I groaned as the pounding in my head woke me. Judging by the stabbing pains in my temples, I'd had a hell of a night. I raised my hand to my face, grimacing at the stubble. I usually didn't stay clean-shaven because it pissed my father off, but I was starting to think it was more trouble than it was worth.

I shifted, wincing as springs poked into my back. What the hell? I had the presence of mind to shield my eyes before opening them, but I slammed them shut again when I heard a loud clanging that went straight through my head.

“Westmore!”

Fuck. That couldn't be good.

I started to sit up and my stomach rolled. It definitely didn't like that idea. And judging by the taste in my mouth, it wasn't the first time. I opened my eyes again, hoping I wouldn't find vomit all over my clothes. They were rumpled, but void of anything nasty, so that was at least one positive thing.

As my surroundings started to register, the fact that I hadn't thrown up on myself became less important. Institutional lighting. Gray concrete floor and walls. Thin, lumpy mattress. Stainless steel toilet and sink. I would've figured it out even if I hadn't seen the bars or the uniformed man standing on the other side of them.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“Your brother's here,” the guard said. The look he gave me said he didn't think I deserved to be bailed out. What the hell had I done?

I stood, took a second to make sure I wouldn’t pass out, and then began to walk. It was more of a shuffle, actually, but one foot in front of the other would get me where I needed to go.

I didn't need to ask which brother was waiting for me. There was only one of my siblings it could be. I was the youngest of five, the afterthought baby of the family. There were eight years between me and Ashlyn, the closest one to my age. Thirteen years separated me and my oldest brother, Benjamin Franklin Westmore, Jr. And, yes, he always introduced himself with his entire name.

He was an ass.

Our family was distantly related to Benjamin Franklin through my paternal grandfather and my family always made sure no one forgot it. Ashlyn had double the fun since her geriatric husband was distantly related to President Taft. He looked like him too.

Ashlyn was the trophy wife who was now edging closer to forty than her mid-thirties and worried that Gerald was starting to look for a younger model. If she hadn't always been such a bitch, I might've felt sorry for her. Rumor had it that her oldest stepdaughter was expecting again, but I knew I wouldn't hear that news from her. She didn't particularly like Gerald's three children from his previous marriage. She especially hated being thought of as a grandmother.

Benjamin wasn't much better. He'd married for prestige as well, though I actually sort of liked Delphine. She was a good mom to their three kids, or at least as good as she could be with my asshat of a brother pushing prep school and all that shit.

I didn't see much of my oldest sister, Cecily. She'd actually gotten her MBA, but when it became obvious that Dad was grooming his namesake to take over the family businesses, she'd married an old Philadelphian, Hamilton Baird, and used her skills to make him even richer. Between that and her two kids, she was always busy.

No, I knew the only person who would've bothered to come get me out of jail was Samuel. Ten years older than me, we looked the most alike with the same color hair and features. His eyes were more gray-blue than my dark gray, but when I looked at him, I got a good idea of what I'd look like pushing forty. He'd married well, of course, but Hannah was a sweetheart and their kids were all great. How he'd managed to get five without a single hellion was beyond me, especially considering how the rest of us turned out.

“Sammy!” I called out as soon as I saw him. He didn't smile and that's how I knew I was in deep shit.

“Thank you, Officer,” Samuel said and turned to me after the cop walked away. “Let's go.”

I squinted against the bright winter sun, my head throbbing as the light glinted off of the fresh snow we'd gotten at some point.

“Thanks for getting me.” I broke the silence. “Guess I'm going to have another drunk and disorderly fine to pay.” I grinned at Samuel. His expression was still grim.

He opened the passenger's door of his minivan and shook my head as I climbed in. No Westmore should drive a minivan. Our parents had five kids and never even considered a minivan. Then again, we never really did the whole family outing thing either. Samuel made sure his family did stuff together all the time. Maybe that was how he'd gotten such good kids.

“What do you remember about what happened last night?” Samuel asked as he started the vehicle.

I frowned as I thought. “I went to Exotica. Met Tommy there.”

“Tommy.” Samuel said the name with all the affection he would've used to say an STD.

I ignored him and kept going. “Saw a couple dances. Drank some beer. Did a little X.” Shit. Had I gotten caught with that leftover tab?

“And then?”

The fact that Samuel wasn't busting my balls over the drugs meant that whatever had happened had been a hell of a lot worse than a drunk and disorderly.

“I got a private dance.” I rubbed my head. Things were starting to get fuzzy. “Pretty sure I fucked her too, but it was one hundred percent consensual.” I was the kind of guy who liked to screw around, but I never forced anyone, no matter how drunk I was.

“After that?”

“I think I had some shots of something.”

“What about after you left Exotica?”

Images flashed through my mind, but they were broken and didn't make any sense. They couldn't be memories. They had to be dreams I'd had after I passed out. “Nothing,” I said.

Samuel sighed. “You don't remember stealing a horse?”

“A horse?” I stared at him.

“New York sent a bunch of their mounted police to do a demonstration to our police force.”

Oh, fuck. This didn't sound good. I groaned. “What did I do?”

“Well, based on the report, you approached one of the New York officers, asked him if you could ride his wife, grabbed his hat and then stole his horse. They chased you for three blocks before you stopped, got off the horse and made several rude sexual comments regarding the cops, their horses and various members of their family.”

I laughed. I couldn't help it. I'd really done all that?

“It's not funny, Blayne,” Samuel snapped. “You're in a lot of trouble and I don't know if I can get you out of it this time.”

“You can.” I leaned back in my seat. “You're a great lawyer. It’s a horse for god’s sake.”

“I'm a corporate attorney,” he said. “I only know criminal law from saving your ass. And I don't think there's anything I can do. You're in some serious shit here.”

I shook my head and looked out the window. I frowned as I realized we weren't heading into the central part of the city, but rather out to where the old neighborhoods were. The ones with expensive houses that had been around since the country had been founded. Out where I'd grown up.

“Dammit, Samuel!” I glared at my brother. “You're taking me to Mom and Dad's?”

Samuel's expression tightened. “The police commissioner called Dad personally. My hands are tied. You tied them.”

I slumped back in my seat. Betrayed by my own flesh and blood. I'd have to spend the next hour or so listening to my father tell me all the ways I'd disappointed him and how I’d stained the Westmore family name. If he was really pissed, he'd start in on what Benjamin Franklin would've thought of someone like me.

Based on what I'd read about my ancestor, I thought old Ben and I would've gotten along pretty well. I made the mistake of saying that once when I'd been a mouthy thirteen year-old and ended up being grounded for six months and assigned a fifteen-page report on America's greatest Founding Father.

“You could've just paid the bail and let me go,” I groused, entirely aware that I sounded like a spoiled child.

“No, Blayne. I couldn't.” Samuel glanced at me. “This has got to stop.”

I rolled my eyes. I'd heard this speech before.

“And that's what Dad's going to say.” He pulled into the driveway of the large colonial house where we'd grown up. “For once, Blayne, listen to the old man.”

I didn't respond as I climbed out of the car. I loved my brother, especially since he was the only one who put up with my shit without making me feel like a failure. But right now he sucked, I didn't like being told I needed to listen to our dad.

The butler opened the door before I knocked and gave me a dirty look when I walked past him. I ignored the man. He'd been with the family for about eight years or so, but I still didn't know his name. Not because he was 'the help’, but because he was a dick.

I didn't ask where my father was because I already knew. He was where he always was when I had to come talk to him. His office. Like he actually did work from there instead of using it to check his stock portfolio. I'd always suspected he wanted to see me in there because it made it clear how he was successful and I wasn't.

I didn't knock on the door. I wasn't really in the mood to be polite. Dad was at his desk and he looked up when I opened the door, his irritation plain on his face. Even when he summoned me, he always managed to make it feel like I'd interrupted him at work.

“I see Samuel decided not to stop in and say hello.” His tone was mild. “Have a seat.” He gestured toward the chair across from him.

I crossed my arms and leaned on the doorframe.

“Have it your way.” He leaned back in his chair. He and my oldest two siblings looked alike. His hair was mostly gray now, but there were still hints of the blond it had once been. His eyes were a pale blue, a faded sort of denim. I'd been glad I'd gotten the darker colors from my mom. She and I didn't get along much, but I was always grateful I didn't see my father when I looked into the mirror.

“What's it this time, Dad?” I asked, just wanting to get this over with. My head was pounding. My mouth tasted like shit and all I wanted was a drink to take the edge off and then get some sleep.

He raised his eyebrows, but his voice stayed even and calm. “I assume your brother informed you of what you did last night?”

I shrugged. “Got wasted. Did stupid stuff. Not the first time.”

“But it will be the last.” His tone hardened.

“Dad–” I started.

“Enough, Blayne!”

My jaw snapped shut and I ground my teeth together. My temper was usually easy to control, but my family always managed to get it to the surface.

“I have put up with a lot from you over the years. Embarrassing our family, pulling all sorts of stunts that have cost us time and money. And every time, I have forgiven you, bailed you out.”

I started to open my mouth to argue with him, remind him of exactly how much help he'd actually given me, but I didn't. That'd just prolong things and I'd rather listen to his bullshit and leave than drag things out just to try to make a point to someone who would never listen anyway.

“Not this time. I'm putting my foot down.”

Now that was interesting. I wonder what he meant by that. It didn't take long for me to figure it out because the next words out of his mouth were direct.

“You're going to straighten up, or I'm cutting you off.”

“Excuse me?” I started to laugh, but the sound died in my throat when I saw he was serious. “What do you think I can do? I flunked out of two colleges and dropped out of two more. I have no degree and, as you've pointed out more than once, I'm not really good for anything more than being a royal fuck-up.”

Dad's mouth twisted as if he'd tasted something sour. “This is what is going to happen. No more drunken escapades. No more drugs. You have one month to find your own place of employment. I'll give you that much. If you haven't found somewhere to work by the end of February, you will take a job at one of our family's companies. One that I choose.”

Like hell I would. I wasn't about to become some stuffed suit ass-monkey.

“And that's not all.”

I stiffened. Him trying to control what I did in my free time as well as work wasn't enough? What else could he do?

“You are going to stop this nonsense with these strippers and other inappropriate women. Within the next six months, you will marry a suitable woman.”

I barked a laugh. “There is no fucking way I'm going to do any of that.”

“Very well.” He picked up a folder and held it up. “Then this is what will happen, effective immediately. Your credit cards will be canceled. All payments to them will cease. Your trust fund will be split among your nieces and nephews, your inheritance between your siblings. Next month's rent will not be paid. Your car payments will stop. Your bank accounts frozen.”

My hangover had to be messing with my hearing or processing power. There was no way my father would cut me off. Not completely. He might get a bit mad and cut back my allowance, but this?

“I've already had the paperwork drawn up,” he said, shaking the folder. “Including a new will. If you don't agree to my terms, the moment you walk out of here, you're done. No more money. No financial support.”

My tongue was thick, and tried to stick to the roof of my mouth. “You'd let me get kicked out of my place? Lose my car?” I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

“If it teaches you some responsibility, then yes.” He tapped the folder again. “Absolutely.”

“I-I...” I had no clue what I was supposed to say. “The job thing, okay, but marriage? How the hell am I supposed to find some appropriate woman to marry in six months?” Hell, I didn’t know anyone who came close to appropriate.

“That won't be as difficult as you think,” he said.

I didn't like the sound of that.

“I have the perfect match for you. She's in her early twenties, beautiful, and from a good family who does business with us.”

“You want me to marry one of your business partner's daughters.” I made it a statement so I could see if it made sense when I heard it out loud. It didn't.

“Our families are having dinner tomorrow at six. You will be here.”

I was now wishing I'd sat down. How had this happened? Just last night, I'd been out having fun with my friends, hooking up with a smoking hot chick. Now, my father was telling me that life was over. I had to marry some rich society bitch and get a respectable job or lose everything.

“The choice is yours, Blayne,” he said. “But you have to make it before you leave the house today. No more screwing around.”

Dammit.