Page 121 of When Hearts Collide

“I love you so fucking much, Millie.” He sounds winded moments later, and I rest my head on his chest.

I hear the reassuring thumps of his heart. The sound of safety.

My eyelids grow heavy, and I shift against him, our bodies still connected, but we make no move to disentangle ourselves.

His hands rub over my back in gentle circles.

“I love you too,” I whisper. Sleep threatens to overtake me. Forever. I could love this man forever. “Tomorrow, Ryland. We still have tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs.

Right before I drift off into a deep sleep, I hear the deep timbre of his voice again.

“I wish we had more time.”

Chapter 45

“Mr. Anderson! Mr. Anderson! Who was the woman you danced with at the Christmas Ball?”

I’m standing behind a podium inside the Kensington Hotel next to The Orchid. It’s one of the many hotels Fleur Entertainment owns. The press conference was going well moments before, when I updated the crowd of reporters on the progress of the IPO. The stock listing date is set and we’re scheduled to be at the New York Stock Exchange to ring the opening bell.

Then they started asking about Millie.

These fucking vultures are at it again.

Lana tried to warn me before this was going to happen. Shit.

I have to protect Millie. I can’t let her get hurt because of me. You hypocrite. You caused this mess by dancing with her, by being with her.

But when I saw her standing by the refreshments table at The Ball, my heart literally stopped and I wanted to be selfish. I wanted to claim her as my own. I was carried by impulse, the need to hold my ethereal angel in blue in my arms.

It was the only thing that mattered at the moment.

And now, I’m paying the price for my stupidity.

Maggie, our friend from CBC, speaks over the ruckus. “Sources say she’s Millie Callahan, Adrian Scott’s sister?”

She shoots me an apologetic look, her shoulders lifting in a shrug as if to say, sorry, but a girl has a job to do, and this is riveting gossip.

The group erupts in chaos and folks leap up from their seats as The Shark’s name is brought up. The questions are incessant, pelting down at an unsuspecting victim like a sudden hailstorm on an otherwise warm day.

“Is she someone special, Ryland?”

“An anonymous source said you disappeared from The Ball after the first thirty minutes. Where did you go?”

“A Bromwell Pharmacy employee mentioned seeing you shopping on Christmas evening. Is that where you went?”

“Who’s she to you?”

“Isn’t there a significant age gap between the two of you?”

My veins turn to ice, their questions echoing in my ears, the sensation like I’ve caught a right hook to my face.

I was too reckless. I should’ve stayed away from her.

Scenario after scenario flashes through my mind. What if they find out she’s my student? What if they find out about our illicit affair? What will happen to the IPO, to my family’s reputation, to my position at NYUC, to her?

The room swirls, and I close my eyes for a brief second. Get a grip, Ryland. Anything you say or do right now can turn the tides. Get your fucking act together.

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