Page 9 of Mister Rival

Persistence is key. It’s a motto I still live by to this day. And to see my sons all thriving in the family business fills my heart like nothing else.

On paper, I have it all.Except for a beautiful woman to come home to every night.

I’m helpfully reminded of my single status most days, not that it’s something I’m worried about. I’m not short on finding a date, I’ve done it often enough. But since my divorce all those years ago, it’s always been about sex. Nothing meaningful. I’ve been on a million dates, but nothing has ever stuck. Maybe my marriage breakdown left a permanent scar etched into my heart. Judging by the lack of serious relationships I’ve had since then — or a relationship at all — maybe it’s true.

When I made my marriage vows, I meant every word. But over time, with children plus the stresses of work and climbing up the corporate ladder, things took their toll on both of us.

I loved Ella, there’s no doubt about it. And things were amicable during our split. We respect each other and co-parented the boys with relative ease. She’s the mother of my kids, and we spent many wonderful years together, but we knew when we’d grown apart.

I sigh over the nostalgia. Instead of dwelling on the past, I shift my thoughts to tonight and the dinner I’ve been forced into. Damn Mason. He’s the one who arranged Ruby’s tonight, as per Alison’s request. It didn’t take long for her to squirm.

I don’t know why my thoughts turn wild, or why my growing erection tents in my suit pants. It’s Alison Archer, for fuck’s sake. I can’t explain why the mere thought of her pert little mouth, pouting in annoyance at my earlier words, does things to me.

Stop being a dick.

I shake it off and ignore my body’s response to the thought of me fucking the living daylights out of her. That would wipe the fucking pout off her face.

I remind myself she’s my archenemy. Someone to keep at arm's length, not fantasize over because I haven’t been laid in a while.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe I need to get back out there, or at the very least, get laid.

I spend a little longer than normal getting ready for dinner. After a quick afternoon workout in my home gym, which has spectacular views of the Santa Monica Mountains, I shower and choose my finest Hugo Boss.

My home is more like a sprawling estate, nestled in the picturesque hilly slopes of Brentwood. It was built in 1939 and pretty much a full renovation that took me and my brother the better part of two years. I bought the house years ago after my divorce, and although I don’t get to spend as much time as I’d like at home, it’s still a place I consider my sanctuary.

With my frustrations temporarily at bay, I pull on a black button-up shirt with the tag still attached. I yank it off, quickly discarding it and decide I won’t add a tie, or my usual cufflinks, leaving two buttons undone at the nape. I’ve almost gone rogue.

As I drive to the restaurant thinking about my conversation with Alison this morning, a little guilt creeps in. I know it’s toolate to change it now, but maybe I can redeem myself during dinner by giving her the fucking papers. I have them with me.

When I park and casually stroll into Ruby’s, the server who’s named Gina according to her name badge, greets me with a smile. “Good evening, Mr. Lucas.”

A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth just as my phone pings from in my pocket. “Good evening.”

“I have your usual table.”

I’m not sure how she knows that, since I don’t remember seeing her before, but I nod as I fish my cell from my pocket and follow her. As I walk across the restaurant to the quiet corner table where the bi-fold windows open out to a very mild fall breeze and a closing ombré sunset of orange and gold, I quickly open the message from Joshua in our family group chat.

Joshua

Have fun tonight, Dad, if you remember the meaning of the word. Oh, and let's put this deal to bed, yeah? P.S. BE NICE!

I scoff at his words, well, the part about being nice. Alison isn’t here yet, so I take a seat as Gina pours me a glass of still water.

“Would you like anything else to drink for the moment, Mr. Lucas?”

I glance up from my phone. I could do with a shot right about now, just to take the edge off, but I decide against it.

“I’ll wait for my date—”Fuck.The words are already out, not that Gina knows any different.

This isn’t a date, dickhead. It’s a business proposal.

“No problem, I’ll be back with the menus in a moment.” Gina trots off back to the front reception and I bring my gaze back to my phone.

Another text drops in.

Bradley

Not the Anderson contract still? I thought that was a done deal already?

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