Alpha Billionaire Series

JACE

As I look over the final proposal for the new campaign, I feel like something is missing. My eyes examine every minute detail but nothing jumps out at me or seems off. It looks amazing and I frown as I give my final approval.

Then it hits me. There's nothing wrong with the campaign and the feeling of something vital missing...

It has to do with me.

V'm just not exactly sure what these foreign feelings mean. For as long as I can remember, I've led an easygoing, carefree social life. Even though I work hard and the billions in my bank account prove it, I also make sure to play just as hard. Because you know what they say: “All work and no play...”

Well, playing has never been a problem for me. I'm good at balancing my work and social life, and I make sure to take time off when I start feeling burned out or tired. Last summer, I spent almost three weeks with friends in the French Riviera. We gambled, hung out on yachts, rubbed elbow with the rich and famous, drank too much and f****d even more. I don't regret thing.

Life is too short for regrets. If I want something, I go after it.

As the owner and CEO of New York City's top marketing and PR firm- yes, we are the best- I can afford to pay myself an outrageous, mind-numbing amount of money because my track record speaks for itself, and I only work with A-listers. My client list consists of celebrities, billionaire corporations, supermodels, royalty and rock stars. The most elite who can afford my extraordinary fees.

The truth is Ym damn good at what I do. If a business is launching a new product, my team will come up with the campaign to make it succeed. If a married actor is caught in flagrante with his younger nanny, we go in, put a spin on the situation and clean his mess up. My squeaky-clean popstar client who overdoses and falls off the stage in the middle of a concert? Well, that was just a misstep, and he was on a perfectly legal subscription prescribed by his physician to help with his extreme anxiety during live shows. Because he would never let his fans down and he had to perform for them.

Basically, when someone falls into a pile of shit, I make sure he or she comes out smelling like roses.

Every. Single. Time.

My latest adventure was with Gemma, an up-and-coming Italian supermodel. Beautiful, sweet and more self-destructive than a hand grenade. Her manager brought me in when she started banging the bad boy rapper and her reputation took a nosedive when rumors began to swirl that she was pregnant.

With another man’s baby.

Yep, her manager's baby.All content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

Sometimes you can't make up the shit I deal with on a daily basis. That's why I surround myself with the best team. They think outside of the box and get things done fast.

Currently, the public believes that Gemma is taking some much-needed time off to help save baby elephants in Africa. In reality, she lost the baby and is recuperating back at home on the family farm in Kansas.

Being surrounded by so much chaos is always interesting and there's never a shortage of gorgeous women coming in and ot of my office. Since I have no intention of settling down or ever getting married, I tend to dabble. I've dated plenty of my female clients or their friends or their assistants. It's not a big deal and as CEO, I get first dibs on every hot piece of a*s that walks through the door.

As a result, my reputation precedes me as a charmer and player. Women who flirt back with me know from the start that I an the eternal bachelor. I'm 40-years-old, set in my ways and have zero desire to have any kind of serious relationship that involves more than an exotic vacation and fast f**k.

From day one, I am always crystal clear and upfront, so that way the women I date have no illusions that inevitably involve a white picket fence or children. I'm available for a good time and will buy them a few expensive trinkets for their time. Other than that, they shouldn't expect anything from me. At least not when it comes to emotions, affection or attachments.

I don't do any of that shit.

And if anyone pushes me, I leave so fast her head spins.

Of course, I wasn't always like this. Long ago, I had a heart that was too big, too vulnerable and too full of love for a woman who fucked me over. I learned my lesson, licked my wounds and vowed never to let anyone close enough to break my heart again.

And I don't care who she is. Two months ago, the Princess of Bhutan wanted to marry me and make me her prince. No thanks. The “M” word is for suckers and lovestruck fools. I'm far too smart to ever fall into its trappings again.

Getting burned, or rather having your heart ripped out of your chest and stomped all over, puts things into perspective fast, was ready to walk down the aisle with a woman who I thought was my life, my future, my everything. Then I heard what no man wants to hear the day of his wedding, standing there in his tux, on the verge of promising forever to someone who decided at the last fg minute that she didn't want to marry me.

She's gone, man. I'm 50 sorry.

My blood still boils when I think back and remember that day. The day Selene Cantrell left me. And she didn't just fucking break up with me like a decent human being would do. No, not Selene. She waited until the last possible moment and then didn't show up at the church. Five-hundred guests sat in the pews wondering what the hell was going on as Ben Webber, my best man and friend, broke the news that she'd just texted him...him, not me...and said she couldn't go through with marrying me.

There's no way to aptly describe the utter and total humiliation one feels when they have to face 500 of their closest relatives and friends- which is literally everyone plus a guest- and announce the wedding is off.

Thank you for getting all dressed up, showing up to celebrate our love and buying us a gift, but Selene is a lying bitch who left me ten minutes after our wedding should've started. And, oh yeah, she’s been cheating on me.

It's what I wanted to say, but I didn't. I didn't go into any details because at the time, I didn't have any. It was probably a good thing because it was hard enough holding it together. The fact that my fiancée had been screwing around on me made it ten times worse.

That day, my ability to ever trust a woman again shattered.

Except for the one woman who I worship above all else in my life: Martha Montgomery.

Marty, as everyone calls her, is my grandmother and at 82-years-old, she’s a glowing ball of vibrant energy who I can't dote on enough. She's the cool grandma, the first one to dance at a party or just in her living room, the one who sneaks a swig of gin straight from the bottle and watches the newest, raunchiest HBO series. She has her own TikTok account and doesn’t hold back her opinions or swearing.

She's my heart and I'd do anything for her.

The only problem lately with dear old Granny is she’s gotten on this kick where she wants to see me settled down.

And that ain't ever gonna happen.

I understand that we're all getting older and since my parents gave up pushing for grandkids a long time ago, Grandma has stepped up and taken on that role. I know she’s coming from a place of love, but it's just not going to happen.

I just wish I could make her understand that, but she's a persistent old gal. And I also can't stand seeing her disappointed ir me. Anyone else, I could care less. But her...it's like a f*****g stake through my ice-cold heart.

Christmas is coming up fast and I always go home and spend it with my insanely large family. I can already see her disappointed look when I tell her I'm not seeing anyone special. Nothing in this world bothers me more.

It's inevitable, though. Hopefully, she'll eventually accept my need to remain single. More than likely, she won't, and she'll end up haunting me from her grave.

I'suppose the easiest thing to do would be to bail on the family this year and not deal with any of it, but I truly enjoy spending the holidays with them. Normally, I go home for a couple of weeks, and we have all sorts of traditions we do every year- from baking cookies to caroling and sleigh rides. It would be a shame to miss out on seeing everyone because my 90- pound grandmother is attempting to intimidate me with threats if I don't settle down.

Leaning back in my leather chair, I stretch my arms above my head, and turn my attention to the large glass window of my corner office 50 floors above the street and watch the rain drizzle from the gray sky and fall over the city.

My phone buzzes and I see my sister's name on the caller ID. Swiping the bar over, I say, “Hey, Kendall, what's up?”

Kendall is my younger sister by five years, but sometimes it feels like we're 20 years apart. As much as I love her, she’s a bit of a gossip and a troublemaker. I don't think she means it, but she’s gotten me in a few different messes over the years because of her proclivity to get herself and everyone around her into sticky situations.

“Congratulations!” she screams into my ear.

Iyank the phone away and frown. After she settles down, I lft it back up and wonder if she’s drunk. She and my grandma have been known to indulge in afternoon gin tonics occasionally or, now that it's the holidays, they like to spike their hot chocolate. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your engagement!” she squeals. “I can't believe itt Why didn't you call and tell us? Grandma is dancing around the living room and-"

“What engagement?” grit out, sitting straight up.

“With Carina Roberts?"

I rack my brain, trying to understand, but I have no fucking idea what she’s talking about. “I'm not engaged to Carina Robert: she's a client and we went to the opera last week, but that's it. One date.” And one rocking night together, but my little sister doesn't need to know that.

“But I saw your picture in the society column. And the caption said you and she were engaged. Hold on, I've got it right here and-"

Her voice gets muffled, and I hear the rustling of a newspaper. Clenching my teeth together, I wonder what the newspaper printed. Having a lot of money and being involved with so many celebrities make me a target of the media and paparazzi. It a damn nuisance and I do my best to ignore it. But if they're going to print blatant lies like some sordid tabloid, then- “ops,” Kendall says.

“00ps?" I echo. Suddenly I get the feeling that I'm going to wring Kendall's neck.

“Oh, crap, J. I swear to God, when I read it earlier, it said engaged with an exclamation point. Not a question mark."

I drop my head against the back of my chair and look up at the ceiling. “I'm going to kill you," I mutter.

“Hang on.” There's more rustling and after a minute, Kendall comes back on the line. “Okay, sorry, I had to hide in here so Grandma wouldn't hear me."

“Hear what?” I ask with a weary sigh.

“That you're going to need to bring a girlfriend home when you come for the holidays. Preferably a fiancée!’

“Are you insane?”

“Look, I messed up. I read the stupid caption wrong and I'm sorry about that. But Jace, you should see Grandma. I've never seen her so happy. I refuse to be the one to tell her it's not true. That news would wreck her, and the woman is 82 years old. How much do you think her poor heart can take?”

“So, this is on me now? Is it my fault you messed up and shared misinformation? Why didn't you mind your own business?” “I know, but I was so freaking excited when I thought Carina Roberts was going to be my new sister-in-law! I've seen all her movies!”

“She's not that great,” I grumble. In fact, her personality is surprisingly boring. But she’s an Oscar-winning actress who puts on a charming show during interviews. Other than the s*x, our date was a snooze fest.

“Okay, you're missing the point. Right now, Grandma is over the moon and thinks you're coming home in two weeks with a fiancée. You need to make that happen or you're going to break her heart.”

“Carina Roberts won't be coming home with me so forget about it," I snap.

“It doesn’t matter who it is. Grandma doesn't know anything about her personally. All she knows is you are supposedly engaged. You can't come alone, Jace! You can't!”

“And what exactly do you expect me to do? Conjure up a fake fiancée?” I laugh. Sometimes I think my sister is nuttier than a fruitcake.

“You have a ton of girlfriends. Just bring one and we'll play it off. Say the newspaper got her name wrong. Honestly, Grandm won't remember her name anyway. The only actors she likes are all dead.”

“Do you hear yourself?”

“I hate to say this, but Grandma isn't going to be around forever,” Kendall says softly.

Here we go.5he’s on the verge of guilt-tripping the f**k out of me and if there's one thing I can't say no to, it's making my grandma happy.

“Just make her believe you're in love and happy for two weeks. Pay someone if you have to. You've got billions. You can afford it. Isn't Grandma's happiness worth it?”

Sneaky little asshole. “Kendall.” I growl.

“Look, I know you want to kill me and I'm sorry. But this is about Grandma. Do the right thing, J. Don't break her heart.” Before I can respond, there's more shuffling and background noise and then my grandma comes on the line.

“How's my handsome, engaged grandson?” she asks.

My heart sinks. “Hi, Grandma. How're you?"

“Wonderful now that I know you've finally found someone special. I can't tell you how long I've been waiting for this moment, Jace. So damn long. I'd almost given up hope, but my stubborn ass refuses to die before I see you find the love of your life”

I'squeeze my eyes shut and my knee starts bouncing beneath my desk. I've officially been backed into a corner. And it's clea I have only one option: bring someone home for the goddamn holidays or risk my grandmother keeling over from a stroke. “Well, get ready," I force out, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “I have a feeling you're going to love her." We talk for a few more minutes and after we hang up, I dial Ben Webber, my best friend. I'm starting to feel panicked and hope he knows, someone I can take up to Buffalo with me.

“), what's up?” Ben answers.

I quickly explain the mix-up and after cursing Kendall a couple of times, I ask for Ben's help.

“50, you need a fake fiancée for a week?” he asks.

“Yeah. Any ideas?”

“Actually, yeah."

“Really?” I perk up and wonder who he’s going to suggest because I've gone through my mental rolodex of girlfriends and none of them is suitable to pass off as a nice girl I would actually want to marry.

“My friend Rae works at a matchmaking service. You should go over there and tell them you need someone for the holidays, no strings attached. They have endless files of women.”

“Like hire somebody,” I muse, tapping a finger against my desk. “Keep it strictly professional and avoid entanglements.’ “Exactly and you'd both be on the exact same page. It would be a working arrangement and then you're done and part ways, No harm, no foul. And no clingy woman you'll have to deal with.”

“Ben, you're a genius," I declare, grabbing my pen. “What's the name of the company?"

“Head Over Heels,” he says, and I write it down.