“So, your brother tells me you’ve taken yourself off the bachelor market,” Ernest says. “Tell me about her.”
Kylian’s face softens. “Her name is Kiara Yin. She’s beautiful and sassy and way too smart and keeps me in my place.”
Ernest cocks an eyebrow. “Yin as in Yin Tech? Dennis Yin’s daughter?”
My brother beams proudly. “One and the same, but she doesn’t have much to do with the family business.”
Ernest locks his eyes on my brother’s face. “But she understands? This life? What it takes?”
Kylian nods.
“Good. It can be hard if you’re not on the same page. Our way of life can be hard, the sacrifices.” Ernest raises his voice a little to get my attention. “Right, Kingsley?”
I get to my feet and join my brother by the bed. “It’s not so bad.”
Ernest scoffs. “When are you going to be finding some woman to boss you around?”
“I have Theodore,” I say, referring to my butler. “Answering to him is more than enough for me.”
Ernest sighs and lies back in the bed, his twinkling eyes focused on me. “It’s not, son. Trust me, it’s not. I miss having someone to boss me around.” Ernest lost his wife a few years ago and has been busy with his business and training his foster son ever since. “But, got to keep trucking on. But you’ll keep my legacy alive when I’m gone, won’t you, Kingsley?”
“Won’t have to. Your memory will be larger than life.”
Fifteen minutes later, we excuse ourselves and Kylian promises to pop in again before he goes back to Hong Kong at the end of the week.
“He looks good,” Kylian says as we wait by the elevator. “He should be okay.”
Knowing my brother is just trying to comfort me, I nod. I’ll feel better when Ernest is out of his hospital bed and back in the boardroom, lording over his company, The Hamilton Group, with his iron fist. The way he’s always taught me to do at Baxter.
Our grandfather introduced him to me twenty-five years ago, thinking that I might need a mentor outside of the family. He was right. Ernest has given me kind but unflinching advice. Something that has become invaluable to me, especially in the few years since my grandfather passed away. While The Hamilton Group isn’t one-tenth the size of Baxter Enterprises, his advice has been universal, rooted in treating people well and understanding the state of the world. As the CEO of his company, Ernest knows things that my three brothers never will about what’s in the future for me.
In four months, I’m supposed to be voted in as Baxter Enterprises’s CEO.
It’s a pressure and a privilege I’ve been trained for my whole life. I just never thought I’d be dealing with sabotage from inside my own family. The thought of our troubles with our uncle Gerald pulls my face into a scowl.
“Hey, isn’t that the girl from the bar last night?” Kylian says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
An almost painful spark catches alight in my chest at the mere mention of her, and my eyes flick up to see the woman in the denim skirt from last night standing a few feet away. Except today she’s wearing a candy striper uniform, waving a giant candy cane at an elderly patient.
Blood pools in the spots where she poked and kissed me last night, pushing away all thoughts of the loathing for my uncle storming on my mind.
“That is her, isn’t it?” Kylian asks again.
“Er, not sure,” I mumble, biting the inside of my cheek to keep my voice even.
There’s no need for my brother to know that I spent the better part of the last twelve hours replaying my brief but memorable encounter with her. Not that there is actually anything to tell him about it.
Just that seeing her right now instantly conjured the scent of strawberries and cream and that unforgettable strip of pale white skin hemmed by denim.
Her carefree laugh echoes down the hallway, reaching for the knot that formed in my stomach in those few minutes I spent talking to her and giving it a strong tug.
“Get away from me, annoying girl!” the patient says, dressed in a hospital gown while gripping his IV pole. His words are cranky, but the tone is undoubtedly filled with fondness.
I watch as Bar Girl chuckles and shakes her finger at him. “Nuh-uh. No can do, cranky-pants. I’m trying to cheer you up! Laughter is the best medicine!” she teases him, gently poking him in the side with her candy cane.
“Tell that to the chemo they’re pumping me full of!” he argues, still desperately trying to shoo her away, his tired eyes dancing with amusement.
“You can’t talk to chemicals, crazy old man! Maybe you should actually be seeing a neurosurgeon for a wonky noggin as well!”
