me, I will disown you and ensure the title goes to your younger brother. Monty would be delighted, I’m sure.”

I hold the phone in my hand long after my father has disconnected.

It’s not lost on me, I’m always Reginald where my brother is Monty .

The sound of rushing water penetrates my mind and I rush to shut off the still running bath before it overflows.

I’m certain my father would have something to say about those damages.

Rolling up my slacks, I hiss as my aching feet touch the steaming water. The edge of the tub is cool under my ass, but it does little to distract me from the cyclone of thoughts in my head.

Marriage.

It had to happen eventually. Raised the heir to an earl, I never had illusions of marrying for love.

Even in this modern day. At least he’s letting me have a say in my potential bride rather than a blind arrangement.

The timing is so bad. Daniel and I could actually make our idea work.

I don’t need the distraction of courtship, negotiations, and wedding arrangements.

I need to be focused on networking, staffing, and logistics.

By the time the water turns tepid, I’m no closer to solutions. There are still two days before my life sentence. That’s two days to focus on my fledgling business with Daniel. The dossier can wait for the flight home. What else am I going to do with seven hours?

Resigned to my fate, I decide to mourn my loss of freedom with a loaded pizza and scotch.