Page 27 of When Hearts Collide

“They’re fishing for gossip. There’s no one,” I reply.

“You’re not a monk, bro,” Rex retorts, “I find it hard to believe there’s absolutely no one piquing your interest.”

Dark brown hair, a heart-shaped face, and stunning blue eyes seeming to see all too much materialize in my mind. My heart skips several beats and heat rushes up my neck.

You’re a sick man. I shove the image away.

“Where will I find time to date these days? The company takes up my entire life and any extra time I have is spent teaching.” I throw back my drink in one gulp, wincing at the burn.

“You don’t have to teach, you know. I think the family reputation can survive without the Prince of the USA spending time in academia. We give back in many other ways—our charities, volunteering, scholarships,” Rex comments, his brows furrowing as he scrutinizes me. In this moment, the playboy is gone and in his place is the concerned brother.

“I want to continue teaching.” It’s the one respite keeping me going.

“Something else is going on then. I don’t know what,” Rex replies. “You’re quieter than you usually are. And I’ve been monitoring the Rose floors activities. You haven’t booked a scene in at least half a year. Is this a health issue? Something wrong with your dick?” Fucking bastard.

“How did you get that information?” Steven asks, sitting up straighter on the other black sofa across the room. “Doesn’t Elias keep that info under lock and key?”

Rex waggles his brows. “I have ways of making all people open up to me…including the coldest of bastards.”

He swivels his head toward me. “Don’t think I let you off the hook. Tell us what’s going on. Maybe we can help. You have the smartest people in the city here, especially me, of course.”

I roll my eyes, a spark threatening to ignite in the chilly cavity of my chest. “My health is perfectly fine,” other than the increasing difficulty in breathing sometimes, but that’s neither here nor there, “and my cock is functioning fine. I just don’t feel a need to frequent the floors these days.”

And frankly, no one has captured my interest.

But is that really true, Ryland?

Fuck.

“Red flag for sure,” Ethan quips. “I agree with Rex this time. You used to run around in Noire playing predator and prey at least once a month. What did you say the last time we asked? It was freeing to your soul, and you felt in touch with your primal self. ‘Crucial to your mental health…’ I think was the phrase you used. Why haven’t you been there for half a year or are you getting some action on the side, which circles back to the original question… Do you have a woman?”

I shake my head, my fingers gripping my empty tumbler tightly. Stop asking me questions I don’t want to answer. The sensation of not being able to breathe is returning and a vein pulses on my forehead. I fight against the urge to stand up, throw the glass against the wall, and break open a window to let the cool fall air in.

“I haven’t heard him mention anything about spotting strange birds these days, either. That was one of his old-man hobbies, birdwatching,” Charles murmurs as he strides to the fireplace, his aristocratic features harsh with the roaring fire behind him.

Steven cocks his head to the side. “At first, I thought this was just a joke, but now I think there’s some truth to these questions.”

He taps his finger on his chin and muses, “Something’s going on. I can’t place it. But Ryland, whenever you want to talk, we’re here for you. But in the meantime,” he addresses the others in the room, “let’s lay off of him.”

I chuckle halfheartedly, the pressure on my chest easing as I set the tumbler on the imported coffee table made from the finest dark oaks and glass. It looks like these idiots won’t press me.

How can I explain to them the discontent simmering in the background for the last decade, which suddenly threatens to explode and incinerate everything in its path? Even I don’t understand it well.

“Anyway, how are you doing, Steven, with your father and TransAmerica?”

Misdirection. The best way to stop their incessant questioning is to turn the spotlight on someone else.

My friend’s face darkens. His family is based in LA and is at the helm of the large conglomerate, but for some reason, Steven never wanted to take over the company, and opted to move across the country to make a name for himself on Wall Street. “There may be a situation brewing on the horizon. I’m monitoring it.”

“Anything I can help with?” Charles offers, and the men break into a serious discussion about warding off takeovers and working with bad actors who are resorting to using shady tactics to get what they want.

I get up from my chair and stride to the large windows, staring at the enormous park in the middle of the city, punctuated by the warm glow of streetlamps, with the bright flashes of headlights from cars and buses whizzing by.

The city never sleeps. It has a heady energy that used to make me excited, but now can’t seem to eke out a thump in my heart.

“Hey,” Maxwell murmurs as he stands next to me, gazing out the window. “Don’t think I don’t know what it means when you slink off and stare outside. You’re feeling trapped somehow, right? Guilty perhaps?”

His words pummel my chest and I clench my jaw, not wanting to answer him lest I give anything away in my voice.

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