Chapter 4- Ben
I often wake up wondering what my life would be like if I was born and raised under different circumstances.
But then I snap out of those shitty thoughts of make-believe and back into my fucking glorious real life.
Thinking about misfortune and being poor gives me diagnosable ajada—my Spanish family’s way of saying “belly ache” or “trouble,” which is something I like to avoid. That’s not to say that I don’t have my own problems, though.
For example, I’m currently being chewed out by my father. Having him lecture me is something I’m not a fan of, but I’ve made a habit of drowning out his cries of disappointment by spending time in my head when he starts nagging. Normally though, once good ole Papa notices I’m not paying attention, he shakes me out of my daydreams.
“Goddammit, Benjamín,” he shouts, pounding his fist on his desk and using the fully accented version of my name. The one reserved for such special situations of ire. “Will you get your head out of the clouds and actually pay attention to me for one second? Is that such an unreasonable request?”
I shake my head, “No, Dad. I was just taking in what you’re telling me—digesting it fully,” I lie, with a shit-eating grin on my face.
After years of not noticing I’m straight up lying to him—since he’s usually too busy working to pay attention to anything that isn’t stamped with a dollar bill—he’s mad enough at me to be able to catch me in the middle of a fib.
“Is that right? In that case, what is it you’ll be doing to remedy this situation?”
What situation? Crossing my arms, I try to reach the innermost depths of my brain to see if, by luck, I’d absorbed anything Dad was shouting at me while I’d been lost in my thoughts. Unfortunately, all I can make out are muffled words coming from my father’s face, which is now dark brown and wrinkled from being in the sun so much.
“Alright, you got me,” I say, throwing my hands up in surrender. “But I’m sure it’s got to do with something about being late to the meeting.”
“Missing the meeting, Ben,” he corrects me.
“I missed the meeting because I was late, so I’m not wrong.”
“And you were late because you’re hungover after a night with some hooker straight off The Strip,” he shouts, pounding his fist against his desk again.
I shoot up from the chair I’d been sinking into. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hookers? Come on, Pops, you should know me better than that. I don’t need to resort to that. It was just some broad who—yes, I did technically find on The Strip, but it was at bottle VIP service at the Hakkasan club, so, she wasn’t exactly on the corner looking for johns, and, you know what? She was horny, she was hot, and she didn’t ask me to pay her when I woke up. I consider that a win.”
My father takes a seat on his throne-like leather armchair and stares at me with his angry little eyes. “Christ, Ben. I can’t do this anymore. Do you know how long I have left to restructure this company before I retire?”
He sighs and mutters something disappointedly when I cluelessly shake my head.
“I’ve only mentioned it every time we’ve seen each other in the past year, but why would you know? The family business isn’t nearly as important to you as having fun and wasting money. How should I know if your revolving door of Vegas whores aren’t actual fuck-for-pay prostitutes?”
He stops mid-sentence and takes a deep breath. “Six months, Ben. I have six months to finish restructuring this company before I’m on the outs whether I like it or not, due to my partnership agreement with Abe and Jim and Jose.”
He names his friends from childhood. They’d started our family oil company with some land grant money my father had received that dated back to the times of medieval Spain. My father is known for having a decent head on his shoulders and for making good decisions with the fortunes life has handed him.
Me, on the other hand? If you ask my father, he would probably say I was a fuck up.
Not that I’ve ever done anything really stupid or blown any major deals. Then again, he’d most likely say that was only because he’d never given me the chance to.
Dad has tightly held the reigns of the oil and gas business despite always threatening to retire. I suppose his days as President of the company are numbered, like it or not. He’s probably just so mad at me because he doesn’t like to face the music.
My dad can be a self-righteous asshole, but he’s still my dad, and I hate to see him upset. I know how much his company—not to mention all the money it brings in, and the thrilling feeling of power he gets from running it—means to him.
In what I’d call an admirable attempt to comfort my dear but cantankerous ole Papa, I move my chair next to his and pat him on the back. “Dad, in six months, I’ll be running this company like a well-oiled machine, and you won’t have to worry about it.”
“You won’t be running anything but your mouth in six months. You may not even be part of this company unless your siblings pity you enough. Especially Ricardo, to whom I do plan to transfer most of the power. And then to my dear Isabella, of course.”
Upon hearing this news, I shoot out of my chair and stand in front of him. “Ricky? Dad, you want a guy who can barely run a computer properly to run your company? He seriously doesn’t even know what Windows Office means. Ricky’s got bricks for brains, how in the hell is he more equipped to run the company you built up with your own two hands than me?”
I leave out the fact that he also mentioned our only sister, and the youngest one out of our whole clan, Isabella. I figure it’s about time for women to be in charge of companies. If he was leaving most of the company to little Bella, I couldn’t even complain. She’s a badass who would do just as well if not better at running it as he has. But Ricky? He’s gotta be fucking kidding me.
“Okay, Dad, sure, I’m late a couple times a week, but at least I know how to schmooze with business partners, and actually have a semblance of knowledge about what we actually do here,” I say, trying to reason with him. “You get Ricky for this job, and he’ll shit the bed, and possibly his pants at the first minor obstacle.
Dad looks away from me, probably because he knows I’m right but doesn’t want to admit it. He wants his power move to make me feel like I’m expendable.
“I know you and Ricky have a lot of sibling rivalry but that deep down you love each other,” is all he says back. “So, don’t say such things about your brother.”
“Fine, Dad. But seriously. We both know I’m capable of running this company. You haven’t given me a chance to prove it.”
He looks at me skeptically, his bushy eyebrows looking even more furled than they usually do.
“Come on, Dad,” I coax. “What is it you want me to do? Make it to meetings on time? Done.”
“I shouldn’t have to ask you to make it to meetings on time. And that’s not the only reason I won’t be leaving the company to you,” he confesses. “You have no direction in life, Ben. And that’s the only thing that’s keeping you from being CEO once these six months are over.”
I’m once more taken aback. “What the hell do you mean? I have upwards direction. I’ve been working at your side for years now in hopes that I’d get to be CEO. How is that not having any direction?” I snap back at him.
Calmly, with a shrug, he tells me exactly what he means, “Let’s say I allow you to take on the mantle of CEO. What are you going to do then? Spend the money you’re making to do the same nonsense you’re wasting your life with now? Gambling, extravagant dates for gold-digging one-night stands, whatever new car comes out? Would I be right with this assumption?”
Unable to grasp at the point he’s getting at, I ask for some clearer instructions. “What exactly do you want from me, Dad?”
“Do something with your life, Ben,” he groans. “Find someone to spend your life with, to enjoy your life with. You’re having all this meaningless sex, not making any meaningful connections with anyone. It’s been years since you’ve even mentioned having a friend. It’s always ‘this guy I know from this casino’ or ‘this up and coming new DJ at this club,’ or ‘some guy I just met at a party’ that you’re hanging out with. As your father, hearing you spend your days like this makes me… sad. Endlessly sad.”
“You’re not going to start crying, are ya, Pops?” I joke.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t appreciate my sense of humor and turns away from me. “Get out of my office. If you’re not going to take me seriously, why should I take you seriously?”
“C’mon, Dad, I was joking.”
“Out,” he yells, pointing at his office door.
“Fine,” I say and raise my hands. “We’ll talk again when you’re in a better mood.”
I open the door and hop out, convinced I can still get him to change his mind because I always strive to maintain a fucking positive attitude no matter what. Before I close the door behind me, he calls out my name.
“Look, if you want me to believe you’re responsible enough to run this company, start by getting the Okatas on the phone and making sure your tardiness didn’t ruin our chances of partnering up with them,” he growls.
“Partnering,” I scoff. “Isn’t the plan to absorb the Okata Oil company?”
“If you phrase it like that to them, don’t even bother, Ben. For God’s sake.”
“Dad, of course, I’m not going to say it like that to them. I’m not Ricky.”
“Fine. Get the Okatas on board. And get engaged.”
“Engaged? You know I’m engaged in the business, Dad.”
“That’s not what I mean, Son. I mean engaged.”
“Engaged? As in married engaged?” He really throws me for a loop on this one, and my eyes almost bug out of my head.
“Yes. Find yourself a nice girl to settle down with. Get married. We come from a long line of Catholics, and we believe in big families and in plenty of family values.”
“Don’t you mean monetary values?” I ask him. It’s like my old Papa has gone soft in the head.
“I’ve watched you fart away your life for far too long now,” my dad says, standing his ground on his ridiculous request I get married when it’s a miracle I even remember my date’s name half the time. “I want to see some seriousness out of you, or I won’t give you any leadership role in the business. So, get serious or just get out.”
Wow, Pops is really worked up about this. If there’s one thing I’ve gathered from this interaction, it’s that I need to find someone to bang and show off for the next six months. I guess I might even have to pretend to marry her. Or marry her for a while, for as long as it takes to satisfy my dad’s strange demands.
How the fuck I’m going to manage to do that is anyone’s guess, including my own. I’ve never been the kind of person to be in a relationship. As my dad correctly pointed out, one-time bangs are more my speed, love ‘em and leave ‘em or should that be lay ‘em and leave ‘em? In my experience, living the single, playboy life has yielded better results than someone like my brother, for example, who was in a five-year relationship and was cheated on time and time again.
Even my father ended up getting divorced by my mother who married some other old billionaire after she tired of him and us, so I really can’t make heads or tails of his strange desire for me to be in a relationship or marry. It didn’t work out so well for him or Ricky, so why should it be any different for me?
I figure he’s getting long in the tooth and might be hitting the age where he may be wanting to see some grandchildren, and since I’m the next oldest after Ricky, whose ex-wife ruined those chances, I suppose Dad must think I’m the best choice to pressure for this sort of thing. Even though some of my younger brothers are much more responsible than I am and would make better husband or father material.
I can’t read minds, but something tells me that choosing Ricky to be the CEO once he retires is just a bluff on my dad’s part. Something to scare me. He could easily pass the mantle to someone on his current board of directors. Someone who is much more qualified. Or even to our family dog, for that matter. Ricky is just an empty threat.
But if Dad wants to give me the runaround, I’ll play along. If there’s one place a person can easily find a woman to help them out in exchange for money, it’s Las Vegas. I bet I could even find one to pretend to marry me or be my temporary wife for a couple of thousand bucks.
I just have to head down to The Strip and find someone I can tolerate for six or so months. I’ll wave some money around. Whoever is hottest and least annoying will be my fiancé or even wife, in name only.
In reality, she’ll just be a glorified fuckbuddy, but in the end, isn’t that what a girlfriend is anyway?
That’s sure as hell what every so-called girlfriend of mine has been. As my father said, my “love” life has consisted of a revolving door of women whose names I can barely remember. Some have been reasonable and understanding and are perfectly content with one-night stands, but others have voiced their desire to meet my family or move in with me, and those are two big downright no-no’s in my book.
I don’t even save their numbers for possible future booty calls. They get tossed to the wayside quicker than anyone. If they keep their wants and fantasies for a relationship to themselves, they’re given the opportunity to be treated to more dates followed by more fuckings.
To my recollection, my dad hasn’t met a single woman I’ve ever been with, so there’s really no one right or best way to trick him. I could either find a new woman or choose whoever it is I’ve had the most dates or sex sessions with.
There’s nothing particularly difficult about the task at hand. I’m 6’2,” I’m in the best shape of my life, and I have more than enough money to attract some Vegas bimbos. Plus, once they see me naked, no one will be able to resist my request of a fake relationship regardless of how powerful their self-control normally is.
I’m not one to brag (oh who am I kidding?—yes, I am, and who wouldn’t?), but I have been complimented by many of my partners who have said I should be working in the adult film industry. Frankly, I can’t say I disagree. Every time I unzip my pants in front of my dates, my cock is met with gazes of amazement and wonder. There was even a time when two of the women I was bedding at once almost fought over who’d get to wrap their lips around my dick first.
I’ll spend all day shooting messages at some of my favorite lays and figure out whose presence I can tolerate the most, while I bar-hop and meet new potential contenders for the role of the future Mrs. Ben Lopez.
But before I can get started on any of that, I have to get one Itsuki Okata on board with giving up his business without knowing he’s giving it up to the son of someone who is basically an oil baron villain from an old cartoon western.
I have my work cut out for me, but I’m always up for a fucking challenge.
She's running low on luck. I'm just the guy to fill her up.
Tessa has a heart of gold and curves that are worth even more.
Fate brings us together during desperate times.
She needs money to rebuild her school for disabled kids.
And I need a fake wife, to inherit my father's business.
I decide to make her a deal she can't refuse.
Fake marry me on Easter Sunday. I'll pay five million dollars.
But for that price, it has to include a real honeymoon...
in which we'll f*ck like rabbits.
"Let me tie you up and have my way with you," I tell her.
"It'll be my very first time," she says. Even better.
We'll each help each other out, in multiple ways.
Then we'll be done for good.
She agrees- and a deal's a deal, right?
So why am I finding it so hard to walk away from her?
I never believed in mating for life. Now I want to make her my lucky bunny for good.
Thank you for reading! Love Juliana
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