Forced to Love Page 2

  It’s working too, at least it was, until I hear the sound of my door opening. I stiffen, because there is only one person in the world who wouldn’t bother knocking.

  My mother.

  “Happy birthday, Matthew.”

  I frown, my grip on the glass tightening as the stench of her perfume begins to overpower me. Nate and I used to joke that her perfume was her secret weapon: Able to subdue even the toughest man in a matter of seconds. That was back when my brother and I were friends.

  “Mother,” I say, my voice cold.

  “I trust you’re having a good day? How old is it this year? Thirty?” She’s gushing, like you’d expect a mother to gush over her son, but as she leans over to air kiss me on the cheek, I know the real reason she’s here. The same reason she called me every Sunday night, like clockwork, to chat. To see how I am doing.

  “Despite the fact that you birthed me, you know full well I’m twenty-nine.” I spin around in my chair, just in time to see my youngest brother, Rex, pouring himself a glass of my whiskey from my collection. “Help yourself,” I say to him dryly.

  He frowns at me as I shake my head. The fact that he doesn’t even realize he’s about to tuck into four-thousand-dollar bottle of booze tells me he doesn’t deserve it.

  “Quit the bullshit, Matt. You know why we’re here,” Nate growls. He paces the room like a caged tiger, begging to find his latest kill. I sigh and stand up, shoving my hands in my pockets. He runs a hand through his thick dark hair and glares at me.

  “I do. And I have it under control,” I say quietly.

  “Do you?” Nate laughs. His dark eyes flash with anger. “Because no offence, from here it looks like you have nothing under control. What the fuck was that stunt with the waitress? Do you even care that this affects us all?”

  “Of course I do—”

  “If you did, then you’d be taking this more seriously,” Rex pipes up. I scowl at him. "One year, Matt," he growls.

  “I know,” I say, gritting my teeth. “One whole fucking year so get off my goddamned back and let me do what I need to do.”

  This shit all started after the death of my grandfather. That’s when the bombshell was dropped. It was clearly stipulated in his will that his oldest grandson needed to be married and to have produced an heir before his thirtieth birthday, or the entire family would forfeit their inheritance. Of course, that grandson was me. The one who least wanted marriage. The grandson who wasn’t even sure he wanted to bring kids into this godawful world, and the only fucking grandson who gave a shit about him.

  My brothers and cousins loved him. I’m not denying that, but it was me who visited him regularly when nobody else would. It was me who would call him every week when he moved into the home. All that time I’d spent not wanting him to feel alone, and this was how he repaid me?

  Why did this have to fall on me anyway? Why not the youngest grandson? Because the thought of Rex convincing anyone to do what I have to is almost amusing. I’d risk my inheritance to see that. Well, not really.

  Honestly, I don’t give a shit about my share, but I don’t want to be the reason this family suffers. Believe it or not, I love my family. Even Rex. I know my mother means well, but if she’d just give me five minutes to myself to figure this out, we’d all be better off.

  Do I blame them for getting restless, though? I haven’t exactly been making fast progress.

  Six months ago, my life changed, but even then, I didn’t really believe it. When I first learnt what my grandfather was asking of me, I’d laughed it off, sure my team of lawyers would figure a way out of this for me. I mean, giving up the women, drinking, and occasional all-nighter at the casino in favor of getting married and having a kid? There was no fucking way. I could barely tolerate other people’s children, let alone my own. This whole thing was nothing short of abuse. You can’t force someone to get married and have a kid, can you? Apparently, you could, because that fucking will was air tight.

  Once I leaned there was no loophole out of it, I should’ve just gotten it over with. It should've been the easiest thing in the world for me to find a fake wife to have my kid. I was young, attractive, and rich. There were tons of women who’d marry me for real, and just as many who’d happily do it for the cash, even if it meant having my kid. Hell, there are women who would be happy for me to not be a part of that child’s life. That would suit me, right? But bringing myself to actually do it was proving damn near impossible.

  “Can you all just get the fuck out of here and leave me alone?” I sigh. I rub my head, another migraine coming on.

  “It’s no wonder you can’t find a wife with an attitude like that,” my mother snaps. “And that potty mouth, Matthew. Did I raise you to talk to your mother like that? Most people would be thrilled to have their family with them for their birthday.”

  “Yeah, well A—I’m not most people, and B—most people don’t have you as their family,” I growl. If they wouldn’t leave, then I would. Grabbing my keys, I stalk out of my office, leaving them behind.

  I storm outside to my car and get in, hoping I’m not over the limit. I’ve only had half a champagne and a scotch, so I think I’m good to go. I have no idea where I’m going, but I’ll be fucked if I’m going to sit around there and listen to them harp on about how I’m ruining their lives. Some fucking birthday. What I need is to get drunk and forget about all this. My eyes still on the road, I whip out my phone and call Shannon.

  “I was wondering when I was going to hear from you again,” she purrs.

  “Yeah, well it’s your lucky day,” I say, clenching my jaw. “Are you free?”

  “Sure. The usual place?” she asks.

  “You know it,” I nod.

  I click end and toss the phone over me into the back, then I slam my foot on the brake and turn around, narrowly missing a car heading right at me from the opposite direction. They blare their horn as adrenaline races through me. My heart thumps. This is what I need. A distraction. Maybe I should cancel Shannon and just spend all night narrowly avoiding car crashes? In the end, I decide Shannon is a safer bet, and a just as enjoyable ride.

  Five minutes later, I pull up outside the Intercontinental. I have a permanent room here, because it’s so close to my office—literally across the road. There were days when the ten-minute drive across town to my apartment just felt like too much. It’s also very convenient for situations like this, because I don’t like bringing women back to my apartment.

  I smile as Shannon leans against the door of my room. She’s not wearing much—a white lacey bra that barely contains her breasts and a matching lace thong that leaves little to the imagination. I grin, because only Shannon would be game enough to wait like that, in full view of anyone passing by. I’m pretty sure she dropped everything whenever I called and I’m okay with that. She knows what I like and is happy to do it. Who am I to stop her?

  “Hey sexy.” She smiles.

  “Hey,” I mutter, stalking into the room. “Putting on a show?”

  She giggles. “I think the elderly man two doors down will be sleeping on the floor tonight. You should’ve seen the whack his wife gave him when she caught him gawking at me.”

  She closes the door quietly and walks over to me, wrapping her long, pale arms around my neck. I tense as she kisses my neck, her hand finding its way down to my crotch. She giggles, nestling into me.

  I spin her around so she’s facing me. I didn’t call her so we could cuddle, or so I could listen to how she cock teased some old dude. I called her because I needed some way to release this energy pent up inside me. I’d fuck her senseless, drink some more, and with any luck, I’d be passed out before it hits midnight.

  She laughs as I lift her into my arms and carry her over to the bed. I throw her down, staring at her creamy white thighs as she squirms on the bed. She sits up, her dark curls bouncing around her shoulders.

  “How do you want to do this?” she asks, her blue eyes bright with anticipation.

 
“Preferably with you bouncing on my cock.” I smirk. “Roll over.”

  She does as I ask, and I roll her panties down over her thighs while she glances back at me. I nudge her legs a little further apart and then thrust myself inside her. I don’t use a skin, because I know that she uses birth control. She gasps at the little warning, but quickly gets into it, rocking back against my push. I reach forward and grab a handful of those curls, tilting her head back so I can drive deeper into her wetness.

  I grunt, my dick throbbing as I begin to climax. I run my hand down over her curves, groaning as I shoot my load into her pussy. I hiss, my body jerking as I come. She pants, her fingers creeping to her clit, while I’m still inside her.

  “I’m going to come,” she moans.

  I reach around and remove her hand, replacing it with my own, circling her clit. She gasps, pressing back against me as she comes hard. I bite down on her neck and alternate between rubbing her clit and fingering her. I pull out and collapse on the bed, rolling onto my back. I squint at the light and cover my eyes, the alcohol beginning to have an effect.

  “What’s the occasion?” she asks, rolling onto her side to face me.

  “What do you mean?” I frown.

  “You usually call me when you’re trying to forget about something.” She shrugs. “It’s okay. I mean, I like you calling me. I just wish you’d talk to me more.”

  “You’re not my girlfriend, Shannon,” I point out. Perhaps a little insensitively, considering five minutes ago I had my dick in her. Just as I was expecting, she frowns. “I’m sorry. I’m just having a bad day.”

  I first met Shannon two years ago at a high-end strip club. I liked the way she danced for me, so I asked for her number. That led to a regular arrangement where I’d get frustrated or angry about something, call her up, and she’d help relieve that negative energy. She was a good girl who’d had a bad run. I didn’t know too much about her, other than she was a single mother to a four-year-old girl. She doted on that kid. Everything she did was for her.

  Maybe she’s an option. I dismiss it no sooner than I thought of it. No. Shannon is great for what she is, but being my wife isn’t one of them. And that’s before even considering having a kid with her. I feel bad about thinking that way, because at least I already know she is a good mother. Sure, she left her kid with the neighbor so she could come out and meet me, but her heart is in the right place…yeah, not happening. Shannon isn’t going to work, unless I’m left with no other choice.

  About an hour later, I sneak out while Shannon is still asleep. I leave a wad of cash by the bed. I don’t need to worry about offending her—she’d be offended if I didn’t leave the cash—because there is no point pretending our relationship is something it isn’t.

  Walking outside, I’m not sure I feel any better, but I certainly don’t feel any worse. I’m pretty sure I’m still over the limit, so I begin walking. I’m not going to risk driving this time because I know I’d be over the limit. While I’m many things, stupid isn’t one of them.

  I cut through the park and walk down along the lake, the walk at least giving me time to clear my head. The problem is, the more I think about the situation, the more worked up I become.

  The last thing I want is to be married and weighed down with the kid, even if it is all just for show, but what choice do I have? I know time is running out. My family reminds me of that every chance they get. Just as they remind me that I'm standing in the way of their multi-billion-dollar inheritance.

  God, I’m so angry.

  At my grandfather, at myself…at everyone. Did he hate me that much that he would put all of this on me? Why couldn't he have just asked for me to be married. I could’ve handled that much. But to have a kid with someone? What woman in her right mind would agree to that? The kind of woman I wouldn’t want anything to do with.

  What I need is someone who isn't going to grow attached and make things personal. Someone who is desperate and who needs the arrangement much as I do.

  Someone with something to lose.

  Someone who has already lost everything.

  Three

  Charlene

  I’ve barely managed to keep it together while at work, but the moment I walk out those doors, all bets are off. I stumble through the parking lot, trying to remember where the hell I parked my car while dabbing at the tears as they roll down my cheeks. I look around, frustrated. You think I’d remember where I’d parked, but I’d been such a mess when I arrived at work today.

  Today marked exactly six months since Dad died. I hate myself for it, but I’m so angry at him. Not only for leaving me, but for leaving me with such a huge debt with no warning or way of dealing with it. How could he not tell me he was in so much trouble? Especially considering how much he opened up to me in those last few weeks. He forgot the tiny minor detail that he owed some crazy nutter forty grand? What did he think was going to happen? That they’d just forget about it, call it even, and wish me good luck?

  It's not fair that he's put me in this position, and it's not fair that they expect me to repay his debt. What he did had nothing to do with me. But nothing in life is fair. I know that better than anyone.

  I wipe my eyes, the anger shifting to myself for being so weak. I wish I were strong enough to deal with this, but I really don’t think I am. It’s like my world is teetering on the edge of a cliff, and I’m just waiting for someone to come and push it over. So do something about it. Move away from the damn cliff. Easier said than done.

  Finally, I spot my car, very badly parked between a BMW and an oversized SUV. I glance around nervously, looking for any sign of the two guys who approached me three days ago at the graveyard. I see them everywhere. I almost crash tackled a little old lady at the grocers yesterday because my mind had tricked me into thinking it was the smaller thug. I’d apologized and helped her out to her car.

  I'm trying to keep it together as best as I can, but it's hard, especially since I know that they're out there somewhere, and they’re not going to leave this alone. They’re probably watching me right now, waiting for the right moment to gag me and throw me in the back of their van. Or maybe I’ve seen a few too many episodes of Criminal Minds.

  I glance around again, this time studying every tree, every car, and every boulder. Anything that is big enough for them to hide behind. When I reach my car, I grab my keys, my hand shaking as I force the key into the lock.

  “Shit.”

  I curse as it falls to the ground and rolls under the wheel. I crouch down and reach under, my fingers scraping past them. I push a little further, finally flicking it close enough to grasp. Relieved, I pick them up and straighten myself up.

  I turn around and lean against the car, and a sudden wave of emotion hits me when I think about how much trouble I’m in. The only thing I can hope is that they let me come to some sort of arrangement to pay the money back. Like that would make a difference. The minuscule wage I make from my internship isn’t going to help me much. I’ve got no savings, and the only asset I have is this car. If you could call the beat up old piece of junk that. Paying back forty grand feels almost laughable. It’s going to take me forever, and even then, I’ll die owing them money. The debt will pass on to my kids, and the cycle will continue. I cringe and rub my forehead. Maybe they’ll let me work it off in some other way. I frown and curse myself for even suggesting such a thing.

  Every idea I have ends up being unrealistic or downright stupid, but what else is there? I take a deep breath, willing myself not to cry. My confidence is so shattered that I’m in tears before I even finish the thought. Before I know it, I'm sitting on the ground with my back against my car, crying.

  “Are you okay?”

  I jump and look up at the figure towering over me. For a moment, I think it's one of them, but then I realize that I know this guy. I flush, almost wishing it was one of the thugs instead of my very attractive, very successful boss, Matt Harris, because he’s the last person I want to see me like thi
s. God knows what he's thinking.

  On the bright side, he's probably got no idea who I am. Maybe I could convince him I’m just a visitor and not one of his staff? He’d probably fire me on the spot for if he knew who I was, for being so weak.

  He crouches down next to me, handing me an expensive blue silk handkerchief with his surname delicately embroidered in the corner. Harris. If we got married, it would be my surname too. I flush, embarrassed that my mind went there. Okay, I’ve officially lost the plot if I think I have any chance of marrying this guy.

  “It’s Charlene, right?” he murmurs. I gawk at him, shocked that he knows my name. “You started in the marketing department only last week,” he adds. Okay, he knows who I am and where I work.

  Kill me now.

  I take his outstretched hand and shake it, trying hard to ignore the spark I’m sure I felt when we touched. Did he feel it too? I take my hand back and lift his handkerchief to my nose, doing my best to blow it delicately, without looking like a blubbering mess. I’m unsuccessful, and as he smiles at me, I flush.

  I don't know why I'm even worried about my appearance, because my eyes are probably all red and blotchy. My whole face gets puffy when I cry. I probably look like a complete mess. I glance at the handkerchief and hesitate, half giving it back to him and half not.

  “You keep it.” He grins. “I’ve got plenty. My mother insists on buying them for me every birthday.”

  I flush, wondering if I should wish him a happy birthday. He wouldn’t want to hear that from me. He’s surrounded by family and people who he actually likes, not to mention all the women he dates.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help you?” he asks. He genuinely looks concerned, which catches me off guard. “Maybe if you tell me what's wrong—”

  “No, it’s fine,” I mumble.

  He extends his hand and I shyly take it, letting him help me up. My heart races at the feel of his fingers against mine. I have to stop reacting like that to every touch. I’ve always seen him as a typical rich guy, living off his family's money, who was used to getting whatever he wanted. I've seen some of the women who hung off his arm, and I hated myself for being envious of them.