1
Aaron
I stood at the window, naked, staring out at the New York skyline.
Even as the clock had ticked closer to midnight, I’d found myself wide awake, and I had eventually given up on getting to bed at a decent hour. My mind raced with the plans I had for the next day. Plans that would take me far away from the expensive hotel room I was currently staying in. Far away from the sleeping woman I’d be leaving in a few minutes.
I hadn’t caught her name, a rarity for me, but not necessarily unheard of. She’d provided me with the distraction I needed from my demanding work life, and I’d provided her with an evening of explosive orgasms she could gush about to her other single friends. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement of the oldest and simplest kind.
“You sure we haven’t met before?” she asked as she slithered closer, pressing her hot, slender body against my side. “I swear I’ve seen you around.”
Of course she had. Hell, everyone had. That spread Forbes Magazine had done on me last year had skyrocketed my already considerable notoriety, making it difficult to hide that I was the Aaron Patterson, advertising mogul, and so-called boy-genius.
At thirty-two, I was hardly a “boy” anymore, but the name had stuck with me through college and, after years of trying to shake it off, I had leaned into it. It reminded people that I was the youngest self-made billionaire in New York, that I was still hungry, still full of new ideas, and wild innovations. And, if they still managed to forget, I was all too happy to remind them.
“I’m sure,” I said. Tonight, I didn’t want to be Aaron Patterson. Tonight, I wanted to be a nameless stranger who gave this woman the time of her life—someone who could let go and enjoy the night, enjoy her. I got to my feet, downed the rest of my whiskey, and set my glass on the bar. “How about you come back to my room so we can get better acquainted?”
The sex had been good. Not great, but good enough to satisfy my libido for the time being. Good enough to give me that satisfied ache in my hips and shoulders that told me I’d gotten in an extra workout, on top of the daily cardio and weight sessions I always got in before breakfast.
Deciding I had lingered long enough, I turned from the view to retrieve my discarded clothes. The woman slept on, undisturbed, as I got dressed. Not that I expected her to wake up for several hours yet. She had already been two drinks in when she’d approached me, and if the alcohol hadn’t made her tired, I certainly had.
I’d paid for the room through the night, so she’d be fine until midmorning. By then, I’d be sitting in my weekly staff meeting, forgetting the color of her hair and the shape of her face.
I dressed in record time, not bothering to slip on my suit jacket, and slinging it over my shoulder instead. It was mid-August, and the humid air pressed in on me as I strolled out the front door of the Chatwal.
My driver, Charlie, stood outside the town car, a Styrofoam coffee cup clutched in his meaty hand. As I approached, he hurriedly straightened his stance, lowering the cup from his lips.
“Good evening, Mr. Patterson,” he greeted me, trying to appear awake. He’d sounded groggy when I had called him to request a pickup, and I suspected he’d been fast asleep just seconds prior. But, he hadn’t complained. In fact, Charlie never complained about the ungodly hours I kept. It was one of the reasons I had kept him on for so long.
I climbed into the backseat. “Home.”
“Yes, sir.”
Charlie shut the door and hurried around to the front seat. Exhausted, I laid my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes. Just because I had a reputation for pulling all-nighters and, getting so worked up by a new idea that I couldn’t sleep for more than two hours at a time, didn’t mean I was above human failings, such as fatigue.
By the time I opened my eyes again, Charlie had pulled up outside my apartment.
“Be back at seven-thirty sharp,” I said, straightening my cuffs as I stepped out of the car. “I have a meeting at eight I will not be late for.”
I slammed the door before he’d even opened his mouth to respond. After all, I already knew he would agree. He, like many other people in my employ, knew better than to turn me down.
Once inside my two-story loft, I finally let myself relax. There were perks to living alone: a list I had readily available any time my mother asked why I hadn’t married yet.
Everything stays in its place.
It’s always quiet.
Nothing changes unless I want it to.
Any time I listed the items off, she would roll her eyes and pat my arm, but I knew it saddened her to see her eldest son alone. But that was how I preferred it—no one to distract me from my goals, or complain about my erratic sleep schedule, or divorce me four years into a marriage because I was neglecting her.
The press seemed even more concerned about my romantic life than my mother did. At benefit galas and other public events, I often found myself fielding questions about the ladies who accompanied me. The tabloid journalists—who let rats like them into an upscale party, anyway?—could never quite believe that my dates were business colleagues or old friends from college or potential investors. Gossip columns in New York were itching for the story of chronic bachelor, Aaron Patterson, finally settling down. As if there weren’t more important things to report on.
I didn’t have time to settle down, nor did I have the desire to do so. In fact, I never even spent the night with any of my conquests—a rule I had imposed in college after a particularly clingy classmate had refused to let me slip away the next morning. There was no sense in getting anyone’s hopes up about the kind of man I was. I was not boyfriend material, much less husband material.
Bringing my focus back to the present, I realized that I hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours. I knew if I didn’t lie down soon, I wouldn’t be able to function later: an internal gauge, after pushing myself too far in the lean startup years of my company’s growth.
I kicked off my shoes, stripped once more and, after carefully hanging my suit in the walk-in closet, slid beneath the sheets of my California king-sized bed. Sleep came quickly, just as it always did when I decided to let it.
The next thing I knew, the alarm clock on my nightstand was waking me as early morning sunlight crept into my room. I was up and in the shower five minutes later.
At seven forty-five on the dot, I strolled into Patterson Advertising, dressed in a three-piece black Burberry suit, just as I did every day.
Heidi, the receptionist, gave me a toothy smile, arching her back so her tits thrust forward.
“Good morning, Mr. Patterson,” she cooed.
I didn’t acknowledge her on my way to the elevator. Heidi was new, and she had been trying to get my attention for about a week now. I gave it two more weeks before she realized I was not a prospect and started paying more attention to her job.
Time was money, and small talk with employees was a waste of both. There was always work to do, and if the people I hired had the time to stand around and chat, then they didn’t have enough of it. I could remedy that with the snap of my fingers.
When I arrived on the seventh floor, the handful of employees not sitting at their desks, each made a beeline for their respective stations. My assistant, Nora, was the only one to approach me. Short and in her early forties, Nora was a married woman from Queens who kept to herself. She did her job, and she did it well—a rarity nowadays.