Page 6 of When Hearts Collide
“You have to jab it harder. Think of it as the eye of an ex and you want to poke it out when he smirked at you after hurling insults about your weight,” a sardonic voice drawls from behind me.
I stifle a grin before thinking of the annoying smarmy smile of Lloyd, my one and only ex-boyfriend. “Ask your brother for me. I just need a small business loan. You’d do it for me, right? You want me to succeed, don’t you, hot stuff?” Even though this was two years ago, the sharp flame inside my chest still burns hot whenever I think of the opportunistic bastard.
Gritting my teeth, I stab the blinking blue button, pretending it’s any part of Lloyd’s body.
Whirrr…
The machine resurrects from its comatose state and the life-giving smell of coffee soon fills the room.
“Yes!” I whisper before turning around, finding my new roommate for the year, Jocelyn Song, standing there with a smug grin on her face, her arms crossed over her chest.
She lifts a brow as if to say, see, what did I tell you?
“Thanks, Jocelyn, I mean, Joss.”
Jocelyn and I only met last week after I moved in. She had posted an apartment-mate listing on the University of Los Angeles’s student portal and I applied. Adrian, my older brother, complained the entire time because I refused to move into his beautiful penthouse apartment in downtown LA. Let’s just say I really didn’t want him hovering over me like a hawk.
She shrugs and rubs her eyes as she retrieves my thermos from one of the basic white cabinets and hands it to me. I pour the piping hot coffee from the espresso container before starting the frother for the milk.
I shake out my tight shoulders. Bouncing on my feet, I gnaw on my lip.
Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.
“Damn, you look like you’re trying to psych yourself up before going off to war. It’s only the first day of class. Nothing’s going to happen other than introductions and reading the syllabus. Not to mention the weather doesn’t look so great, so everyone will probably be late. We Angelenos can’t drive in the rain. Plus, you’re only here one year, so you’re just like an exchange student. You can treat this as a vacation.”
Laughing softly at her quizzical quirk of her brows, I reply, “I’m the kid who usually can’t sleep before the first day of school. I don’t think I slept at all last night.”
“You don’t have class until three, right? Why are you up now? It’s only noon. I, on the other hand, have to leave for my first lecture now, so I don’t have much of a choice.”
She yawns and rubs her eyes again, her shoulders slumped, before she lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. I don’t know her well enough yet, but she looks sad and exhausted—dark eye circles marring her otherwise pale, unblemished face, her long black hair in a shaggy bun. Her orange ULA T-shirt is wrinkled and her jeans have a weird, dark stain on it. She looks like she needs the coffee more than I do.
Tentatively, I reach out and put my hand on her shoulder.
“Um…I know we don’t know each other well yet, but are you okay? If you need to talk to anyone, I’m here and I’m a vault. Just FYI.”
Jocelyn bites her lip, her brown eyes taking on a concerning wet sheen, and she shakes her head.
“Thanks. Life is tough right now, but I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
She clears her throat and forces out a smile. “So, we’re in the same class together, right? Three p.m. Business Ethics with Professor Kristoff?”
“Yep. But I got an email saying Professor Kristoff has an emergency and needs to be away for a bit. They have someone else guest lecturing instead.”
Her eyes take on a sharp glint and she leans in, as if to divulge to me the secrets of the illuminati. “You’re new here, so you don’t know, but everyone is excited about Professor Anderson. He guest lectured every so often at ULA in the past, but never for such a long stint. The classroom is going to be jammed packed, mark my words, even with the rain.”
“Why? Is he a celebrity or something?”
She tsks and shakes her head. “I’m glad we’re having this conversation before you walk in unaware. Professor Ryland Anderson is from the New York Anderson family…you know, the Anderson family.” She pauses for dramatic effect.
I frown. The name rings a bell. “I’ve seen his name on the news before. Doesn’t that family own half of New York? I don’t really follow the gossip rags.”
“They do. They are the definition of old money, right next to the Kennedys, Vanderbilts, and the Rockefellers, and equally, if not more, mysterious. They own Fleur Entertainment Holdings.”
Seeing my nonreaction, she adds, “Tell me you’re a nerd without telling me you’re a nerd. Fleur owns all the big night clubs and many top luxury hotels in the world, not to mention The Orchid in NYC.”
This sounds very familiar. Adrian may know more, now that he has worked his way up from our humble beginnings to being a self-made billionaire. He recently came back to LA from New York after we moved there when I was seven and he was nineteen.
And everyone knows about The Orchid, the exclusive establishment for the rich and famous renowned for its secrecy. Rumors abound as to what’s inside the large fifty-plus story building in Manhattan, where it’s said anyone can get anything their heart desires within those walls.