Page 6 of Forbidden Fruit
You know what, J? Now that you mention it, “spiritually aligned” sounds a hell of a lot more plausible.
I roll my eyes. Did I say these men were mature? Never mind, that’s only when it comes to business.
My so-called engagement is turning into more of a headache than I anticipated. I need a wife to impress the important businessman who owns the land where I plan to build my skyscraper, a dream I’ve had since I first understood what being an architect meant. This land… it isn’t just a good deal, it’sthedeal. The kind of opportunity most architects spend their entire careers chasing and never touch. It’s the last undeveloped corner in the financial district with direct skyline exposure and grandfathered zoning permissions. Nobureaucratic gridlock. No height restrictions. Just raw, untouched potential. It’s the only place in the city where I can build my tower, the tower I’ve been designing since I was twenty-one.
This skyscraper isn’t just a passion project. It’s personal. It’s the proof that I didn’t waste a lifetime sacrificing birthdays, relationships, weekends, sleep, for nothing. It’s the culmination of every award I didn’t stop to accept, every late night I spent redrawing lines no one else could see. And now, after years of building my name from the ground up, the only thing standing between me and that tower is a man who doesn’t believe in blueprints unless they’re backed by bloodlines.
Mr. Whitmore. Billionaire. Landowner. A relic from another era who believes that trust starts at the dinner table. That a man who can’t hold down a home has no business holding a skyline. No wife, no deal. He made that clear. He’s old money, values tradition, family, and roots.
So, I gave him what he needed to see.
Abigail and I made an agreement: twelve months of appearances, a wedding photo for the papers, and a graceful exit once the ink on the land deed is dry. She gets a seven-figure settlement, I get my land, and everyone wins. The board loves it; they’ve been silently hoping I’d “soften my image” for years. Investors are reassured. All that is left is for Mr. Whitmore to come around.
It was supposed to be simple. Clean. A means to an end.
Only my brother knows that my engagement to Abigail is purely a business deal. He’s tried to talk me out of it on several occasions, but once I make a decision, that’s it. We’ve got a rock-solid NDA in place, so only he, Abigail, my lawyer, and I know the truth. Everyone else thinks it’s the real deal, and I’m committed to that story. This project is mypassion, and I’ll feel fulfilled once it’s complete. I want to prove it to myselfandthe world that I’ve made it, but most importantly, I want to do this for my pops.
Kingsley
No, seriously. Blink twice if you’re being held hostage.
Justin
Or if you signed a prenup written in blood.
I decide to reply because, knowing them, they won’t stop whatever this is.
You are all grown men. Act like it.
If you must know, I fell in love. Yes, it was sudden and unexpected, but I love her enough to want to put a ring on it. Now, shut the fuck up about it. We are all too busy to act like children.
Kingsley
Are we being gaslighted?
Des
sure feels like it.
Justin
So we’re just pretending you didn’t just sound like a PR statement?
I roll my eyes again and send them a middle-finger emoji before getting out of the text thread. Despite my eye-rolling, I can’t help but chuckle. They might be a pain in my ass, but I know they’ve got my back.
After my video conference with Marcus Sinclair about being a potential investor, I feel a little more relaxed. It wentbetter than expected; he seems down-to-earth. I pull out my phone and text Abigail.
won’t be home till later. Don’t wait up.
A few minutes later, my personal phone rings. Usually, I’d let it go to voicemail, but when I see who it is, I know I have to answer.
“Mr. Whitmore, it’s good to hear from you,” I say when I pick up. “What can I do for you?”
“Please, call me Jameson. I heard about your engagement, and I wanted to congratulate you personally,” he says. I can’t help but roll my eyes.
Jameson Whitmore is the kind of man who built a legacy from the ground up and made sure the ground belonged to him first. A self-made billionaire with a storied career in real estate and land development, he started out flipping modest properties in his twenties and turned that into an empire of high-rise landmarks and generational wealth. Every major developer in this city has, at one point or another, shaken his hand or been shut out by it. His portfolio spans coastlines, skylines, and everything in between.
I’ve always respected his mind. The man sees value where others see risk. He plays the long game. I know he thinks I’m too clinical, too cold, but I also know he recognizes talent when he sees it. His respect isn’t given; it’s earned. And right now, I need more than his respect. I need his land.
