Reluctantly Yours
Erin Hawkins
CHAPTER 1
Barrett
The clinking of spoons against champagne glasses rises to an ear-splitting level around me. I use the deafening sound as an excuse to extract myself from another tedious conversation with members of New York City’s upper crust.
“Another whiskey, neat, please.” I set my empty glass on the bar.
Behind me, the sharp sound dissipates indicating that the bride and groom have given in to the obnoxious tradition and kissed.
The bartender makes quick work of filling my glass, a large square ice cube and two fingers of Macallan, but not quick enough to allow me to escape my mother, who is quickly approaching. She’s wearing a beaded gown, likely one of hundreds she owns, her makeup is professionally done for the occasion and her short, white hair is curled and styled to perfection.
“There you are, Barrett. I haven’t seen you since the cocktail hour.” She looks pointedly at the amber liquid in my glass. “It appears you’re still there.”
“Good evening, Mother.” I lean down far enough so she can access my cheek. I may be avoiding her but now that she’s found me, there’s no reason to be an asshole.
“It was a lovely wedding, wasn’t it?” she asks while waving to a couple across the room.
JoAnna St. Clair is in her element. A social butterfly regaling in the love that two people have found with each other. She’s a romantic and jumps at any chance to celebrate love. Or to try and convince me I’m missing out by being alone.
She’s the head of publishing at St. Clair Press, the publishing house she and my father started. St. Clair Press is housed under the parent company St. Clair Media, known in the industry as SCM.
I nod. “Sure.”
What I mean is I’m guessing it was. I had been checking work emails in the pew during the ceremony.
“Did you speak with Mark and Amber?” she asks.
I nod solemnly.
“Yes, I gave them my condolences,” I cough, “I mean best wishes for a long and happy marriage.”
I raise my glass in the air in a mock toast.
I find weddings and love in general to be a waste of my time.
I give her my best smile, which the alcohol has made a bit lazy. She glances around the room, a brilliant smile plastered to her face. Only I can see the tightness in her jaw.
“It wouldn’t kill you to at least talk to her.”
“Who would that be, Mother? The woman you set me up with tonight unwillingly, or her mother that is already picking out names for our non-existent children?” I take another sip. I love the burning sensation the whiskey creates in my stomach. It overpowers the headache that my mother’s meddling in my personal life always creates.
“You’re being ridiculous. It was just an idea that Estelle and I had. We thought you two might hit it off.”
Estelle being my mother’s tennis partner at the club. I’m sure this plan was hatched post victory over dirty martinis with the vision of chubby-cheeked grandbabies dancing in their heads.
“Because we have so much in common?” I practically snort.
My second drink of the evening was the only thing that got me through listening to Kristin, Krista, or was it Kristy’s sorority house drama. Kristy, I’m seventy-five percent sure. Something about her best friend’s boyfriend dating another girl behind her back, and they were all roommates, I think. Shit, I give myself props for listening that long.
Estelle’s daughter is the latest in a long line of set ups my mother has attempted. Kristy is a twenty-two-year-old socialite who just graduated college and is looking to find a husband and become a housewife. Good luck to her, because I’m not that guy.
I don’t have time for personal exploits. The sole reason for accepting today’s invitation is for business purposes. Not so my mother can play matchmaker.
I would think my mother would be running out of female relatives of her friends and acquaintances, but being the warm and friendly extrovert that she is, she will likely never run out of fresh-faced females to dangle in front of me. No disrespect, the women are nice, I’m sure. They would make another man happy and content, but that is not the focus of my life right now.
Closing a deal with Voltaire Telecom is my sole focus. Why can’t my mother see that my attention needs to be on the company my father started? The company that after my father’s death, my Uncle Leo, a delightfully charming man with no business sense, slowly ran into the ground in my late teens and early twenties. A company that she still holds the majority stock in and has entrusted me to run.
My mother side-eyes me. I can tell she’s waiting for me to cave on this. To be the obedient son she raised. That’s the thing. I have always conceded and done what I was supposed to. I’ve gotten good grades, gone to the right schools, taken over the family business. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my mother interfere with my personal life. I’m thirty-two years old and I have no intention of settling down. Especially not for someone my mother handpicked for me.
“It’s wedding season, Barrett.”
It’s her way of telling me that she’s got three months’ worth of events to ambush me with more of her future daughter-in-law candidates. It’s my mother’s version of a threat. She doesn’t come right out and tell me she’s going to drive me insane over the next few months trying to set me up with a date at every social event we attend, but I know her and she doesn’t give up that easily.