Page 122 of When Hearts Collide
Pasting the fakest smile on my face, I stare at the crowd, a blur of gray and black suits, flailing hands, and bright flashes. Nausea roils in my stomach, and I clear my throat.
“It was simply a dance between acquaintances. I dance with multiple people at events at The Orchid. No need to make a story out of nothing. Any other questions regarding the IPO?” Sweat trickles down the back of my neck.
They aren’t satisfied with my response. I see it in the shrewd glint of their eyes, the harsh scribbles on their notepads, the fervor in their follow-up questions, which are decidedly not about the IPO.
My heart thuds an ominous beat in my ears.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
The ticking of a timer on its final countdown.
“You know, if you want me to help you with this, all you need to do is ask.”
The quiet man sitting in front of me appears nonchalant, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
His dark navy suit unbuttoned, a silver metal chain hanging from his tailored vest to his vest pocket, one ankle propped up against his other knee.
But it’s his eyes that give him away. The vivid green, a lethal sharpness in them, which pairs well with the long scar spanning his entire cheek.
Elias Kent is dangerous, and his help comes at a price.
I stare at the man who handles the personnel for our Rose floors, which straddles legality with the companionship services of a more amorous nature. But he makes sure the employees working there are well protected and have agency in their jobs. The infamous crime boss has his own set of moral codes, after all.
Elias rakes his fingers over his dark hair and smirks.
Of course, he’d love to get a favor from me.
“No, I think I can handle this.”
The damn smile remains on his face, and he cocks a brow. “You sure? Considering you and Maxwell brought me on all those years ago, I owe you one. I can handle this for you for free.”
He reaches into his vest pocket and takes out the antique gold and silver lighter attached to his vest chain and fiddles with it. I see him carrying that damn thing everywhere.
Tossing back the rest of my century-old MacGregor single malt whiskey, the smooth taste barely registering in my mouth, I stare beyond him through the glass walls of the private room we’re sitting in inside the MacGregor’s Whiskey Library within The Orchid.
Turning my attention back to him, I respond more firmly. “Appreciate the thought, Elias. But no, I don’t think we need to pull out the big guns yet.”
With Elias, his methods will most likely involve some sort of blackmail or strongly worded “suggestions” to the press to persuade them to pull their attentions away from Millie and our waltz on Christmas.
I set my tumbler on the table. “I think any intervention will fan the flames right now.”
“Fair enough. But I have to ask, is there any truth in their speculations?”
“You too, Elias?”
He laughs. “I admire you and your brothers, Ryland. It seems to be a shame you all are perpetually single. I have to think the Anderson family needs to think about heirs.”
Elias holds my gaze for a beat and adds, “Especially with your family trust and the requirements for legitimate heirs.”
My nose twitches. Of course he knows about the trust. The man can unearth secrets from the dead. “I’d ask how you found out, but I don’t think I want to know.”
“Frankly, I hate seeing you being such a loner. You seem happier lately.” This time, his eyes warm up a smidgen. Concern. I should be touched the master of the shadows is concerned about me.
“Some things aren’t meant to last, Elias. It’ll just be a beautiful memory to hold on to later.”
And that has to be enough.
My heart clenches at the thought and I draw in a harsh breath.
