Page 3 of When Hearts Collide
I clear my throat. “You should go out more, Maxwell. Stop holing yourself up at the estate or The Orchid. We’re only thirty-five, not eighty-five. Live a bit for yourself.”
The phonograph clicks off and silence fills the line. His voice is quiet when he replies, “You know I don’t get a lot of choice in my life. Solitude is the one thing I get to choose for myself. I’m happy, Ryland, all things considered. And Fleur is successful, isn’t it? Even if the CEO is in the shadows, our profits have doubled over the last five years and will only continue to grow after the IPO.”
“But you aren’t truly living.” A weight settles firmly on my chest. You’re a fucking hypocrite, Ryland.
“I’d say the same for you, hypocrite,” he whispers back.
Damn twin-sense. We may be separated by miles, but I swear there are moments when I think he can still hear my thoughts.
I force out a chuckle, my fingers playing with a twig from the ground. “What on earth are you talking about? I am living. Ryland Benedict Reginald Anderson, famous second son and face of the affluent Anderson family, chief operating officer of Fleur Entertainment Holdings, the largest hospitality conglomerate in the world by day, adjunct professor by night, impeccable reputation, women fawning over me left and right. The world is at my fucking fingertips.”
The twig snaps in my hand, and I swallow the bile making its way up my throat.
My fingers trace the dark leather bracelet around my wrist, knowing its twin is on the same arm of the caller on the phone. “I’m the fucking opposite of you.”
“Why the public fawns over you with your surly ass personality is anyone’s guess.”
“It’s part of the charm.”
He snorts. “But you aren’t happy. Don’t bother lying to me. I only wish you’d tell me why.”
“You think too much.”
He laughs. I can imagine his smug smile, a rare expression transforming his cold face into something resembling a living being. His Majesty is the beautiful frigid king, his nickname from the press, even though they don’t have any interactions with him despite their attempts. Even so, they want to know all about the mysterious CEO of our family business.
Clearly sensing I won’t tell him anything else, he changes the subject. “You ready for the press conference tonight?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. The jet is waiting for me now.” I wish you could take on the press sometimes. It’s fucking exhausting. This entire life is fucking exhausting. But I don’t say the words aloud.
“Good luck. I’ll be tuning in. Don’t fuck up, brother. We need all the good press we can get for the IPO. You know what’s at stake. Counting on you.”
A rustling sound interrupts my conversation and I turn around. Jerome and his assistant grin as they haul the large hog, now hanging from a sturdy stick. My chest pinches as I’m ensnared by the lifeless eyes of the dead animal, bringing up a faded memory of another beast in my past, one that almost took my life if it weren’t for Maxwell.
I owe it to him. In more ways than one.
The scar on my eyebrow pinches again.
A lump forms in my throat and I close my eyes, letting my mind drift back to the time I got the aching scar.
The large boar charging toward me, its tusks gleaming in the sunlight, its eyes cold with fury.
Dad’s loud holler which echoed from far, far away.
Maxwell darting in front of me, pushing me out of the way as the boar hurled itself at us.
Screams. Echoes. Pain. So much pain.
Gunshot.
I owe him. Be brave.
I reply to Maxwell, my voice hoarse, “Never. It’ll be another win for the family.”
Family first. Always.
Chapter 2
“Mr. Anderson!”