by Louise Bay
“You sure you’re ready?” I asked, serious again. I didn’t want her to feel rushed.
“It doesn’t matter how young or old I am. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you. If we get married now or in ten years, what difference does it make?”
She was right of course, because she was the wisest woman I knew. Autumn was someone who’d always seen the light in me and whose darkness didn’t scare me. She was my forever—horrific singing voice and all.
Joshua’s book, Mr. Park Lane is available for pre order NOW
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Beck and Stella in Mr. Mayfair
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Books by Louise Bay
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Mr. Smithfield
Mr. Park Lane
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Private Player
International Player
Hollywood Scandal
Love Unexpected
Hopeful
The Empire State Series
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The Ruthless Gentleman
The Wrong Gentleman
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King of Wall Street
Duke of Manhattan
The British Knight
The Earl of London
Park Avenue Prince
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Indigo Nights
Promised Nights
Parisian Nights
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Faithful
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Friends to lovers
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International Player
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Fake relationship (marriage of convenience)
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Enemies to Lovers
King of Wall Street
The British Knight
The Earl of London
Hollywood Scandal
Parisian Nights
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Office Romance/ Workplace romance
Mr. Knightsbridge
King of Wall Street
The British Knight
The Ruthless Gentleman
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Second chance
International Player
Hopeful
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Best Friend’s Brother
Promised Nights
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Holiday Romance
The Empire State Series
Indigo Nights
The Ruthless Gentleman
The Wrong Gentleman
Love Unexpected
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British Hero
Promised Nights (British heroine)
Indigo Nights (American heroine)
Hopeful (British heroine)
Duke of Manhattan (American heroine)
The British Knight (American heroine)
The Earl of London (British heroine)
The Wrong Gentleman (American heroine)
The Ruthless Gentleman (American heroine)
International Player (British heroine)
Mr. Mayfair (British heroine)
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Single Dad
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Private Player - Chapter One
Nathan
I watched from the edges of the lawn where guests were gathered. The groom, one of my oldest friends, grinned like his team had just won the FA cup. The photographer scurried after him and his bride as the happy couple flitted among groups of guests enjoying their canapés and champagne.
Everyone was full of smiles, air kisses, and congratulations.
Everyone except me. I hated weddings.
It came down to small talk. Some people were good at chatting about the weather, or Wimbledon, or whatever else it was that small-talkers talked about.
I wasn’t that guy.
Add in the bad wine, cold food, and prolonged speeches, and weddings became my personal hell medley. And that was before the soon-to-explode bomb landed in my lap last night.
I should have been in London. Working. Planning. Strategizing. Defusing. Instead, I was listening to the tick, tick, tick—powerless to stop the explosion I knew would come. I glanced at my phone. Gretel was supposed to come back to me by four with details of some last-minute story the Sunday Mercury intended to run about me tomorrow—it was the kind of thing that normally didn’t concern me, but given my current relationship with my board, I couldn’t afford to ignore anything. Three fifty-eight. She had two minutes.
Tick, tick, tick.
My phone buzzed in my hand. Well, at least she wasn’t late. I moved toward the trees and pressed Accept. “Go ahead.”
“They have photos of you with Audrey Alpern. Is that Mark Alpern’s wife?” she asked.
The news stuck in my throat like I’d swallowed a mouthful of wood chippings. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Since I’d floated Astro Holdings, there had been murmurs about whether my focus was on the job . . . or elsewhere. The murmurs were turning into shrieks. The market didn’t think I could work hard and play hard. But I’d always been that way. My two passions in life were work and play—business and pleasure. It had always served me well.
Until now.
Until I’d taken Astro public.
Now, instead of answering to myself alone, I had pension funds, investors, and the business press—not to mention the board—scrutinizing everything I did.
Apparently, the rest of the world didn’t think you could run a FTSE 100 company and enjoy yourself.
“Yes,” I replied and I cleared my throat. “I’ve been friends with both of them since before they were married. We all met at university.”
“Was Mark there last night?” she asked.
“Nope.” Of course he wasn’t. Audrey had come to me for help. Advice. Support. Bomb disposal expertise. Her husband had betrayed her—betrayed everyone. Mark was the last person who would have been there last night.
“Well, the Mercury is lobbing words like playboy and cheater and—”
“And none of those words are accurate when describing me, so what’s your plan?” The board had forced me to hire a PR person to repair my reputation as a playboy who was more focused on women than his business, so she needed to do her job.
“My plan is for you to tell me why you were with another man’s wife at Annabel’s at three in the morning. It’s usually better to start with the truth.”
“She’s a friend. We went out for some drinks.”
Gretel groaned on the other end of the line. She assumed I was lying. If I’d been trying to cover up something sordid, maybe I would have. But I was telling the truth. It just wasn’t the whole truth.
“Well, Houston, we have a problem,” she said.
“I’m not sleeping with Audrey Alpern.” At least the Mercury hadn’t uncovered the real reason we were together last night.
“I don’t care whether or not you’re fucking her,” Gretel said. “I care that it looks like you’re fucking her.”
“And I don’t care what it looks like,” I said. “I care about the truth. And the truth is, she’s just a friend. We were having drinks. There’s no story.” Another lie. There was a story, but it was far bigger than me being out with a married woman. It just wasn’t mine to tell.
&n
bsp; “Unfortunately, that kind of truth doesn’t sell newspapers. We need to give them some explanation.”
“You want me to make something up?” I asked.
Gretel sighed. I’d not been making her life easy since she joined, but I resented the board questioning my commitment to the job when they were the ones around the table seeing the business thrive. Astro was outperforming its targets on every measure. “We need to offer an alternative perspective to the image of you that’s out there,” she said.
Despite Astro’s success, I was dangerously close to being fired by the board I’d created. If they thought I was sleeping with another man’s wife, especially a man who happened to be one of the biggest wealth managers in London, and I’d ignored PR, the guillotine would inch closer to my neck.
“All anyone knows about you is that you’re a surly playboy,” Gretel continued. “Someone who doesn’t like them. People like to feel liked.”
“I don’t give a shit about being liked.” Being popular was overrated. I cared about results. Loyalty. Getting things done. Not making it onto people’s Christmas card lists.
“Well, you’re an anomaly in many ways,” she said in a sing-song voice, as if she were telling a child their painting deserved to hang in the National Gallery. “I’m trying to help you. And if you want my help, you need to work with me to show the world the best side of yourself. Show them why you’re the youngest CEO the FTSE 100 has ever seen. Show them you’re sharp, focused, decisive, and most of all—open.”
I didn’t want to need Gretel, but I did. Astro Holdings was my life’s work, my passion, and I’d do whatever it took to ensure my position there was safe. Then again, the prospect of being fired by the board I had created wasn’t even the worst prospect coming down the line in the coming weeks. Being thought of as a moody womanizer was likely to be the least of my problems if what Audrey told me last night was even half right. For the second time in my life, being Mark Alpern’s friend was likely to cost me and the people I cared about. This time, I had to protect myself. Protect Audrey.
“Do you have something in mind?” These photographs the Mercury had were like cutting my hand and going out surfing. If I ignored them, I’d be asking for trouble. When the Mark Alpern bomb eventually dropped, the sharks would circle and finish me off.
“We need an entire campaign designed to cast you in a new light. At the center of it would be an in-depth profile of you in a national broadsheet, like the Post. You give them an all-access pass—no questions or parts of your life or business off-limits.”
That sounded like my worst nightmare. I was far from reclusive, but I liked my privacy. Though I’d never considered myself a playboy, my private life involved me getting naked with women fairly regularly. “I’m not sure that will work.”
“It’s the only thing that will—complete transparency,” she insisted. “Then we’ll build in some charity work, some corporate social responsibility. You’ll have to wine and dine some influential people in the City, but if keeping your position as CEO at Astro is important to you, I’m telling you, this is what it will take.”
Bloody Mark Alpern. If he weren’t the subject of an active police investigation, Audrey and I wouldn’t have been meeting last night and I wouldn’t be having this conversation. This was all his fault.
Assignments of blame aside, my business was at stake. I wasn’t prepared to sacrifice everything I’d worked so hard for. I’d done that once before for Mark, and it wasn’t going to happen a second time.
“Set it up,” I said.
“Consider it done,” she replied. “I have a journalist in mind who’s likely to be a little softer on you. She—”
“I’m at a wedding. I’ll expect something in my diary for Monday.” I didn’t need to know the details. This was Gretel’s opportunity to prove she was as good as everyone said she was. And if she was right, it was also my do-or-die chance to prove I was as good as I’d always believed.
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