The sun streaked into the office and settled on the large pile of files that still needed signing. My eyes drifted to the pen dangling from the edge of my fingertips, and slowly, I started twirling it. The spinning pen captured most of my attention, almost hypnotizing me as I watched the blue cylindrical device become like a top as it spun. When the door suddenly flew open, it broke me out of my trance, and the pen fell from my hand and clattered on the solid wood desk.

“Here are a few more, Mr. Jameson,” Marissa, my assistant, said as she flew into the office.

“How many times do I have to tell you to knock?” I snapped at her.

She paused in her steps, looked back at the door, and I could tell she wondered if she should go back out and come in again after knocking.

“Just bring them. And remember next time,” I replied gruffly.

I was annoyed with the magnitude of paperwork I was expected to complete. It was a part of my inheritance, but it felt more like slavery at the moment. I glanced at the fresh pile Marissa had brought in, but that was about all they would get from me today.

The telephone rang, and one look at the caller ID told me the caller was Glen Rodgers, one of the partners with whom I had a scheduled meeting. Another dent in my already dull existence.

“I’ll be there,” I barked after grabbing the handset and pressing it to my ear. I put it back down before he could speak. The fact that he called said nothing other than I was already late. I hardly wanted to be at the meeting, but like all the other things in my life, it was expected—a requirement I must fulfill whether I wanted to or not.

I pushed the large leather chair back and stood. This was probably the one place I still loved to be. There was a lot of irony in that considering I had no passion for my job, which was handed down to me. I had accepted it because there was no one else. But the office was something of a hiding place. It shielded me from business associates I didn’t want to meet with because I could always tell them I was in another meeting. Usually, that other meeting would be with my whiskey glass and a cigar.

My office was also the perfect hiding place from my mother. She would love nothing more than to see me married—for the sake of the family name—although I couldn’t understand why it had become her obsession. She was no longer a part of the family she so passionately cheered for. She and my father had divorced years ago, but still, she campaigned. If I were to go to the lake house, she would more than likely show up. But she hated the office, so there I remained.

I had made it as much of a home as I could, and I admired the brass finishing on the handle of the small cabinet and the rich cherry-hue oak desk, a perfect complement to the moose head on the wall. At night, it gave the office the feeling I was in a cabin in the woods, and I was tempted more than once to have a fireplace built.

The meeting went as expected—long, dull, and unnecessary. By the time I returned to my office, I wanted to pull my hair out. I felt like I was trapped in a body I didn’t recognize, and as the days rolled on, I fell further into the wormhole. I sank into the chair and clicked on the monitor. The files would have to wait. I needed a reprieve.

Internet surfing was as good a way as any to pass the time. A quick glance told me it was almost three. I only had two hours left on my sentence for today. My mindless tapping carried me through several social media sites, and a smile or two escaped me when I saw the latest posts from my ‘friends.’ Something caught my eye on one of the pages as I scrolled: find your bride today. Visit the ‘mail-order bride site’ and ride off into the sunset with the woman of your dreams.

I chuckled at the thought of meeting a woman online who I had already decided I’d marry. But each page I visited, the ad kept popping up, and it sparked my curiosity. How did it work? I didn’t even know people could actually “mail order” a bride. I probably should have, considering my dreary romantic life. I hardly had time for romance. I barely wanted it. I had gone out of my way to avoid the bloodthirsty girls who lined up outside my door, ready to whisk me away to eternal damnation. My parents’ divorce had left a bitter aftertaste, and I did not look forward to love or marriage, nor did I fool myself into thinking happily-ever-after existed. My bride would be just that—a bride but never a wife. Anything else I could think of was just a dream.

And as if to cement that thought, the phone rang, and the ringtone I designated to the caller told me it was Alison Jameson, my mother. I groaned and pretended I didn’t hear it ringing. Eventually, I had to answer—ignoring her calls was worse than taking them, which was bad enough.

“Yes, Mom,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.

“Raymond,” she started, and I immediately felt like I was standing before the Board of Directors waiting for the assessment that would decide if I would be fired. I waited for her question—the only one she asked regularly. “Have you found a wife yet?”

Always so abrupt, but I expected nothing less. “I think you would have heard,” I replied through gritted teeth. With difficulty, I reined in my emotions when she was the object of my pain.

“Well, what are you waiting on? You’re not getting any younger,” she snapped.

“So any woman will do, is that what you’re saying?” I fired back. I tugged at the tie at my throat as a feeling of suffocation came over me.

“Don’t be silly. This island is full of women. I’m sure you can find one willing to marry you. You do remember that was a part of the package.”

Here we go again. The package that caused unease and unhappiness of the greatest proportions. When my parents had divorced, I had been their only child. Mom expected to get a settlement from Dad, but he had given it all to me on the condition that I take over the business, find a wife, and produce an heir so the legacy would continue. I had a good business head—my father had made sure of that—so I fell into the company just fine. Now, a decade later, the company had grown and expanded into a multibillion-dollar international conglomerate. And I was at the head without an heir.

“You don’t have to remind me. I’m only thirty-two, not sixty. I still have time.” I rocked back into the chair, feeling the weight of the conversation crushing me.

“That’s old enough,” she retorted and clicked her tongue.

“Careful, Mom. You might get a wrinkle,” I mocked, knowing full well it would rattle her. She was vain and materialistic, and the thought of getting old provoked her. I used that card every chance I got.

An unpleasant sound escaped her before her onslaught began. “You’re such a coward, Raymond,” she began spitefully, and I closed my eyes and tried to block out what I knew was coming. “You are my son, and you should have stuck by me. I am so ashamed of you, taking that man’s money and watching as he tossed me out in the street.”

“What do you mean, ‘that man?’ He was my father. And what could I have done, Mom? I was only nineteen when you guys decided – well, when dad called it quits. It was none of my business.” I pinched my nose, pressed my thumb between my eyes, and sighed. “Plus, I wouldn’t say you got tossed out in the street just because you didn’t get the estate.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied unfairly. “You should have made sure I did. And to make matters worse, you won’t even find a woman, if just to give me some kind of purpose.”

God forbid! If that was the only reason to have a child—to give Mom something to do—then I’d die without the experience of being a father.

She was silent for a while, and I wondered if she was still there. “Mom?”

“Are you gay?”

My eyes bulged, and I started in the chair. “What? No!” I answered, and I felt my ears grow hot with embarrassment.

“So why haven’t you found a wife?”

My eyes caught the clock, and I saw that I’d come to the end of my sentence. “Mom, I’m going to leave now. I’ll talk to you later.”

I hung up. One second longer would have started another unpleasant conversation, or a rehashing of the former one. I didn’t sit around my usual safe house, although I wanted to. I glanced at the liquor cabinet as I felt it’s pull, but remaining there after five would mean asking for trouble – someone was sure to take advantage of the fact that I was still at the office, and I was not in the mood for addendums to my boredom. With that in mind, I hurried from the office like it was on fire. It was a futile attempt at escape because I carried my torment around with me. I would never escape my mother, not while she was still alive. The only way to shut her up – I hope – was to find a wife, so I resolved to find a woman to marry.

“Good evening, sir,” Joshua, my driver, said flatly and purely out of a sense of obligation. “Where to this evening?”

I think he was prepped by the agency to ask such questions, because the answer was always the same. I wasn’t much of a social butterfly but more of a recluse. I preferred spending time alone, so when I left the office, I always went home.

“You know,” I replied, slid in, and slammed the door shut.

He hurried to the driver’s side, and slowly, we drifted from the busy downtown office and down the narrow streets that eventually broadened as they met the highway. I stared at the trees lining the sides of the streets as the vehicle drifted closer towards home. I sighed with a small measure of contentment when the car pulled into the driveway of my estate, which was situated close to the ocean, and I sucked in a lungful of the much-appreciated air as I stepped out of the car. Joshua continued around to the back as I hurried to the front entrance.

I alone occupied my estate, and I imagined my son roaming the halls. I remembered how I acted as a child – how I would run from the hallway to the sunroom to the kitchen to my father’s study; how he would laugh and pick me up even when I disturbed his work. We were much closer when I was younger, but as the years rolled by, he recoiled from the world. We drifted apart, and by the time I got back from college, he was like a stranger, barely nodding at me when we ran into each other in the house. I didn’t think about him much after he left. But how could I blame him? Mom had an uncanny ability of driving people away, in much the same way she was forcing me to keep my distance from her.

Having a son would bring me joy, but I was anxious about children with my mother around. I didn’t need her influence, but like a plague she would descend upon me, mocking, jeering, criticizing at every turn. I would love to have a son, but she made me almost afraid to think about it. I couldn’t blame my lack of a family entirely on her – at the rate I was going I would never find a bride, and I was instantly reminded of the site I had stumbled across earlier.

I wandered to my study and immediately searched for the mail-order bride crap. A quick scan told me exactly what would happen: I needed to create a profile of my own, advertise myself, display my character traits, and add one, or a few, of my best pictures. I would then scroll through the profiles of women and choose someone I’d like to marry. I’d meet her—or them, of course—but I knew I had to get this right. She had to be cultured, and with money. I would parade her in public, so she had to be attractive, and not headstrong or annoying. She had to be submissive if this was going to work, and most importantly, she had to understand our marriage was nothing but a living arrangement—a business deal. In short, she had to be the opposite of my mother.

I wasn’t excited as I flipped through one profile picture after another of the eligible bachelorettes. Nothing struck me about their appearance, and the ones who did came from shady backgrounds.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered to myself, even though my fingers kept moving, tapping the ‘next’ button repeatedly as if they had a mind of their own.

I don’t know what I expected would happen—that I’d find the perfect woman without effort and this would be a done deal by tomorrow? With my luck, I would be there all day. An hour later I had proved my theory correct, at least the general direction of it. I cracked my neck where it ached from being hunched over for so long and rubbed my eyes as I stood. This would have to wait. Maybe I’d have better luck the following day, but even as I thought it, I had no reason to believe otherwise.