Filthy Rich
A Filthy Duet Book 1
Matilda Martel
Copyright © 2020 by Matilda Martel
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Contents
1. Declan
2. Ava
3. Declan
4. Ava
5. Declan
6. Ava
7. Declan
8. Ava
9. Declan
10. Ava
11. Declan
12. Ava
13. Declan
14. Ava
15. Declan
16. Epilogue-Three Years Later
About the Author
Also by Matilda Martel
1
Declan
Money can’t buy happiness. Don’t let anyone fool you. Wealth brings comfort and your comfortable life will make you believe you’re happy. But a day will come along when you realize you’re surrounded with shit you don’t want and missing the one thing you desperately need.
As for me, I have everything I’ve ever wanted. I just wanted all the wrong things.
Six years ago, my father passed away and I took my place as the head of his media company with my younger brother, Jude, heading up the rear. Neither of us have fond memories of the old man. Nothing good. Nothing bad. But he had other priorities.
Why worry about raising your sons, when you have an empire to run?
Magazines, newspapers and a cable news network filled his life and made him a very rich man. McCormick Media was his baby. He built it from nothing and groomed me to run it with no less dedication than him. And I have. I’ve poured every waking hour of my adult life into expanding another man’s creation. I’ve worked seventy hours a week, traveled the world, met with Kings, Presidents and Prime Ministers, and ushered us into the 21st century. Thanks to me, and to a lesser extent my feckless brother, we’re a global conglomerate.
But too much of a good thing is dangerous. Money brings power and power contaminates your soul. It numbs your senses and hollows you out until you feel like an empty shell, unworthy of joy. I’ve never loved it the way he did. It’s a means to an end and the deeper I dive, the more I feel my soul slipping away.
This work has cost me everything. Unlike my father, I never married. I never had children. Every evening, I go home to a luxury penthouse that is as empty as my life. And every morning, I start my day and make the same mistakes that got me where I am.
I’m filthy rich, but I’m a miserable failure.
And if I don’t change things now, I’ll be stuck in this rut forever.
“Are you listening to me?” Arthur, my friend and CFO, stares at me from across my desk. He’s been waiting patiently for the last twenty minutes.
“No, sorry. I didn’t hear a damn word you said. I’ve been in my own head.” I stand and stride towards the window.
“I’m leaving early to fetch Ava from the airport and taking her uptown. Her mother and I pitched in and got her a place near school.” He stares and waits for an answer.
“Ava?” I’m utterly confused.
He squints and cocks his head. “My daughter, Ava. My only child. The one my ex-wife carted away to Boston after the divorce?” He sighs and rubs his temples.
“Yes, of course.” I nod and pretend to care. “Why is she coming here?
“Jesus, Declan. Where’s your head? She just transferred from Boston University. She’s attending school here. I’ll finally have my daughter in the same city again. Which is why I’m picking her up and taking her to her new apartment. It’s a big surprise. You haven’t listened to anything I’ve said in the last week, have you?” He takes offense.
“Sorry. I’m distracted. Good for Ava. I’m glad you... have her back.” I struggle with an appropriate response.
His brows crease with annoyance. “As I was saying, I’m leaving after lunch, but I’ll come in early tomorrow. We’re buying furniture for her place and then grabbing dinner.”
“Sure. Say hello to Ava. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I wave and fake a smile.
“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes, grabs his jacket and darts out of my office.
Arthur’s daughter in college. Wow. Time flies.
On top of everything, now I feel fucking old. Arthur Jameson the man who had one of the worst divorces in the state of New York, has a better life than me. He works as much as me. I’m fairly certain he never dates or socializes with anyone. But at least he has his little girl to show for it. I have nothing.
I’m the king of nothing.
And every year it grows worse.
2
Ava
“Pick out whichever one you want, sweetheart. We can expedite the delivery. How about that one?” My father stands before a group of antique couches and points to the most expensive one. He always does this. He’s been buying my love since I turned twelve.
It’s his favorite pastime.
I purse my lips and sigh. “I was thinking something a bit comfier. Something soft with pillows. Maybe, in a nice beige.”
I clutch my purse to my chest and search the room for anything that looks semi-comfy. I don’t want to seem ungrateful. He just surprised me with an apartment walking distance from campus. But I’m nineteen years old and I don’t need my new place to look like Jane Austen’s parlor room. A nice loveseat will do. Maybe, some shag rugs. Nothing extravagant.
He pauses and brings his hand to his chin. “Leather?”
I shake my head. “No, not leather. Come on, I think I spotted a store a few streets down. No need to break the bank.”
“Are you sure, honey? You don’t need to scrimp. It’s on me.” He gives me an awkward smile while he checks his messages.
He never stops working. Over the past two hours, he’s taken three calls, checked his email no less than five times and made us stop for coffee so he could join a conference call. It’s no big deal. I’m used to rolling with these punches. My mom is the same. Work, home, eat, more work, sleep and then repeat. But I haven’t seen Dad since Christmas, and he promised we had the day to ourselves.
This is your fault. You should have known better.
Gauge those expectations.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I need to head home and catch up on the work I missed. Take my card, get everything you need, and we’ll catch up tomorrow. Don’t be chintzy. Your mother plans to visit before Halloween and you know she doesn’t like to plant her delicate ass on anything cheap.” He hands me his American Express, abandons me and takes one last dig at the woman who gave me life. Typical.
Before he disappears into a taxi, he shouts, “Come by the office Friday afternoon. I think you’re a shoo-in for the internship. Love you!”
Internship? Not that again.
We’ve had this conversation a dozen times. I have no interest in media and if I did, I wouldn’t work for someone like Declan McCormick. Those rags he peddles are nothing more than propaganda machines to showcase his decadent lifestyle and the interests of his rich buddies. That’s not journalism. Real journalism is dead and it irks me that my father helped in its demise.
If he bothered listening, he’d know my heart lies with children’s books. My best friend, Bella and I have been working on them for years, cataloging ideas, working on themes and immersing ourselves in grammar school curriculum. I write, she illustrates and we’re both majoring in Early Childhood Education. We
want to write good books. Serious ones. Fun but educational and for all different levels.
It’s a dream, but we’re prepared to work for it.
With my father’s card in my hand, I hike across the street and make my way towards a row of vintage boutiques. This is my new apartment and since he bailed and left me in charge, I’ll decorate however the hell I want.
It’s going to be a pink explosion.
“Fancy meeting you here.” I skid to a quick stop and peer over my shoulder. A mane of curly hair and a mountain of sass greets me with a punch to my arm. It’s Bella. As always, she stayed true to her stalker ways and not only followed me from Boston but rented the apartment across the hall from me. We’ve been plotting our return to the city since we met in middle school, and there was no way she was letting me transfer without her.
We can’t afford to break up the team.
“God damn, Bella! You don’t know your own strength.” I rub my bicep and pull her hair.
“You’re weak, Jameson. I keep telling you to come to kickboxing class with me.” She giggles, jumps in place like a boxer and pushes me forward.
“I just arrived this morning. When in the world did I have time to sign up?” I push her back.
“Where’s your Dad? I thought he was taking you shopping?” She pauses and looks around.
“Where do you think? Take a guess. You only get one.” I flash his credit card and lead the way into a girly boutique that’s right up my alley.
“He’ll regret it one day. Mark my words.” Bella raises an index finger with an air of authority.
I shrug and plop into a dusty pink velvet couch straight out of my dreams. “Never mind him. What do you think of this beauty?” I rub my hand on the velvet and smile. “Isn’t it adorable?”
“No. It’s not. It’s hideous. It won’t match with anything.” She wrinkles her nose and points at a duplicate in navy blue.
“Blue? That’s for boys!” I huff and sink into a cloud of pink luxury. It’s the softest couch I’ve seen today.
“Pink shows stains. Go with the navy and throw a few cute pillows on it.” She tosses a pillow in my face.
“It’s my apartment. I’m going for something girly. Maybe, I can find a pink faux chandelier.” I snark and squeeze a pillow against my chest.
“There’s a sold tag hanging off the side, so it’s either the navy or that white one. And you can’t do white.” She wags her finger.
“I can do white.” I frown and march across the showroom.
“No, you can’t. You spill everything. And if you ever manage to get laid, you won’t want to get busy on your pristine couch. Now, hurry. I need coffee and I want to hear the details on this internship.” She takes my purse, yanks out my dad’s card and waves it at the saleslady.
Bossy little jerk.
I said I want pink and come hell or high water, I’m getting the pink.
3
Declan
My driver comes to a stop in front of the building and my growing frustration makes me bolt out the door. I can’t believe I just wasted an hour of my life trying to rekindle a non-existent relationship with a woman who used to bore me to tears. Why the hell did I romanticize it and try to make it into something it never was? Thankfully, within five minutes, she reminded me of all the reasons we never had that third date.
I’m such an idiot.
Why did I think the perfect woman would fall out of the sky and land on my lap? This is my penance. I’ve prioritized all the wrong things in life, and now I’m paying for my stupidity with one unbearable date after another. This lunch date makes four, and I’m not sure I can handle a fifth. But I can’t give up. This is no different than closing a difficult account. I work my ass off every day for shit that won’t matter much in the end. I can work just as hard to find a wife. A good wife. A partner. Someone who wants to have a family. Someone who’s smart, funny, sweet, independent, affectionate and will work just as me to hard to build a solid, healthy life together.
Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. This is a tall order.
“Hold it, please.” I shout towards the elevator, hoping whoever is behind the closing door will have some pity. It never works. This is New York. I can almost guarantee whoever’s on the other side is furiously tapping the button to speed up the process.
To my surprise, it slides open and an angel waves me in with a smile. My breath suspends in my chest. Motor skills cease to function. The world stops spinning and I cast my eyes on the girl of my dreams.
Icy blue eyes greet mine and her warm smile instantly melts my heart. Fearing I’ll frighten her before I have a chance to find out who she is, I settle into a space on the opposite side of the car and discreetly gawk at the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
“Made it just in time!” She grins from ear to ear. Dimples appear and the sound of her sweet voice settles in my brain, making me lose my train of thought.
I can’t believe an angel just fell out of the sky and landed on my lap. Lust and love consume my senses. My knees feel like rubber. My mouth waters as I fix my gaze on the shapely legs peeking out from the bottom of her short skirt. My pulse jumps as I take in the round curve of her luscious ass and the way her white dress shirt caresses every inch of her supple breasts. She’s so lovely, my hands itch to touch her just to make sure she’s real.
“What floor?” She whispers but I’m too dumbstruck to reply. When her cheerful expression slowly transforms into a guise of concern, I panic to find my words. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I hear my voice shake with the uncertainty of a pre-pubescent boy. “Forgive me... twenty-first... the twenty-first floor. Please.”
“Done. That’s where I’m headed, too.” Her fingers curl into the shape of a small gun and she makes an adorable clicking sound. It’s strange, but intriguing. I want to know more. For the first time, I want to know everything.
“Do you work for McCormick Media?” I search my mind, speeding past faces and names. There’s no chance I missed this doll. No chance in hell.
She shakes her head and smirks. “Nope, and I hope to keep it that way.”
My jaw drops. “Why? I mean, why wouldn’t you...” Words tumble out in a choked whisper, but before I can finish, the doors fly open.
“Have a nice day!” She blurts it out with fake enthusiasm and a quick wave before she darts onto my floor. No final glance to give me hope. No smile to carry me through the day. No explanation for why she apparently hates the company I helped build.
And why did that dig turn me on even more?
Bereft with loss, I watch her sprint down the Executive Hall and disappear into an office. I follow discreetly, like a lovesick fool desperate to be by her side again. I need to speak to her. I want to hear her voice again and take her into my arms. This feels crazy, but I want to be crazy.
Treading lightly, I slink into the hall and peek through every open door, listening for the sound of her voice. Sweat slides down my temples. My stomach churns so loudly, I fear the rumble will give me away. Where did she go? There’s only one way out of this hallway and I’m blocking it. She’s not leaving until I find out her name.
Halfway down, I hear Arthur’s boisterous laugh draw closer and I consider making a break for it. He’ll distract me and give this girl the perfect opportunity to slink away. When his door swings open, I freeze. It’s too late to run. With no other options, I pivot and pretend I’m on my way to see him.
“Just give it a shot. If you don’t like it, we’ll look into another department.” Arthur steps into the hall and spots me immediately.
“Declan, I’m headed to your office, now. My daughter is on her way to see Jude.” He turns and gestures to her.
Wait…daughter?
“Sweeheart, this is Mr. McCormick.” He slides left and makes space for her to exit. Seconds feel like hours. My beating heart drums against my sternum. My mouth slacks. The world slows to a screeching halt while I watch a pair of Mary–Jane stilettos slip through the doorfr
ame. It’s her.
Holy shit, it’s her. My angel.
“Declan, this is Ava, my very grown-up little girl.” He beams and nudges her forward. “She just transferred to Columbia and I’m working with Jude to secure an internship for her in marketing.”
Jude? I don’t think so. That hound isn’t getting anywhere near this girl.
She hesitates. Her big blue eyes flare with panic as she nervously extends her shaky hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McCormick.”
I take her hand in mine and a light clicks on. She startles and shyly tries to slip away. But I hold firm. I don’t want to let go. I need more. I need everything. A growing ache in the pit of my stomach rises and I’m gripped with a feeling I’ve never felt.
Love. I’m in love.
This is her. She’s the one. I know it. This is my wife. When our eyes meet, a slow smile creeps across my lips. Electricity crackles and sparks fly. There’s no denying she feels something, too.
“The pleasure is all mine. Call me, Declan.”
4
Ava
He’s older. Massive, but elegant. Handsome, but masculine. Thick, dark hair with a touch of gray at the temples, deep green eyes and arms that look as though they’ll bust free from that hand tailored suit with one good flex.
How can this be Declan McCormick? I assumed he was my father’s age. I expected haggard and villainous with a well-oiled handlebar mustache, not someone who looks like he just stepped off the pages of GQ Magazine.
“The pleasure is all mine. Call me Declan.” The corners of his mouth twitch into a grin, but his gaze smolders.
Filthy Rich Page 1