by Hazel Parker
That was doubly true considering I didn’t have to explain my personal life to my work like I would my family. And that for how shit seemed to be hitting the fan for my mother, I had to double down on the “man of the house” bullshit.
While the stakes for marriage in my family weren’t quite at the level of “marry someone or you’ll never become CEO of the business,” it was still a huge fucking deal. My mother expected me to find my happily-ever-afters in a healthy manner, and let’s just say that getting black-out drunk and marrying a business rival without any sober thought wasn’t exactly the most legitimate way. I never quite knew the deal with her and Eddie’s meeting, but I got the sense her upbringing had made her hypersensitive to the need for a “real” love story.
She’d be pissed. I knew it. I had to figure out a story to tell.
“You OK?”
Megan snapped me out of my thoughts as we drove further back into Las Vegas, toward McCarran Airport. I’d gotten so wrapped up in what I would do about my family that I hadn’t even paid attention to her. It was one thing to ignore her to elicit the truth. This was just being a shitty boyfriend. Husband. Shit. I’m still not used to saying that.
Whatever. I’ll get better with time.
“My mother is going to give me some grief for this,” I said. “I don’t care. But I can’t pretend it’s not going to be a little bit difficult. She can be a real pain in the ass at times.”
“I know,” she said.
And then she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.
“But I don’t care what my father thinks, either. I just want us to be happy, and we’ll figure out the rest after.”
“I can get behind that,” I said.
The gates to the private airspace opened.
“It’s too bad the private jet won’t last as long as the boat, nor have the same space,” I said. “Think of all the naughty things we could do on there without pilots or flight attendants.”
“Who said we can’t tell them to stay up front?”
I got a wicked grin on my face. Regardless of whatever troubles family might present us, one thing was for sure.
“As soon as we reach cruising altitude, you’re joining the fucking Mile High club.”
I might have taken years and years to rope in Megan Adams, but I sure had done well in picking someone to pull in. Even if we’d gone about fifty steps past what either of us had expected.
Chapter 12: Megan
Life had to go back to reality at some point.
But that didn’t mean that some of what had happened on our fantasy romp and honeymoon wouldn’t carry over to reality.
For one, I had fallen harder than I ever would have anticipated for Brad Nimico. Even if you’d told me we’d start a relationship, date for three years, and then get married as was customary for most people, I didn’t think that I’d have felt as lustful—but also as longingly—for him as I did now.
For another, I knew that regardless of what happened when we got home, he and I would figure it out. We might have to deal with some initial family drama, but we’d get over it.
“Before we get into any of that fun stuff,” Brad said as the airplane taking us home came into view. “We need to get our fucking story straight. I’m not going to get tripped up because you said we met at an event in seven years ago and I said five.”
“I take it we need something legit?”
Brad nodded.
“The more ‘normal’ we can make it, the better. Keeping in mind, it’s going to be awkward as hell to explain that this happened without anyone else there anyway. So it’s not so much making the perfect story as it is just one good enough.”
“Makes sense.”
“And no offense, but I’m more worried about my probing mother than your asshole of a father. He’s an old man with the cholesterol of six healthy people combined. My mother can be like a fucking Kardashian with her drama, I fucking swear.”
I snorted. I didn’t hate my father, but I certainly didn’t like him.
“Agreed.”
“So, this is what I’m thinking,” Brad said. “We dated in secret for the last year and a half. We’ve kept it a secret because of what people would say from a business perspective. We wanted to make sure we really loved each other before we got married so that people wouldn’t think it was a ploy for a takeover.”
Do we though? Do we really love each other?
My gut said yes. My brain said that as fun as the previous three days had been, it was too early to say. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if, because of our years of knowing each other, we’d somehow both found lust and love at the same time. It was a tall ask, but not an impossible one.
“OK, but then why’d we get married in Vegas?” I said.
“I don’t have a good answer for that,” Brad said, gritting his teeth. “That’s one where we’re going to get shit no matter what. We just felt like it was time, and we didn’t want to wait, but we’re still going to have a proper ceremony later. And if people judge us for it, fuck them. They’ll have to live with it.”
I was glad Brad could admit it was something of a flimsy story because I didn’t have any confidence in its believability. My father, the businessman that he was, could poke holes in a story faster than a pencil could through wet paper. He would not hesitate to grill me until I broke.
But, the truth was, as long as I was with Brad, I didn’t worry. My father hadn’t stipulated in our contract how I’d get married, just that I had and that I could prove we loved each other. Just because we’d done so under the influence of vodka didn’t mean we didn’t feel a certain way for each other.
I wanted to say “loved,” but even for me, even with Brad, that was a bit much too fast.
“Anyway, looks like we have arrived,” Brad said as the limo pulled up to a stop at the airplane. “Back to reality, babe.”
I sighed. At least reality looked a whole lot better now.
“Yep, let’s do this.”
We got out of the plane. The pilot and one flight attendant helped board our stuff. We got onto the plane, which Brad told me was owned by the Nimico family, and took a seat side by side. We buckled up, leaned into each other, and waited for the plane to take off.
Guess supposed crime families aren’t so bad after all.
Private jets? Private yachts? Marriage with the hottest, most handsome guy I know?
It could be a lot worse.
But even with this comfort, as the plane took off, I knew we were leaving paradise and heading back to a bit of a gloomy reality. And that was all because of one man.
Mario Adams, my father.
* * *
Four Years Ago
“You can’t be serious.”
My father glared at me from across the table. Once upon a time, we’d had a neutral relationship. He’d taken care of the family, my mother had taken care of me, and while we weren’t one big happy family, we were one big functioning family that was relatively free of drama.
But then my mother died of cancer, a decline that happened far too rapidly. My mother had fought to protect and guard me, but my father had never done much for her. I couldn’t help but wonder how much the two had really ever gotten along and if they had married for love or for money.
And now, because of that, I was faced with a brutal reality. The only family I had was more interested in making me a businesswoman than he was in caring for me as a father.
“You dropped out of Columbia?”
“I told you, Dad, I’m dealing with a lot of shit right now,” I said. “Just because you brushed off Mom’s death easily doesn’t mean the rest of us—”
“She died two years ago, and as tragic as it was, it’s time to move forward.”
Nothing in his tone suggested that he considered what happened tragic. Inconvenient, maybe, but not tragic.
“How the hell am I going to explain you being in this company without a degree?”
“I don’t know, Dad, that’s not
my concern. You said it yourself. As your only child, I’d take over the business. And when I wasn’t in school, I was learning all I could about the business. Why the hell does a degree matter?”
“You think you can make any sort of business presentation without a degree?” my father said with a sneer and a condescending laugh. “You cannot be serious, Megan. You cannot possibly think that you will elevate this company to new heights without an education. And besides, you’re a woman.”
“And what the fuck does that mean?”
“Watch your tongue.”
“Watch your archaic beliefs!”
And on and on it went like this for several minutes. My father and I hadn’t argued much when I was a child, but that was mostly a function of him being too busy at work and me turning to mom for help. Perhaps the greatest tragedy of mom’s death wasn’t her passing; it was the loss of the guiding, calming light in the family.
“You want this damn company?” he said. “Show you can commit to something. Get a damn degree or get married. Hell, you’ll need someone to take care of you if you keep this shit up.”
“Excuse me?”
“Otherwise, you’ll get this company over my dead body. Now get out of the office and do something to make me proud of you for once.”
I wanted to punch him in the face. How could my father speak to me like this?
Instead, I just stormed out of the place, refusing to believe he was actually serious.
* * *
And yet, three years after that, he had proven he was serious. He’d made me sign that fucking contract. He’d turned me from a daughter into a client of sorts.
And now I had to prove to him that my marriage to Brad was legitimate.
The sickening part to me in all of this wasn’t that my father was an asshole. It was that I didn’t care if he was happy about us or not. I was sure Brad would struggle with that part of it with his family, but on my end, it didn’t matter one damn bit. I just needed my father to cede legal control to me, and that would be it.
Which…felt really hollow and empty.
But this was my life. Without a father who gave a shit, I was left with relying on Brad to fulfill my emotional needs. And as much as I cared for him and now knew he cared for me, that was unfair to him.
The plane landed at JFK with the evening sky just starting to settle in over New York City.
“Ready?” he said. “Not like we have a fucking choice.”
I sighed.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Well, good news for you, I got us both limos back to wherever we want to go, courtesy of the Nimico family,” he said. “So—”
“You’re serious.”
Brad shrugged.
“It’s not like I bought you a private island. This is a tiny-ass expense, all things considered.”
God, this man was too much. I leaned over and kissed him and held the kiss for as long as I could. I knew I’d see him again soon enough. I just wanted to have one last good thing to hold on to.
“Are you going back to your place?” I asked.
“Hell yes. I need to just get to my bed and not think of anything else for a good ten to twelve hours or so. You?”
“I’m paying a visit to my father.”
Brad’s eyes went wide.
“I’m not wasting any time getting that CEO job. The sooner, the better.”
“You get to the point. I fucking respect that. You’re not worried about what he’ll say?”
“Oh, I am,” I said. “But the sooner I can start this process, the better. Besides, he’s going to lose his mind when he finds out I married you. I’m sure he will have a frickin’ heart attack over it.”
Brad laughed but looked guilty about it. I just shrugged.
“Well, good fucking luck,” he said. “If you need anything—”
“I got it,” I said with a hint of bravado.
Brad nodded. We got off the plane, gave each other a goodbye kiss, and promised to connect tomorrow. So many things to think about and sort out together. I looked forward to it—especially given how I knew the rest of this week would likely go.
“Where to, ma’am?” the driver asked as I approached my limo.
“Adams Waste Services,” I said. “It’s time for me to say hi to my father.”
The driver nodded, oblivious to what sort of insanity I was about to find myself in, and helped me load my bag. I got into the back, looked out the window, and pursed my lips. I was beginning to feel very nervous about facing my father, and I wasn’t so sure that this was going to work as well as I’d thought.
But I had to do it. I fucking had to do it. And I could deal with the consequences after.
* * *
My father had not rented out a high-rise building like Brad’s company had; he was far too frugal to do that. But he still kept the third floor to himself and his executive team, and to get there, one needed either badge access or the secretary to let them in. And somehow, even though I was destined to be the next CEO, my father still would not give me badge access.
I walked up to the secretary working the evening shift and smiled.
“I’d like to see my father. Mario Adams.”
“One moment.”
The secretaries were never friendly with me. Most people weren’t, honestly. And I couldn’t even blame them. Nepotism was a real bitch, but I wasn’t about to complain about the chance to run a company as successful as my father’s.
“Elevator is open for you, ma’am,” she said with a sour voice.
“Thanks.”
I got on the elevator, the heat in my stomach rising. I had no idea how much other staff would be working right now, but I really hoped the answer was “none.” The last thing I needed was my employees hearing what was sure to be a shitshow of an argument.
The doors dinged open, and I walked down the hall. Most of the offices had their doors shut, which was a promising sign. So, too, was the fact that of the two offices with their doors opened, neither one was occupied.
I kept walking ahead, down to the double doors. I knocked once and opened them without waiting for an answer. My father knew I was coming.
And sure enough, inside, I walked in on my father, wearing a brown jacket and brown slacks, looking out the window at downtown Manhattan. The last four years, especially, had aged him considerably. He’d never watched his diet or his health that closely, so what had started as just simple aging had now become like falling off a cliff.
“How nice of you to show up for your day shift on a Monday evening,” he said. “You’d better have some news for me.”
“Oh, I do,” I said.
I wasn’t even going to bother to suck up or play nice. I never had before, but the thought was doubly true now. My father and I, without my mother around, were less family members and more business adversaries.
“I have something for you to read.”
I handed him my marriage license. My father turned, sneered at me, and looked at the envelope lying on his desk.
“What is this, some sort of proposal?”
“Not exactly,” I said with a smirk.
My father sat down, opened the envelope with clammy, shaking hands, and pulled out the piece of paper. I watched in silence as his gaze went from angry to uncertain to stunned and back to angry.
“What the hell is this,” he said, less of a question and more of an angry observation. “Is this your idea of a joke, Megan?”
“It’s not a joke,” I said. “I got married.”
“That’s what this says; I’m not an idiot.”
He pursed his lips.
“And to…”
“Bradley Nimico,” I said with pride.
He looked up from the paper with horror in his eyes. That, alone, right there, was worth delivering the letter.
“As in, CEO and owner of Nimico Waste…”
“Yes,” I said. “And, may I remind you, you made a contract with me that once I got married, I woul
d become CEO of the company and principal owner. I expect you to abide—”
“This is fucking bullshit,” my father said, slamming his fists on the table. “What sort of a fucking ploy do you think this is? Do you think I’m so stupid as to believe you actually married Brad Nimico?”
I held out my hand and showed him the ring on my finger. I almost wondered if the sight would kill him. It wasn’t entirely out of the question.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said. “How the hell did I not ever know about this? How the hell did you never bring him for dinner or introduce us?”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve met him more than enough times, Dad,” I said. “And besides, we’ve tried to keep it private for obvious reasons. But now we’re married, and now it’s time—”
“Where was this wedding?”
I gulped. It was a gateway question to more questions, the kind that would get Brad and me exposed very quickly.
“That’s not important,” I said. “What is important is that you signed a contract—”
“You got married in Las Vegas, didn’t you?” he growled. “Christ almighty. You drop out of college, you can barely commit to anyone else, and then you probably got drunk and made a stupid decision to marry our greatest business rival, who’s probably going to buy us out and shut everything down. Jesus!”
I bit my lip and said nothing. Better to keep silent and not affirm anything than to expose myself and make me look like a guilty party.
“I’m not giving this up so easily, Megan. I was expecting you to marry—”
“I don’t care what you expected, Dad. I care what was in the contract, and that contract did not exclude me from marrying Brad Nimico!”
My father groaned. The prototypical businessman who didn’t care about anything but money and power, he knew he was fucked. And I wasn’t about to give an inch.
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
“I expect you to retire and for me to take your role within three months,” I said. “If not, I will see you in court.”