The Tycoon's Reluctant Fixation
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
I step out into the brisk, autumn chill of the parking garage, wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck as I hurry to my car. It’s a brand-new Porsche, in a shiny black. Even parked next to the various other luxury cars,owned by the other tenants in the upscale apartment complex I live in,I still think it stands out. A classic. You can’t beat a Porsche.
Glancing hurriedly at the time as I settle into the driver’s seat, I hiss in frustration under my breath. I’m late. I can only hope Callum isn’t keeping a brotherly eye on me. I pull out of the garage and into the busy streets of downtown Seattle.
As an older brother, Callum isn’t all that bad. He does most of the running of Mercer Dynamics,the company that he, I, and our other brother Theo,founded. In fact, up until very recently, his job was the only thing he cared about.
I’ll admit, with his laser focus on the job, it’s allowed me to take a bit of a backseat in recent years. Of course I was just as involved earlier when we were starting the company. But once the money started rolling in and things were able to simply run on autopilot, let’s say I took a bit of a break to enjoy some of the finer things in life.
Traveling, going out, having fun. You know, the kind of stuff money should be spent on, right? In all honesty, I took Callum’s laser focus on work for granted.
And now, he’s … let’s just say less focused.
That’s what love will do to you, I guess.
Camille Hart is her name. An assistant like no other. The first change I noticed in him was his overall personality. A bit less of an asshole, if I’m honest. If all it took was a girlfriend to make my brother more tolerable, I would have pushed for one years ago. Although I doubt just any girlfriend would’ve done it.
And she’s more than a girlfriend now. A fiancée, as of six months ago. It’s crazy how time flies. And the wedding is right around the corner.
The only problem is that the more time Callum spends with Camille, the less time he spends on work. Meaning, I have to finally pick up some slack.
It’s fair, if I’m honest with myself. I’ve been out of commission for way too long. So it’s not like I can argue with the logic of Callum sitting me down last week and asking,demanding?,that I be more involved with the company. It is a third mine, after all.
“There’s only so much I can do on my own,” Callum had said to me from across his desk, glancing surreptitiously at his phone. The slight uptick in the corner of his mouth was a telltale sign the text was from Camille. God, this guy has really fallen. “And you know Theo already takes on way more than he can handle.”
It’s true. Our brother Theo is a workaholic if there ever was one.
I’d felt that tiny smidgen of guilt that sometimes wormed its way through me when I thought of how little I’d given to the business in recent years. “What would help the most?”
Callum had obviously given it some thought because he came back with a quick answer. “The Elena Mercer Foundation.”
I’d simply blinked back at him. “What about it?”
Elena Mercer. Our mom. She’d died when the three of us were all teenagers. A rare form of cancer that took her quicker than any of us were ready for. Since building our company,and swimming in more money than anyone could possibly know what to do with,we’d opened up a foundation in her name. An artist her whole life, we’d set up the nonprofit in her name to lead art therapy sessions, community workshops, and youth programs for kids and young people in the Seattle area. It’s only been up and running for about two years, and truthfully, I never give it much thought.
“I need you to just check in on it,” Callum had confided. “We set it up a few years ago and I have had no time to go through the books and see whether this foundation is able to stay afloat on its own and whether it seems to be making a real difference in terms of outreach.”
“You doubt whether it’s profitable?”
Callum snorted. “It’s not supposed to be profitable, but is supposed to be a worthy allocation of funds. That’s what I want you to look into. Is the foundation making a difference, and is that difference worth the money that we’re putting into it?”
I’d agreed, no matter how boring it sounded. It’s about time I make up for the years of playing around and neglecting the business. Not that I’m going to stop playing around, mind you.
I smile, thinking back to last night. The girl I’d picked up at a bar downtown. How I’d taken her back to my apartment and had my way with her on the dining room table, the couch, my bed. Her delicious moans are still ringing in my ears.
Fine. I’m not about to give up having fun anytime soon.
A sudden red light up ahead has me slamming on my breaks, bringing the car to a sudden halt. The coffee in my cupholder beside me lurches forward, spilling dark brown liquid across the console and my knees.
“Shit,” I snap, hissing as it burns through my dress pants. “Shit, shit, shit.”
I grit my teeth as I continue driving, knowing the car is going to smell awful at the end of the day. I’ll have to get it detailed this weekend.
Looking down at the GPS on my phone, I see I’m only a few blocks away. I’m in a calmer part of Seattle now. The buildings aren’t as high, the streets aren’t as dense. After a few more turns, I reach what I assume to be the nonprofit headquarters. It’s a modest-looking building. Not big, but not small either. A parking lot sits in front of it, and I pull in, taking a moment to try and dry myself off with a pair of napkins I find in my glove compartment.
Giving up with a huff, I step out of the car. A buzz has me glancing down at my phone to see a notification from Marcus, my personal assistant. He handles most of my duties at Mercer Dynamics all on his own,as well as informing me of meetings, deadlines, and other responsibilities. Today, it’s a text about who I’m supposed to be meeting this morning.
Nora Bennett. The program manager. Marcus tells me she’s in charge of most of the day-to-day operations and that shadowing her will give me the best insight into the nonprofit’s workings.
I shove my phone into my pocket and trudge across the rainy pavement up to the front doors.
I step inside, glancing around the shabby lobby decorated with various artworks, obviously all done by children. Handprints with smiley faces, green trees, sunflowers.
“Hello,” a voice calls me out of my perusal.
I look forward to see a young woman seated at reception. She has brown hair, red glasses, and a nice smile. “Julian Mercer, right?” she asks.
I force a smile on my face. “Yes, that’s me,” I say, taking a step forward.
“Hi, I’m Jenna. Nora’s expecting you,” she says simply, standing from her seat. “Follow me.”
I follow her down a hallway to the right, the floor covered in an old, brown carpet. She stops at a door on her right, swinging it open and calling, “Nora? Mr. Mercer is here.”
She turns back to me, ushers me inside, and then leaves.
I walk into the small office. Various art prints line the walls, and behind a modest desk sits a woman who I presume is Nora Bennett. I stare at her in surprise, caught off guard. She’s young. Younger than I thought a program manager at a nonprofit would be. She can’t be much older than twenty-five.
And holy shit is she hot.
Her long blonde hair falls just below her breasts, and her soft brown eyes assess me from across the room.
“Mr. Mercer,” she says, standing and holding out her hand across her desk. “I’m Nora Bennett.”
Mr. Mercer. Those words coming from her mouth set a fire in my stomach. I step forward, taking her hand in mine and shaking it. It’s warm and soft. “Nice to meet you,” I say with a smile. She pulls her hand away first.
“Likewise.”
As she leans forward to take her seat, a hint of cleavage peaks out beneath her white button-up blouse. I bite my lip, averting my gaze just in time for her not to notice.
When her eyes meet mine, I simply smile.
Honestly, stepping up my work might not be so bad after all.