If I still had it in me to give a fuck, I'd mourn my father.

I've watched the surly, balls-to-the-walls lion who raised me waste away into a hyena for months. Today, he barely lifts his head when I step into his room, fighting the burning sensation in my nostrils from a hundred medications in the air.

“What do you want?” he snaps, once his dimming eyes focus, and his drug blasted brain remembers who I am.

“Came to keep you company, dad. It's Sunday.” I round the space to the front of his bed, taking the chair next to it. I run my fingertips along his nightstand. There's a ghostly dust coating on my hand when I hold it up to the light. “You've been telling the staff to stay the hell out again, I see.”

“No point in wasting precious resources on a dead man,” he growls, grunting as he lifts himself up with his hands, finding his back support in the headboard. “What'll it be today, Calvin? Hoping for a deathbed confession? The last minute change of heart where I crack, tell you what a good son you are, how it's finally high time we put the bad behind us?”

No. I've stopped expecting miracles a long time ago.

“Or maybe you're just here to taunt me?” he says, giving me a sideways glance.

“Wrong.” A wry smile pulls on my lips. “I've met someone, dad. Wanted you to be the first to know. The doctor says you've got a few weeks left, yeah? Should be plenty of time to introduce you to my new fiancée.”

His eyes widen, and then he scoffs. “You, married? I'm not going to my grave a fool, kiddo. Forget it. Spare me a meeting with whatever sugar baby escort you've hired to confuse an old man into thinking you give a damn about anything except getting my money.”

He's got me there, minus the escort part. Hell, even after all these years, I can't imagine doll fucking anyone else.

My cock is the only one she's ever had in the stroke fantasies sustaining me for years. Naive, sure, but mental masturbation always is.

I didn't mention those thoughts when I sent her the note in the little black envelope last week, but now I wish I had. Just for fun.

That piece of paper and the twenty carat rock had to travel halfway around the globe. Almost a shame I decided to keep it short, sweet, and boring. I can't believe she's in China. Easily the biggest sign yet the Maddie Middleton I'm dealing with today is a far cry from the scared, helpless little girl I took a bullet for seven awful years ago.

I haven't even heard from her yet. I'll be calling the number I dug up with a lot of connections and detective work tonight if I don't get an answer.

I won't be disappointed. Because if there's one thing I know, despite what's changed on her end, she won't let me down. She'll wear the ring, by God, pretending she cares about her loving fiancé every time we make eyes.

A nurse comes in and walks to my dad's IV while the icy silence between us stretches on. The grandmother clock in the corner ticks on. I fold my hands, watching as she adjusts the dose of whatever painkiller keeps him from screaming in mortal agony. We're both quiet until the woman smiles gently, and finds her way out.

I have to try this again. As much as I don't fucking want to.

“I'm a changed man,” I say. “It's hard as hell for you to see, I get it. You're too sick to read about the extra billion in revenue my marketing strategy brought the firm, and you don't take calls from Mr. Turnbladt anymore –“

“I don't care if Turnbladt thinks you can turn water into wine. I'm out of RET forever,” he says, turning over. He stops turning propped on a pillow, his back to me, a human manifestation of the proverbial wall I talk to every time I'm stupid enough to come here. “Keep raking in the money, though. It'll do the charities getting it some good once I'm gone. Or else the partners, whenever they decide to stop fucking around and buy your share out, I suppose.”

It's my stake in Randolph-Emerson-Turnbladt he's talking about. Mine, which he controls. He has it set up in his trust to cockblock me from ever truly owning it, the dividends going to feel good groups he hasn't even bothered to vet.

“That's all you really care about, old man? Making sure I get jack squat while working my fingers to the bone, dragging your company kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century?”

He's quiet for several seconds. Then I hear his low, infuriating voice, a poison whisper. “Things don't always go according to plan, Calvin. Make your fortune elsewhere, like your grandfather did, or settle for your measly $200K salary like an ordinary corporate grunt. You're never getting my share. I'll lose it all before I let you become the public face of anything at RET after what you did. The board feels the same way.”

I'm ready to spit nails. “Then why include the amendment in the trust at all? Your lawyer slipped over too many drinks at the last Christmas party, told me everything. He said there's a section for rehabilitation. If I prove myself I'm worthy with good deeds, family, a woman –“

“I had to give you some kind of carrot to shape up, didn't I? The offer stands, son, but we both know the clock is running out fast. You've got a better chance of making a miracle before my eyes than proving me wrong. Show me a woman worth marrying, one you aren't bribing to lie to my face, and anything is possible. Until then, we both know what's in the cards doesn't include you controlling my firm. Not since John –“

My hand shoots up, and I hold it in the air. “We both know what happened. Why waste more words?” I pull out my phone to check the time. It's getting late. “I have to go. Get some rest.”

“You always were the backup son after everything that happened. It should've been John filling your shoes, and we both know it.” Dad isn't backing down from his parting shot. “This isn't personal anymore, Cal. It's circumstance. Stop thinking I don't care.”

Care? The asshole has a funny way of showing it.

He's only stealing my future, killing my career before it goes anywhere. I have to get out of here now.

I'm able to resist punching holes through the brittle old walls of the seaside mansion I grew up in until I'm in my car. My fist bangs the steering wheel once before I start the engine.

My black Tesla screeches down the long driveway to the front gate, which the servant in the guard shack has already opened for me. I make it home to my condo in record time, loading my car onto the ferry waiting to take us across the Puget Sound. It's a nice place worth seven figures where downtown Seattle meets the waterfront.

Nice, yeah, but it'll never morph into an unfathomably posh estate surrounded by the mountains, the sea, and centuries old forests. I won't be building any castles I choose while I'm being robbed of my birthright because I'm nothing more than a reluctant Plan B in my father's eyes. A 'backup son' he won't even trust to earn a full partner's stake because that means media, which in turn means reminding every client, fat cat, and blue blood our illustrious company deals with that I have a felony record.

Backup? Where the fuck does he get off?

I don't know, and I try to forget my rage when I'm home. I head for the balcony, pouring myself a glass of good wine. For a second, I slow when I pass by the photos on the mantle, staring into John's long dead smiling face.

My older brother is still the favorite, despite being gone for almost six years. Paid the ultimate sacrifice for his country somewhere outside Kandahar, where an ambush by the Taliban ended him.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

When I'm in my ivory chair outside, overlooking the evening lights beginning to twinkle on in the hills across the water, I check the calendar on my phone.

It's been six days since I sent my little package to Doll.

She's taking her sweet time getting back to me. I decided when I sent it off I'd give her a few days, roughly a full week after it reached Beijing. It's the least she deserves for the hand grenade I just threw into her life, commanding her in not so many words to bring her sweet ass home to Seattle, and pretend she's my blushing bride.

Desperation does evil things to a man. If I could've let her go without another word, I would.

Hell, I did for all these years, seven and counting. I stayed away.

It was the humane choice. Never forgot how bad she hurt just looking into my eyes the last time I saw her, when she was down on the ground in tears, slapping the pavement like she wanted to drum up mercy for me from God himself.

Her words are branded in my brain.

Wait, wait! Don't take him away. Please, you can't this is wrong.

It's not over, Cal. It can't end like this. I'll be here. I'll do anything to help.

Anything!

I close my eyes, stuck on how loaded the last word she ever said to me was when it came out, hoarse and true. Sometimes, the emotional bomb planted in my memory goes off. Everything returns, rushing through me like the lava replacing my blood whenever those memories hit.

The sacrifice, the humiliation, the dirty mistake I made for her because I didn't have a fucking choice. Because it was the right thing to do.

It went further than any act of chivalry ever should.

I'm lost in the past when my phone rings. There's an international area code on the screen. A smile tugs at my lips before I punch the accept button.

“Took you long enough, doll.”

“Cal...how are you?” Her voice is soft, slightly huskier than I remember, warm honey to my ears.

“Alive. Making money. Doing whatever and whoever the fuck I want, when I want them,” I say, taking a pull off my wine. “All the best in life. What are you doing in Beijing?”

“Contracts for Sterner Corp,” she says, ignoring my edgy introduction. “My Mandarin studies paid off, and so did the JD. I never wasted the second chance you gave me – I couldn't. Thank you again.”

“You're doing better than eighty percent of our class, and earning it honestly, without special connections. Congratulations.” I pause, remembering I'm not here to catch up. This isn't happy hour, or even a sales meeting. It's cold business of the most personal kind. “I won't keep you long, I hope, calling in the favor. Just be here by Thursday, wear my ring, and put on your best act.”

“Hope you're right. I kind of have a life now,” she says, quiet and unsure. It's like I'm able to hear the guilt sticking on her tongue, thick as chewing gum. Her voice wavers like the fire she readied to hurl my way just had cold water poured over it. “That's why I called. I wanted to talk before pulling up stakes, before we do...well, this.”

Marriage. Or at least a pretend engagement.

She can't bring herself to say the unspeakable. Fair enough. It's not like I'd expect the shiest girl I ever met to handle this fake fiancé thing with a laugh and a song.

I only need her to follow through. My brow curls because there's some reasonable doubt creeping into her tone. I never fucking liked second guesses.

Doll better not disappoint. There's no Plan B, short of hiring some clueless broad dad would see through in a heartbeat.

“Are we doing this, or not?” I ask, brusk and pointed.

There's a considerable pause. It's stifling. I'm about to end the call and throw my phone off the balcony when she lets out a slow, soft sigh. “I guess. How long do you need me?”

“Ninety days ought to do it, but probably less,” I tell her. “Doubt my father lasts through summer. It's him we really need to convince, before he pushes daisies. If you're able to take a leave of absence and meet me for a month or two, we'll be even. I'll pull every string I've got to make sure there's still a place for you in China, if that's where your heart is anchored these days.”

“God, Cal. I'm sorry about your father. Of course I'll be there,” she says, sympathy I didn't ask for oozing through my phone. “The company wants me back in the States next week anyway. I think I can be there by Thursday.”

“Perfect. There's a charity auction on Friday I'm attending, and I'd like you with. I'll show you off to the movers and shakers, let the tabloids tell the city the disgraced son everybody forgot the last seven years landed a normal woman.”

There's an awkward silence. She must remember I have zero tolerance for comforting bullshit, like if she starts telling me the litany: it's not so bad, I'll find my way, and disgraced? Surely, I'm exaggerating.

I've heard the same bullshit from my two best friends, Cade and Spencer, a thousand times. I don't need more empathy. It hasn't gotten me anywhere.

“Just tell me one thing,” she says nervously. “Why? The details aren't making sense. You mentioned your father, his illness...are you trying to make sure he sees you happy before...you know?”

“Before he croaks? No, this isn't some ego trip, doll. I'm not looking for his sad, selfish approval. There's a condition in his trust before he goes: I need a wife to rehabilitate myself, or I get virtually nothing.”

“I see,” she whispers. In fact, Maddie doesn't have a fucking clue, but what else can she say? “Well, whatever I can do to help, Cal. Just like I promised.”

“Anything,” I say, repeating her last haunting word to me after the disaster. “Put on a good enough show for the public, for whoever I ask you to fool. Maybe I'll let you sleep in a separate bed.”

She gasps. My tongue slides against my teeth, loving how wickedly close the air escaping her mouth is to a moan.

“Um, I did say anything, but I don't know if I can –“

“Relax. I'm not interested in getting my dick wet where it's not wanted. You're paying your debt with this fake fiancée act. Not with your body.”

Honestly? I want her at ease, sure. It won't do either of us any good if she shows up at the auction full of wide-eyed sexual tension, on edge because she doesn't know when I'll push her into the nearest wall and rip off her clothes.

Yet, it's no more than three seconds before I regret those words.

After all these years, I still want to fuck her. Once, I was after her cherry. I'm sure that's long gone, stolen by some other lucky bastard. But I remember the short, sweet taste I had of her lips seven years ago, before I walked out on the schoolyard that day and let fate pull the trigger, blowing my life to pieces.

“I'll see you soon,” she says, timid as the old Maddie I remember. “Is there anything else you want?”

“Just you, doll. Friday. Come bright-eyed and madly in love with me, a come fuck me dress on your hips and a pair of heels on your feet. Pick whatever you want online and text me your choice. I don't care how much it costs. I'll put in an order.”

She's quiet for a moment. “Really? Is this how it'll be the entire time? I thought we left Maynard behind, Cal. We're in our late twenties for Christ's sake!”

It's finally upsetting her. Don't know why the hell that's so amusing.

“What happened there never left me,” I say, picking up my wine glass, letting the dark red sweetness drown my tongue. “Friday, Maddie. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

I hear her start to form another word, but I disconnect the call before she gets it out.

If she's still feeling sorry for me, I don't care.

If she's offended, I care even less.

I've protected her enough for one lifetime. I'm done treating her feelings like eggshells.

This artificial engagement is on because I don't have a choice. It's my only shot at convincing dad to hand out more than a few measly million, to open the doors I've earned keys to before it's too late, and to set me up to continue the good work I've done for the firm started by my grandfather.

It's bound to be hell on us both. Maddie doesn't want to be here fawning over my sorry ass any more than I enjoyed the year off my life in jail for her.

That's how this works – quid pro quo.

Friday, we do what we need to. She starts paying off her debt. If I decide to have a little fun while this shit show hits the road, then so be it.

* * *

“Holy fuck. I know he always said you'd get nothing, but you're telling me he means it?” Cade looks at me, running a hand through his thick blond hair. His angular jaw clenches in sympathy. The genes from his Icelandic blue blood father couldn't be more obvious.

I nod once. That's all it takes for him to spin his chair around, breaking out the emergency flask of vodka he keeps under his desk for just these occasions.

“Double shot for me,” Spencer says from the corner, looking up from the stock prices scrolling across his phone's screen. “I'm doing time with the boys from New York this evening. Neolithic. You both know what that means.”

My brow furrows. “Yeah, absolute ball busters.”

The prestigious investment firm from Wall Street doesn't fuck around. Neither does Grant Shaw, the founder, who's sent his boys to the other coast sniffing for new business partners.

“Go easy, Spence. Your miracles always happen sober,” Cade says with a frown, passing us both our drinks across the desk, a single shot for everyone. “I'm fucking floored, Cal. How could he just cut you off at the knees? Nobody in Seattle gives a shit what happened seven years ago. Can't believe your old man still thinks it makes you a liability for the firm.”

He knows that isn't true. Plenty of people care, but I let his lie off with a dark glance.

“I'm not the one he ever wanted sitting here. It was always supposed to be John,” I say.

Deep down, when I plow the darkness and come face-to-face with everything I'll never admit, I think my big brother might've done better than me. Hell, I practically know it. He had discipline, heart, and a set of brass balls that got him slaughtered protecting his fellow soldiers.

He also didn't have a prison record and a sickening trial that had half the city clucking their tongues, thankful they never raised a 'deeply troubled' kid like me. The other half got to enjoy several weeks of Schadenfreude. Comes with the territory when a billionaire's son lands himself in the deep, perilous shit I did. The poorer, angst types who pegged me for being born with a silver spoon in my mouth loved our misfortune.

“How long does he have?” Spence says coldly, staring at me with his eyes narrowed while he drains his vodka in one swallow.

“Six, seven weeks. Maybe less. Who the hell knows. It's not an exact science when the pancreas burns out and cancer goes everywhere.”

“With all due respect, your old man's a prick if he sticks to his guns. He can't fucking cut you out,” Cade growls, banging his fists on the desk when he brings them down. “You worked for your share, Cal. Harder than anybody here. We can't let him take it away from you just like that.”

His fingers snap loudly, leaving a dull ringing in my ears. “Enough. Forget my crap,” I say. “I'll work it out. Told you already, there's a chance I could change his mind if I meet the conditions he set in his trust.”

“Oh, up and marry some broad? So reasonable,” Spence rolls his eyes, sarcastic as ever. “What about an escort? They're not all fake tits and one night stands. I've paid plenty for girls who'll suck you off with stars in their eyes. Bet they'd glow brighter if they'd get their money without having to choke on your –“

“You can stop there. Shit, Spence, I didn't come down here to listen to your latest bedroom antics.” I shoot him a dirty look.

Spence just grins. He purged his conscience a long time ago, shameless and proud of the high class notches in his belt. I ignore him, look at Cade, and regain my calm. “I have a plan. Might need a few extra days away from the office to get it going. That's what I really came by to ask for.”

“Whatever you need, brother.” Cade reaches across the desk and slams his fist into mine. He's too good a friend, better than I deserve, especially when I was drunk off my ass those nights after prison, after John died, deep in my rudderless misery while he was halfway through one of the hardest business schools in the country. “We had your leave on the books, anyway. It's no secret he's been closer to death's door. Already had your time blocked off over the next quarter for the inevitable.”

“Just give me a few days. You can cancel the rest. If this goes off well, I'll have more reason than ever to hit it hard at the office. Won't need an extended absence.”

Spence looks up, surprised. Cade stares through me, nodding slowly.

They know what I've been through over the years, how everything went haywire with my father after I saved Doll and no one could save John. They've watched me busting my ass for a pittance of a yearly bonus, without the cushy guarantee I'd inherit the stake they've always been entitled to from their dads.

“Cal,” Spence calls my name, waiting until I turn around to face him. “Don't let this bullshit make you crazy. We've got your back if daddy dearest fucks you over.”

“I know, and one fine day I'll repay it.” Standing, I grab his hand, giving it a brotherly squeeze on my way out.

I may have lost the only family I ever had over the last decade to war, booze, and psychosis, but I'm thankful for the men who've stood with me since those days at Maynard.

It won't be the end of me, taking the crazy way out with a fake fiancée in a last ditch effort to fool my asshole father. It's going to work. And it'll be a massive relief when it finally pays off, and I don't need to rely on their support anymore to stave off disaster.

* * *

Thursday, Maddie texts me she's home. Same old neighborhood where her folks settled just outside the U of Washington campus. It's summer, and I hope she knows how lucky she is being able to hear herself think without the constant noise and frat parties.

She sent me links to the dress and heels she's picked before leaving Beijing. I vetoed her first two choices – far too plain and far too cheap for a charity ball where the median net worth in the room is right at thirty million – and told her to choose something that looks like it's suited for a Randolph bride.

She sent back a sleek blue dress with ocean trim, matching heels, and a platinum necklace. Plus four different red-faced emojis I'm sure reflected how abruptly her heart stopped when I told her to stop screwing off, and send me something real.

Everything went on my Centurion charge card instantly. It also made my dick hard, picturing the little doll who always had a gift for making me hot in grown up clothes. I've seen her pictures over the years, and she's filled out nicely. Tomorrow, she'll show me a woman's curves in her classy new outfit, It'll make this job pretending we're on fire easy as sin.

Hell, maybe too easy.

I can't shake the curiosity when I'm home from the office that night. Impatient and horny bastard that I am, I break out my phone and pull up her number, typing out a text.

Cal: You've got a dressing mirror, right? Put it on and hit send. Show me everything. I want to make sure it's right for the ball.

It's the better part of an hour before I get a reply.

Madde: How's this? Not showing too much leg for their crowd, I hope?

The V-cut down the middle rides straight to her bare hip, and I'm a fucking goner. My cock jerks hard in my trousers, its angry tip straining against my belt, ready to ruin everything before it's begun if I give it half a chance.

No. I can't let this do the thinking.

I have to get these pics the hell off my screen before the heat in my balls makes me stupid.

Cal: Perfect. I'll see you there at seven.

I'm glad she isn't looking for a proper date. I'm sending my driver around to pick her up after I show up at the ball half an hour early. It's how it has to be. Knowing what she's wearing, causing my prick to leak heat all over my thigh, I don't think I'd survive the ten minute trip in the back of the car without putting her under me.

I'm doubly grateful she never texts back. Gives me ample time to throw my phone on my nightstand and step into a long, cold shower. It takes the ice forever to soothe my blood, and I've got it cranked to glacial. I'm panting like a bull in rut by the time I step out, toweling off, ignoring the raging hard-on up to my six-pack while it hits me.

This fake fiancée act won't be easy.

But the faster it comes, the more I realize how its challenge has nothing to do with dad or even our screwed up past. There's a vicious chemistry between us I thought I'd be able to ignore. Thought it'd be dead after so many years apart.

Hour by hour, minute by minute, the march toward Friday evening warns me I'm flat out wrong.

Raw attraction is alive and kicking. It comes at me with a thousand questions, but only one that's really important.

How the hell do I pretend I'm obsessed with this woman, and keep it professional, without actually fucking her first chance I get?