As I ride through the streets of the city, completely blocked from view by the blackout tint on the windows of my SUV, I can't stop thinking about Alexa. There is something about her I can't quite put my finger on. She dresses horribly. No makeup, no real styling of her hair—nothing that would make her appear more attractive. There is nothing that should have me so drawn to her in the physical sense and considering we haven't actually had a real conversation, I can't be drawn to her intellect.

That's it! She reminds me of a Christmas gift, all wrapped up in a plain box. I know there is something I want in that box—figuratively speaking in more ways than one. I will unwrap that box—layer by lacy black layer. I have to know what's under all that horrible clothing and behind those extremely unattractive glasses.

My phone rings, stopping my pondering and thoughts of undressing my new, sweet little lawyer. I look down at the screen to discover it's Blake. He is probably calling to ask me to hit the club with him again this weekend. My CEO and best friend is searching for Mrs. Right. I have lectured him at least a hundred times she isn't going to be where he is looking.

“Yes, Blake,” I answer, knowing what's coming.

“You, me Nitrogen this Friday night,” he says.

“Blake,” I start.

“No, no, no, this time it isn't for me. It's for you. We have got to get you a woman. I have been meeting with several software companies and potential investors and quite frankly, nobody likes you,” he says bluntly. “The money men don't like you a whole hell of a lot either, which is making it difficult for us to stay filthy rich.” I know he is only half joking. The problems with my bachelor status have been brewing for years.

“I don't care,” I reply.

I really don't. I have more money than Gates for now and it isn't like I am going to be penniless anytime soon. People like me for my money. They like the fact that I can make them lots of money. The only person who actually knows me well enough to like or dislike me is Blake.

Blake sighs, “You have to care. People aren't going to take you seriously. You are the consummate bachelor. It's time to grow up and get rid of that womanizer reputation. It was cool when you were in your twenties and a young guy making a few million, but you have crossed that bridge of young and fun to get your shit together.”

I scoff, “Look who's talking!”

Blake chuckles, “I'm not a billionaire. I'm just the right hand man to the billionaire. I have time to sow my wild oats.”

“Do you have any left? I think you have sown plenty.”

He ignores my objections, “I'll meet you there. I'll reserve our VIP section. Don't even bother saying you won't go, we both know you will,” he tells me. I know he's right, even though I want to protest.

“Fine, aren't you supposed to be closing that deal? Why are you worried about my love life?” I ask, realizing it is nine in the morning. He should be buying that small startup I discovered.

“They don't like you. Didn't you hear me? This is why you have to settle down. The kid that started the company is willing to sell, but we are in the Bible belt here and daddy, who technically owns said company, doesn't want your, and I quote, 'sinful hands near the hard work they put in.'”

“Morons,” I grumble. “The man is going to deprive his kid in order to take a stand against my depravity? Fine. Wait until Page Six publishes my night out at the club. I'll make damn sure he knows how sinful my hands are.”

I hate the gossips. I'm either gay, fucking fifteen women at once or pining after some current flavor of the month in Hollywood. Why my personal life and who is or isn't in my bed interests the world is beyond me.

“Get home and I'll see you tomorrow night,” I say, disconnecting the call.

I can't believe we still live in a society where a single man is criticized for his relationship status. How in the hell does it effect how much money I can earn or the business decisions I make? I made my money on my own and no one is going to dictate my personal life.

My dad learned long ago that I make my own decisions. He tried to push me into becoming a lawyer. I hate lawyers. I think. There is one pretty lawyer that may make me change my mind. It was my rebellious nature and computer savvy that made me rich. Dear ol' dad couldn't stand the thought of me being more successful than him and effectively disowned me. Good riddance, old man.

My driver pulls into the underground parking of my building—yes my building. I own every last fucking brick of this 58-story monstrosity. Mine, all mine, dad. In fact, I own several buildings, including the tower I live in. Am I bragging? No, I'm stating facts. I'm not an idiot. I know my company could implode at any given moment, which is why I have invested.

When the car stops, I quickly put dad out of my mind. I have work to do. I won't let anything get in my way of staying on top—including a woman. Marriage would complicate my life. I did the girlfriend thing. She was sleeping with my so-called friend. That was a tough lesson to learn, but I did learn. Never trust women. Blake is the only person I could trust in this world. I grin, he knows I would kill him if he ever tried to sleep with someone I was with.

“Good morning, Mr. Hawke,” my elderly secretary says as I walk by her desk, heading towards the inner sanctum of my massive corner office.

“Good morning, Mrs. Daniels,” I greet her. The woman was as slow as molasses, had no idea how to use a computer and was as old as dirt, but I loved her. She had come in nearly seven years ago, applying for the job I had posted. Those days I was just starting out and although she met none of the requirements, I couldn't turn her down. So, I have two secretaries. I have the one out front that the world sees and then I have Mrs. Daniels.

“I put a coffee in your office, but judging by that shirt, you already had some this morning,” she says, looking down her cat-eye glasses at me. The glasses had to be from the 1960s.

“I could always use one of your cups Mrs. Daniels. You know just how I like it,” I say with my most charming smile.

She giggles, “Oh, you save that smile for the young ladies Mr. Hawke,” she says, her crepe skin blushing. “I'll get you a new shirt sent over right away.”

My office sprawls across the corner of the 58^th floor. I walk to the windows that line the outer walls and stare down at the city below. From my view and I'm sure the view from others who see me, I have it all. Deep down, I know I am missing something huge. I am lonely. Sure, I have hundreds of people always around me and wanting something from me, but none of them matter.

I am all alone in my ivory tower.