4. Declan

4

DECLAN

“Do you have to go in today?” Serena whined as she rolled over in bed, and her jet-black hair fanned out on the white silk pillowcase.

“I do.”

She exhaled an exaggerated sigh as her hands stretched above her head. The sheet slipped down her toned body. Her large green eyes lifted to mine as she held out her bottom lip in a pout. “I thought you said we could go shopping.”

“I told you it’s going to be difficult now for me to get time off in the middle of the week.”

When my grandfather was alive, my schedule had been much more flexible. He’d been a control freak who was allergic to delegating tasks, which freed up my time. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. I’d often wondered if he hadn’t had some form of OCD as well, but it had gone undiagnosed. He was also hyper-vigilant and could be very obsessive over tasks.

I removed my black card from my wallet and placed it on the nightstand. “You can take my card.”

A tiny grin lifted on her plump lips as she rolled back onto her stomach, closed her eyes, and breathed a resigned, “Fine.”

It wasn’t that she needed my money. Serena came from generational wealth; her family was old money, but she was successful in her own right. She’d worked as a fashion and runway model for the past ten years and was at the top of her field. She just enjoyed being spoiled, which was something I was both capable of and willing to do.

I stared down at my fiancée and felt…something was off between us—a disconnect. I told myself that it was because I’d just had a huge loss in my life. But there was a voice inside of my head that was saying it was more than that. Things had been different between us even before I got the call that my grandfather had passed away in his sleep.

Ever since Serena returned from her last runway show in Milan six months ago, there had been a shift in our relationship. A distance. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was a disconnect. It felt like even when we were together, she wasn’t really present. I needed to talk to her. To see what was going on. Serena traveled a lot for her job, but in the past, we’d always picked up where we left off. It didn’t matter how long we’d been apart; weeks, months—it was like no time had passed. When she got home last fall, we never got back in sync.

Our relationship was not traditional. I’d never considered myself to be in love with Serena. I cared about her, but I wasn’t even sure I was capable of being in love. She knew that and had always been satisfied with what I could offer her. She, on the other hand, had claimed to be in love with me and our life. Now, it felt as if she was just going through the motions.

Two years ago, I’d asked her to marry me. The proposal had been expected since we’d already been together for five years at that point. It was the logical next step. We were set to walk down the aisle in the summer. The plan was to have a small wedding in Italy.

I wasn’t a romantic. I didn’t consider love to be a prerequisite of marriage. In my view, marriage was a contract, an agreement, a commitment. Serena felt the same way. Or at least that’s what she told me. The only thing I asked was that we were honest with one another and on the same page.

Something in my gut was telling me that we weren’t anymore. I may not be able to name it, but I knew that I needed to find out before I left next week. I was going to be gone for six months.

Every year, my grandfather visited all of the Wolfe Enterprises hotels, resorts, warehouses, and distilleries. He made it a point to speak to each one of the thousand-plus employees personally. Since the company was global, that meant visiting over fourteen countries.

In the eighties, he used to be gone for a week at a time, but over the years, as the company grew, the trip got longer and longer. His European, Asian, and South American travels had expanded and now took six months out of the year. Once he returned to the States, he was gone another six to eight weeks, visiting Canada, Mexico, and the continental US before the Christmas holiday.

His work ethic was unmatched. And now, I needed to fill those shoes. I couldn’t do that and have a personal life that had question marks in it.

“I’ll see you tonight. Dinner. Eight.”

“Night. Eight,” Serena mumbled groggily.

I headed out of my Midtown penthouse to the black Range Rover parked in front of the building. Lester leaned against the passenger side, scrolling on his phone. When he saw me, he straightened and opened the back passenger-side door. “Good morning, Mr. Wolfe.”

“Morning, Lester. And it’s just Declan,” I reminded him for the dozenth time as I climbed inside. Ever since my grandfather passed, all the staff had immediately begun to call me Mr. Wolfe; it was like the name had been passed down to me. I didn’t like it. “Lookin’ sharp,” I observed.

Lester had always dressed to impress. He was old school, just like my grandfather. Today, he was wearing a black suit, gray tie, and a Kangol flat cap. In all the years he’d worked for my grandfather, I don’t think I’d ever seen him in casual clothes.

“Thank you,” he grinned as he shut my door.

Once he was in the driver’s seat and we were on our way, I asked, “How’s Maribel?”

“Doin’ much better. Thanks for asking.”

Maribel and Lester celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary two weeks earlier. My gift to them was an all-expense-paid trip for seven days in the Bahamas. When they got back last week, she was feeling under the weather, and it turned out she’d had a heart attack. It was mild, but she’d had to take it easy. Today was his first day back.

“If you need more time?—”

“No, sir.” He let out a forced laugh. “Mari told me I didn’t have to go to work, but I had to get the hell out of her hair, or one of us was going to end up back in the hospital, and it wasn’t going to be her.”

I chuckled. Lester Washington was a six-foot-six, two hundred and thirty pound, golden glove heavyweight boxer and a former special forces Marine. His wife Maribel was five feet tall on a good day and weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she was a firecracker. If she said jump, anyone with half a brain would ask how high. He adored her and would do anything for that woman. He’d take a bullet for her. I knew it must be killing him not to be able to do anything to make her better. But if she wanted him out of her hair, it was probably for the best that he was here.

Lester was a protector by nature, which was why he’d always been good at his job. He’d worked for my grandfather as a bodyguard and driver and now was working for me. Besides the business, which I would be inheriting in nine months, I’d also inherited Lester. He’d been my grandfather’s driver for thirty-five years. When my grandfather passed, I offered Lester a retirement package, but he asked if he could stay on. So now, I had a driver, whether I wanted one or not.

The SUV came to a stop in front of the twenty-story building that housed Wolfe Enterprises. It held the corporate offices of our hotels, clothing line, and liquor company. Each was a separate entity with its own designated floors and staff under the umbrella of Wolfe Enterprises. Until now, I’d held an executive role as COO in the hotel business only. Over the past few weeks, I’d been brought up to speed with Wolfe Clothing and Wolfe Tequila. As acting CEO, I was now in charge of all three of the branches.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said as I stepped out of the SUV.

Lester dipped his chin in a nod. It still felt strange having someone drive me to work. I wondered if I was going to get used to it or if it would continue to be uncomfortable until Lester finally retired. If I had to guess, I would say the latter.

As I walked through the glass doors, Jake, the security guard, greeted me.

“Morning, Declan.”

“Morning.” He was one of the only employees who hadn’t started calling me Mr. Wolfe, and I appreciated it.

After pressing the button to call the elevator, stepping onto it, and hitting the button for the eighteenth floor, I sanitized my hands as it ascended.

Hannah Hayes was waiting for me as I stepped off the elevator. Six years ago, she was hired at Wolfe Enterprises as an intern, right after graduating from NYU. By the end of her first thirty days, she stood out to me. I recognized her attention to detail, her photographic retention of information, and her inability to begin a project and not finish it, among other traits that set her apart from the other interns who were hired.

I promoted her to my assistant by week five. When I did, my grandfather and brother accused me of doing so because of her appearance. She was the mirror image of Olivia Munn, who also bore a striking resemblance to my fiancée. But truly, her appearance hadn’t even been a consideration.

After working together for a few months, she shared with me that she was on the autism spectrum. It made sense to me that I felt a connection with her, considering I shared some overlapping traits of compulsion with my OCPD. Although I’d never disclosed my condition to her, I had a feeling she’d worked it out on her own.

“Morning, Hannah. Is Derek in?”

“Haven’t seen him.”

“What about Raquel?”

Derek was the COO of Wolfe Tequila, and his wife Raquel was the COO of Wolfe Clothing. She oversaw everything from design and production to distribution. I’d never paid much attention to either of their roles or whether or not they attended meetings or turned in reports or how they ran their teams because it never affected me or my side of the company. Now, it affected me, and their performance over the past month was… well, it was non-existent.

Since my grandfather’s death, neither of them had set foot in the office. I couldn’t get a hold of my brother. And Hannah hadn’t been able to get a hold of Raquel. For now, the VP of operations for both subsidiaries had stepped up and was handling day-to-day operations, but the first board of directors meeting since my grandfather’s passing was next week, and I needed to retain the trustee’s confidence that the company was as strong as ever. If my brother and Raquel were not stepping up, I needed them to step down.

I sat down at my desk, and Hannah went over my schedule for the day. When she got to an interview with GQ, I stopped her.

“What? What interview?”

“Sexiest Billionaires Under Forty. You are number one.”

“No. I’m not doing that.”

Technically, I wasn’t a billionaire. I didn’t have a billion dollars sitting in my bank account. The business was worth billions, but as of right now, I was only acting CEO. But the monetary descriptor wasn’t what I took issue with. I’d already done the Forbes interview. I didn’t want to do another one, especially when it had the word ‘sexy’ in the title.

“Why not?”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s fun,” she reasoned.

“Would you want to be named the sexiest billionaire under forty?” I questioned.

“First of all, I’m under thirty . But yes, if I were named the number one sexiest billionaire under thirty, I would do the interview.”

I narrowed my eyes at her.

“I would,” she stated matter-of-factly, telling me that she honestly would.

It didn’t matter. There was no way I was doing it.

“They will ask your brother if you say no.”

Derek and I did look similar. We’d both inherited our father’s thick brown hair and square jaw. My brother stood a couple of inches shorter than me, but we both had athletic frames that neither of us had to work too hard for. Genetically, we’d been blessed with broad shoulders, a muscular chest, arms, and legs. He didn’t share the dimple I had on my left cheek, but since I rarely smiled, I doubted it was the reason I’d been considered.

If Derek were asked to do the article, he would say yes. If he said yes, I had no clue what answers he’d give to the questions or how high or drunk he’d be when he’d show up for the interview. The last thing I wanted was for the company my grandfather built from nothing to be tainted by my brother and his issues.

“Fine.”

I didn’t want to do the interview. But my life had never been about doing what I wanted.