Page 148 of When Hearts Collide

Cheers and applause erupt on the trade floor as Rex presses the green button to ring the infamous bell on the bell podium of the New York Stock Exchange. I smile, watching the live streaming of this monumental event on my phone as I sit in my town car heading toward Millie’s apartment. This marks the successful initial public offering of Fleur Twilight as our stock goes live in markets, the goal we’ve been working toward for the last several years.

Rex laughs, excitement rolling off him in waves, and hugs my other siblings, minus Maxwell, because, true to form, he’s avoiding the crowds and celebrating in the privacy of the estate, no doubt surrounded by paintings and listening to opera. My mind flits to the conversation I had with Rex last night.

“You aren’t going to the ceremony?” Rex asked, his eyes widening in shock. “And you want me to ring the bell?”

I nodded. “I’m going to Millie’s. I always go to her place every morning, and tomorrow will be the same.”

“But it’s the IPO! The thing you’ve worked your ass off for the last few years!”

I swallowed and shook my head. It was a pity how this realization came much too late. “Nothing is more important than her.”

Rex looked at me with sympathy in his eyes. “Got it. Go get her. I hope she opens the door this time.” He suddenly grinned and pumped his fists in the air. “Yes! Finally time for Mr. Sexy Anderson to shine.”

I chuckle under my breath as I turn off the screen of my phone and look outside the windows, watching the throngs of tourists walking excitedly on the sidewalks.

The city brims with liveliness—from hot dog stands lining up street corners, couriers breezing by on their bikes. Businessmen frown at their phones as they stride down the sidewalk, weaving through crowds of people like second nature.

The city has a pulse of its own and for the first time in a long time, I feel the resonating beats inside me. But there’s a gaping hole nothing can fill.

Millie.

I miss her so damn much.

As Lana predicted, once I flew back to New York after my brief hunting trip last week and met with Maggie for a follow-up interview to reiterate pretty much everything Millie had told her before, the paparazzi moved on to other topics and scandals.

Then, I got swept up in the madness of last-minute IPO preparation—board meetings, investor conferences, discussions with the underwriting banks and other top executives in the company.

But despite that, when I wasn’t working or putting out fires, my mind was filled with memories of her. The woman who saved my career, my path to tenure, my dreams, my family’s reputation, everything I thought I cared most about but now realize pales compared to her.

I’ve called Millie every night after dinner, but she hasn’t picked up. My messages are left unanswered. I’ve visited her every morning before work, but each time, Belle will open the door, give me a sad smile, and say, “She needs some time. I think you owe her that, don’t you?”

It’s fitting—to experience a small fraction of what she must’ve endured the last month, when I thought I was saving her but was hurting her instead.

My phone chimes and my hand flies to my suit pocket to take it out, eager to see if it’s her.

But it isn’t. It’s only an email from Jacob.

Ryland,

Because of the high profile of your family, the Ethics Committee expedited your case and after reviewing our multiple interviews with Millie Callahan and yourself, examining her transcripts and work products from your class, and also considering the public interviews you both made, they decided no transgressions occurred and your honorary doctorate and tenure track would still stand.

However, it may take you one to two more years of exemplary behavior before you’re officially nominated for tenure. Take the summer off and we’ll talk before fall quarter begins.

Regards,

Jacob

His email is quickly followed by a text from his personal number.

Jacob

I can’t say this over university email, but son, please, for fucking sake, if you decide to pursue a relationship with Ms. Callahan, wait another month, will you? Let’s put this to bed before you give me another headache.

My lips twitch into a smirk as I imagine the number of new white hairs I’ve given the poor man. Then, an anchor drops on my chest. Regret, my new best friend, makes a reappearance.

Ryland

Thank you for everything, Jacob, and I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through.

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