Chapter 2 2

HARRISON

FIVE YEARS LATER.

It's always the music at these ridiculously dramatic parties. Do they not pay the DJs?

The speakers are too loud, the songs are terrible slow choices, and I can feel the painful rhythms bouncing off the walls and into my head. I'm not sure where I want to focus my gaze on, but my eyes have now landed on Marissa Dubois Vanderwalz, a leggy blonde model from France that offered me a one-night stand last month–and I'd taken her up on it for three consecutive nights. Underneath that silvery shimmy dress is the body of a...

"Give it up for Harrison Bridges, the first CEO of Building Bridges!"

Shit. That's me.

Pacing my breath in counts of four, I wave mechanically as the crowd erupts in hearty applause. Everyone is clapping and cheering and I'm flashing my most charming smile. My palms are drenched in sweat and my heart is beating two hundred times per minute, but on the outside, I look as cool as a cucumber.

"Congratulations, Harrison. The keys to the new company are now in your hands. We trust you to ace this job, as always." The emcee finishes as another round of applause erupts and the DJ cracks up that awful song again.

Everybody who is somebody in the New York Financial District is here tonight. Top-dog CEOs mingling and making connections. Wall Street money beasts drinking and socializing. My father has always thrown the most opulent and personality-studded parties, and I often wonder if the annoying flair doesn't bore them like it bores me.

And what on earth was that bastard Roscoe thinking?!

My elder brother knows I've always thrived in supporting roles, so why did he think it wise to make me the CEO of his new company without my consent? Building Bridges is Roscoe's brainchild, adjacent to our father's Bridges, Inc., the number one billion-dollar private investment company in New York and number five nationally. As Bridges handles individual and corporate investment portfolios from all over the world, Roscoe launched Building Bridges to provide startup loans and resources to small businesses. He's the current CEO of Bridges, Inc., and obviously can't be CEO elsewhere, and for some reason, he thinks I'm the best man for the job.

Is he doing this just to see me fail? All I've ever wanted was for everyone to recognize my abilities and stop comparing me to my brothers. I want to prove that I can lead and build, just like they do, but I can't do it when I'm micromanaged and scrutinized all the time.

"Harry, the man of the moment! Congratulations, buddy."

Roscoe claps my shoulder from behind, causing me to spin with a tiny startle. His wife, Tess, is by his side, smiling at me. I often wonder how such a lovely angel could agree to marry a mischievous oaf like my brother.

"I'm proud of you, buddy. I know you can ace this and get things running in no time," Roscoe says, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"I take it you were either drunk when you chose me for this or you're just playing a really mean joke," I say, plucking a champagne flute from a passing server's tray. I desperately need to calm my nerves or I might throw up all over the glinting marble floor.

"Hey, you're going to be fine," Tess says, placing a hand on my shoulder. Her blonde hair looks even brighter under the dim chandelier glow. "You got this. You're thirty now, not seventeen anymore. You've taken on roles that have led up to this moment. You'll grow into it."

I smile as her words offer a little reassurance. My brother makes a joke about his wife being a sexy shrink and they both laugh. Weird couple.

Turning to the left of the stage, the tiny morale I'd gathered from Tess's words vanishes as I catch my father's scrutinizing, judgmental gaze on me. Lips pursed, eyes narrowed, and head slightly shaking, I recognize that look of disappointment he always dons when I'm around.

I know my father thinks I'm incapable of pulling this role off. He thinks I can't do anything right. I know I didn't make flying-color grades at school, but in the field, I'm a beast with numbers. My division's income at Bridges has nearly tripled in the past year. I'm hella good at this job, but too bad, I'm not as good as Roscoe so I'll never be good enough for my dad.

Swallowing my champagne in one hard gulp to wash away the nagging thoughts, I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from biting my nails. My head starts banging in a slow rhythm. I want to ditch this party right now.

"Uh, hi. Hi Harrison."

Charlee Fox.

I'd recognize that clear little voice anywhere. It sometimes fills my daydreams.

"Hey, Charlee, looking good." Turning to face her, I flash her a hearty smile as I take in her outfit. The little black dress with small cut-outs on the waist is hugging her soft figure, showing off all those lush curves and pale white skin. She can't be more than five-foot-six even with the heels on, but damn. She's thick in all the right places.

"I... I just wanted to congratulate you on your new appointment. So sad we won't be seeing you at BB27 that much anymore, but this is a great step up. I'm happy for you." She nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and my eyes fixate on her hair, forgetting to acknowledge her felicitations.

Charlee has the most stunning flaming red hair I've ever seen in my entire life. Her hair color is perfect. She's a brilliant marketing executive and has been with the company for five years, doing an amazing job on every task.

I've always had a bit of a crush on her, but I've never made a move. Not only because we work together but she's just too... decent for me. I'm not the best at sticking with one woman and I would never want to hurt such a soft heart like Charlee's.

Tonight, however, the champagne gives me a really bad idea.

"Would you like to go sit at the bar with me, Charlee?"

I am ready to chest a rejection from her, but she nods and smiles.