MARRIED TO THE BAD BOY

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Z A Y N E... P O V

I've been summoned to my father's office, and the heavy atmosphere suggests it's about the drunken brawl I had last night. Mind you, the other guy came worse off. Step into my shower and turn it on to have it blast out cold water, which woke me up, before the hot water sprayed over me.

I washed my hair, washed my body, got out to dry, stepped into my bedroom to get dressed, and headed into the walk-in closet to admire myself in the mirror. I rubbed my hand over my stubble and smiled. I put black trousers on a grey shirt, slipped on my black shoes, splashed cologne on my face, and left.

The media were everywhere when I arrived at my father's building. I parked my car and walked to the elevators to go to my father's floor. I had my phone in my hand and was going through messages from the night before, smiling at some of the photos that were taken.

The elevator door opens. I step out and scan around the office; it's eerily quiet when all eyes gaze in my direction. I carried on striding to my father's office and knocked on the door.

My father is sitting behind his enormous oak desk. He sits up and peers at me. I smirked and glimpsed to my right at my older brother Dylan, who's sitting on the rustic brown leather sofa. He smiles at me and stands to hug me. "Zayne. You've done it again." He laughs.

"The photos are good," I say, laughing.

"Zayne. This is no laughing matter. Your mother and I have talked; we think it is time you got married." My father is now standing, pointing with the whites of his eyes at me. I lost my smile; my brother is laughing.

"Married? Are you fucking insane?" I bite back with some anger. "I've had enough. Either you get married or no more money." My father's expression is deadly serious. When I turned to look at my brother, he was in shock over what our father had said. "You can't do that." Raging with what he said

"Your mothers had enough too. So fucking grow up." My father's face is red with rage. Now, this is a man who is six-six and built with muscle; yes, he might be forty-six, but he could still knock me off my feet. "Dad. I'm not ready to settle down." I'm pleading with him. "Zayne. Will it be marriage or no money?" My father is harsh with his words.

"Dylan's not married yet; he's older than me." I'm trying whatever way I can to get out of this. "Dylan is not always in fights or front-page news for a brawl," my father says. "No, that's because he's the fucking favourite, the golden boy." I say this through gritted teeth, mumbling to myself.

"What the fuck did you say?" My father asks me. "Nothing!" I shout. "I thought so. We are hosting a dinner party tonight. I want you there at eight sharp," my father says, sitting back in his chair. "Why have I got to be there?" I vented my anger at what my parents wanted me to do, but more to the point, why are they doing this to me? I'm their son. I shake my head.

"Zayne I'm warning you. If you don't come, I will stop the money." He really had it in for me. My parents are blackmailing me. "Dylan, are you going?" I asked him because he's smirking at me. "Yes, I will be going on a date." He smiles at me. "A date? You have a date. Wow, that's the first." I laugh, and he frowns at me.

"You will never change." He says, then sits back on the sofa, glances at him, and yep, he is just like our father. Sixty-four not so muscular dark hair styled, his looks are not bad, but he is three years older than me. He had a few girlfriends, but nothing serious. Well, I have girls falling at my feet and wanting me to go to bed with them. I'm always with a girl; it might have been a different one every week, but I had no complaints.

"I will see you all at eight," I say, leaving. What the hell can I do? I will have to find someone just to shut my parents up.

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