Bad Bachelor

by Stefanie London

  “You’ll have to ask the man himself.”

  “So you’re denying you’re Reed McMahon who works at Bath and Weston?” she asked, out of breath as she tried to keep up with his long strides. “And that you’re the son of Adam McMahon?”

  At the sound of his father’s name, Reed stopped dead in his tracks and the woman almost slammed into him. “Leave him out of this.”

  She smiled like a cat who’d gotten the cream. “Were you aware of the Bad Bachelors app before today?”

  He was tempted to keep walking, but the last thing he needed was for her to think there was a story here. “No comment.”

  “Come on, you must have something to say about it.” She used a cajoling tone that made his blood boil.

  He knew her type—parasitic gossip columnists who called themselves journalists but were more likely to talk about a sex tape than anything of substance. However, he wasn’t about to let his anger show. That would only make her dig deeper.

  He gave her a cool, well-practiced smile and shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you.”

  “Does it bother you that all these women are airing your dirty laundry to the world? Or does part of you believe you’re getting what you deserve?”

  He kept his gaze steady. “No comment.”

  “What does your father think about all this?” She looked at him with a bland expression, although he had no doubt bringing up his father was intended to incite an ugly emotional reaction in him. “Do you think you’ve disappointed him?”

  Hell would freeze over before he gave this woman—or anyone—an ounce of satisfaction in seeing him break over this nonstory. “You mentioned you worked for Scion, correct?”

  “That’s right.” She held her phone out, the recording app on, ready for a juicy quote he’d never give her.

  He’d had dealings with Scion in the past, namely when he’d needed to help a wealthy businessman get his family-friendly image back on track after photos leaked of him and his wife engaging in some more unique BDSM activities. As much as he wasn’t a fan of Scion’s work, he’d never done anything to piss them off.

  “So you work for Craig Peterson?” He kept his tone even.

  Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “I do.”

  “Craig’s a close personal friend of mine.” It was a total lie, but he’d met the guy on a few occasions at work functions. He allowed the awkward silence to stretch long enough to make the woman shift on her heels. “In fact, Bath and Weston does good business with Scion. I’m not sure he’d appreciate you harassing the source of some important advertising money. Money that, if I’m not mistaken, is quite critical to keeping the company afloat, given how your CFO has been suspected of embezzling company funds.”

  Thank God he had that little tidbit up his sleeve. Rule number one of working in PR: always keep your ear to the ground.

  Her face paled. “I’m just doing my job.”

  “I understand. I’m also doing mine.” He paused. “If I find out that you or anyone from your establishment has gone near my father, I will make sure more people know why Scion is in such bad shape.”

  “You’d do that to your close personal friend?” Her lip curled.

  “To protect my family? Sure.” He leaned in closer to her. “And if I’d do that to Craig, imagine what I’d do to someone I don’t care about.” Reed didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he turned and stalked to where Emil, Gabriel, and Sofia waited for him. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  A few hours later, Reed parked in the street outside his father’s house. He’d been jittery all evening, unable to sit still and concentrate on watching the game. Eventually, he’d slipped out of the bar while the others were mid-discussion about a fielding error. They didn’t need him bringing down the mood.

  And he had this horrible, niggling suspicion it wouldn’t be long before the reporters went after his father.

  The temperature had dropped, and Reed shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweats as he walked up the steps leading to the front door. The stairs were effectively his father’s prison guard, because he could no longer walk up or down them unassisted. But Reed’s offers to buy his father a new place—or at the very least have some kind of ramp or elevator installed—had fallen on deaf ears.

  The house itself was in serious need of a makeover. The old clapboards were cracked and peeling. At some point they’d been a light blue, but now they looked like flaking reptile skin. Spider webs decorated the corner of the screen door with thin, silvery strands. Reed brushed them away with his hand and wiped his palm down the front of his thigh.

  “You know you don’t have to come around every weekend.” Adam McMahon’s raspy voice sounded as he opened the door. Light spilled onto the small landing where a few long-dead potted plants sat.

  “I’m hoping one weekend you might let me do some work around his place.” Reed walked into the house and embraced his father, careful not to knock the oxygen tank that was his constant companion.

  “I’m hoping one weekend you might come here and not give me a hard time.” His father paused to catch his breath before they made their way slowly to the living room.

  “If it were anyone else, I would show up and do it without asking permission.”

  “If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t care.”

  Reed grunted his agreement. “Did Donna come by today?”

  “Yes.” His father frowned. “She gave me a hard time…on your orders apparently.”

  “She’s a caregiver, Dad. That’s her job.” Reed sunk down into the old green sofa his father refused to replace, sitting in the exact spot required to avoid having a spring poking into his ass. “That’s what I pay her for.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” His father ambled over to the leather recliner Reed had purchased a few months back as a surprise gift. One that hadn’t been well received at the time—earning a muttered “waste of money” comment from his father—but now bore a nicely worn groove from daily use. “You want a drink?”

  “Nah, I’m good. I had a beer with the guys before I came over.” His phone vibrated, but he didn’t recognize the number flashing up on the screen. Probably someone else poking their nose into his business. He ignored the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

  Bracing a bony hand against the recliner’s armrest, his father lowered himself slowly into a sitting position. Even the simplest of actions left him breathless these days, but God forbid anyone try to help him. Adam McMahon might not be in the best of health, but he’d swat a hand in your direction that would still sting like hell if it connected.

  “So tell me about this phone dating thing,” his father said. “Bad Bastards something or other.”

  Ice ran through Reed’s veins. “How do you know about that?”

  “A lovely young lady came by the house today.” His father’s lips lifted into a wry smile. “She had a lot of questions about you.”

  “What was her name?” His fingers dug into the couch cushion.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t write it down.” His father rubbed a hand along the whiskery, gray stubble that coated his jaw. “But I told her I wasn’t going to talk about my son behind his back no matter how much he needs a clip over the ears.”

  Of course the old man would turn it on him. “For what?”

  “For being a shortsighted idiot. You’re telling me you date all these women and not one of them is worth more than a single meal?”

  It probably wouldn’t help to admit that a good portion of his dates never even made it to dinner—not that the women seemed to mind too much when they were legs up, screaming his name. “I don’t have time for a relationship.”

  “Bullshit. You don’t want to end up like me.”

  Reed’s chest squeezed and that made him want to punch something. He hated feeling like he couldn’t help his fat
her. And this was the one problem that couldn’t be fixed by whipping out his credit card or arguing the old man into submission.

  “That’s not it, Dad.”

  “Sure it is.” A rattling cough broke the quiet, the ugly sound echoing in Reed’s ears.

  The muscles in his jaw twitched as he tried to think of a response. He was a master talker, always quick with the right thing to say. But his father’s honesty never ceased to render him speechless.

  “You should find a nice girl, Reed.” His father grunted as he struggled to shift in the recliner. The chair seemed to swallow the old man’s deteriorating frame. “You should settle down, get married, have a family…before it’s too late.”

  No way. Fate had stopped him from getting into a sham marriage once before, and he couldn’t be happier that he’d dodged that bullet. He was perfectly happy being single and playing the field. And no amount of judgment from his father or some pushy reporter would change that.

  Chapter 3

  The Bad Bachelors’ Club: Nice Guys Need Not Apply!

  I know the women of New York are busy being successful and chasing their dreams, so I’ve rounded up the men you should stay away from. These are the bachelors our users have rated as the worst in the city. We’ll start with…

  Reed McMahon.

  If you’ve checked out our app, you may have stumbled across him. Don’t be fooled by the gorgeous profile picture and endless list of social engagements. He’s bad news, ladies.

  Reed is a notorious bachelor, known for his smooth moves, career pedigree, and rubbing elbows with the rich. Mr. Image Fixer has spent years practicing his morning-after escape on the women of New York by luring them into his bed (well, not his bed—rumor has it he only has visitors to his hotel room) with empty promises and a talented mouth.

  User BroadwayBelle was kind enough to give us the inside scoop.

  He’ll stomp on your heart without thinking twice, she told us. He’s the worst kind of man because he makes you think the world revolves around you…and then he’ll have someone drag you out of his office.

  Ouch! If you’re a dating daredevil, then be our guest, but make sure you take your parachute with you.

  Stay tuned for tomorrow’s blog post, where we give you tips on how to overcome first-date jitters and make sure he’s thinking about you the next morning for all the right reasons. Have your notebooks ready.

  With love,

  Your Dating Information Warrior

  Helping the single women of New York since 2018

  When Reed walked into his office building the following morning, it was to the sound of whispers. Two junior consultants exchanged looks as they held the elevator door for him. As it slid shut, the shiny reflection showed one of the women digging her phone out of her bag and turning the screen toward her colleague.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said, watching them in the reflection.

  Their heads snapped up, eyes wide. A chorused “good morning, Mr. McMahon” made him feel way too much like a school principal. But it had the intended effect. The woman put her phone away and the whispering ceased.

  The elevator stopped a few ear-popping seconds later on level thirty-six. As Reed exited, he could have sworn one of the women had said, “See, I told you.”

  Aaron waved and fell into step with Reed, his laptop tucked under one arm. “Hey, man. How was the weekend?”

  Never before had such an obligatory office greeting been accompanied by such genuine interest. “Fine,” Reed replied carefully. “How was yours?”

  “Good.” Aaron continued to walk beside him even though his office was in the opposite direction. “Get up to anything interesting?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh, come on.” Aaron nudged him with an elbow. “Cat’s out of the bag now. Surely you’ve got something juicy for me.”

  Reed stifled the urge to tell the guy to leave him the fuck alone. “What do you want, Aaron?”

  “A tidbit. A story to keep me going. I’ve been married for ten years. I need to live vicariously. If I were your age and single, I’d be all over this Bad Bachelors thing.”

  “It’s not a thing.”

  “Sure it is. You’ve been Tiger Woods-ing all over Manhattan and now everybody knows it.”

  “Firstly, I’m not married, so your Tiger Woods comparison doesn’t really work. Secondly…” Reed stopped in front of his assistant’s desk. “If your wife is that much of a noose around your neck, perhaps you should look into getting a marriage counselor.”

  “Wow, for a guy who’s getting laid as much as you are, you sure are a cranky fucker,” Aaron grumbled as he turned tail and headed toward his office.

  Reed sucked in a breath and counted to ten. If he got through the day without actually murdering someone, then he would count it as a win.

  Way to set the bar low. Any closer to the ground and you’d trip over it.

  “Good morning, Reed.” His assistant, Kerrie, smiled. She was the only person at Bath and Weston who seemed to know when not to poke the bear, which made her a rarity.

  He’d joked once about marrying her because she was the only woman who would put up with him. But Kerrie, while dedicated and organized, was old enough to be his mother.

  “Morning, Kerrie.” He nodded. “Should I expect any surprises on my desk today?”

  “No.” She pressed her lips together. “And I am sorry about the trophy. Aaron told me he’d borrowed one of the files from your office. If I’d known—”

  “It’s fine.” He held up a hand. “Honestly. You shouldn’t have to question partners about their behavior.”

  “Clearly I do,” she replied with a sigh. “You had an 8:00 a.m. call scheduled with Chrissy Stardust, but her agent canceled a few minutes ago.”

  He grunted. “Shocker.”

  “That means you’re free until ten.” She inclined her head toward his office door. “And I picked up an Americano for you on the way in—peace offering for messing up on Friday.”

  “It’s absolutely not required.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “But I am going to enjoy the hell out of it.”

  “Good.” Her brows knitted together. “How’s your dad doing?”

  “Frustrating, but no more than normal. Well…” It wasn’t like him to air his personal business. Kerrie only knew about the issues with his dad because she’d fielded calls from his father’s caretaker, Donna, on a few occasions. But what he considered personal was suddenly open for public consumption. “The woman who kept calling from Scion last week got ahold of him. At least, I think it was the same person. She turned up at his house.”

  “That’s despicable.” Kerrie shook her head, her lips pursed. “Honestly, turning up at a sick man’s home like that…” She broke off with an annoyed huff. “Have they no shame?”

  “Apparently not,” he said dryly. “They’ll probably call again.”

  “I’ll deal with it.”

  “Thank you.”

  He headed into his office feeling like he’d already worked a whole day. Perhaps it was time to have a closer look at Bad Bachelors. It pained him to assign energy to such a stupid thing, but if people were sniffing around his father, then he should at least know what was being said about him.

  Reed picked up the coffee cup from his desk and dropped into his office chair. A quick search took him to a website with a bright-pink banner, which had a set of glossy lips parted seductively while a manicured finger hovered over them in a shh motion.

  The website advertised a free download of their mobile app, but it appeared everything could be accessed on desktop as well. His slick corporate headshot looked back at him. It was the same one they’d used for the Bath and Weston website. Underneath that was a little red banner that said “bad bachelor” and another with “most reviewed.” Such accolades.

  He scanned the reviews, and o
ne immediately jumped out.

  “He’ll stomp on your heart without thinking twice. He’s the worst kind of man because he makes you think the world revolves around you. He’ll take you out and treat you like a princess. But don’t you dare encroach on his space. Get too close and he’ll have someone drag you out of his office.” —BroadwayBelle

  Ah, Karlie.

  The Broadway-show enthusiast with a crazy streak wider than the Hudson.

  They’d dated over two years ago, well before the app was created. Obviously she still held a grudge. And the only reason she’d been “dragged out of his office” was because she’d breached security and threatened Kerrie after he forgot to call her back after a date. Never mind that his father had been rushed to the hospital with severe dehydration. Reed hadn’t even been in the office when security had escorted her out. But the facts didn’t matter, clearly.

  He scrolled farther down the page. Since the site allowed women to review with anonymity, the usernames didn’t really tell him much. He could pick a few of them out, but mostly it was nonsense. A good portion of the reviews didn’t even say anything specific.

  But one made him pause.

  “He took me on the most romantic date. Like, Hollywood romantic. We went to the top of Rockefeller Center and looked out at the view. I thought everything was going well. But when we went to a bar, he got really drunk and started talking about all his clients at work. It was totally weird and unprofessional, and I don’t know how anyone could trust him.” —RedheadForNow

  Reed frowned. He had a running joke with Kerrie about how much he hated Rockefeller Center—he’d never been to the top of the tourist trap to see the view. Not once. And since one of the guys at work had proposed to his fiancée there, like something out of a sappy Hallmark movie, Reed had dubbed it off-limits. He loathed clichés, and so he refused to take part in that piece of New York City.

  So why the hell was there a review citing a date in a place he’d never been? And the comment about him getting drunk and talking about clients was totally off too. For one, Reed could hold his liquor. He came from good Irish stock and knew how to put his drinks away. For two, building trust with his clients was the only thing that would keep him in business. So why would he break that trust?