Page 65 of When Hearts Collide

But I don’t care, my heart retorts. I want him. I want more. I need more.

“Ryland—” My heart won out.

“Go! We’ll never speak of this again.”

He whips his body toward me, his finger pointing at the door, and what I see on his face devastates me, the dagger driving deeper and twisting into the bloody wound in my chest.

His anguished eyes reek of self-hatred and self-flagellation. The throbbing vein on his forehead threatens to burst. The overarching regret radiating from his trembling frame unmoors me.

My heart clenches and plummets, a bloody mess at the bottom of my soul.

“Leave, Millie. Please,” he begs.

Moisture prickles my eyes and without a further word, I turn around, open the door, and dart out of his office.

Chapter 25

“Hey, Ryland. Thanks for coming,” a tall man hollers as he strides toward me from the sleek, modern building of soothing teak wood exteriors and pale green trimming. Next to him is a woman with golden brown hair and a beaming smile.

Shit-eating grin. Dimples. Brown hair streaked with gold, which is glinting in the waning sunlight. Dressed like he has stepped out of a Tommy Hilfiger catalog. I smile and wave, ignoring the paparazzi’s hollers and bright flashes from their cameras.

“Parker Wellington, as I live and breathe. It’s been too long.”

Chuckling, I pull my friend to me, giving him a brief hug, before turning to his beautiful wife next to him, whose sapphire eyes are shining with laughter and warmth.

“Liz, nice to see you, too. I’m surprised the two of you came all the way from LA to be here, without the kids, no less.”

She grins before wrapping me in her arms as well.

“Well, you know Parker, his firm designed these homeless shelters, so each grand opening of New Beginnings buildings is like giving birth for him. And the New York manager begged us to come out for the inaugural gardening program they’re offering here to its residents. I’m excited about it. Homeless and battered women shelters are typically bare bones with basic food and lodging, so it’s wonderful they’re offering these additional programs.”

“And having His Royal Highness, the Prince of the USA, show up and volunteer is totally attracting all the right attention,” Parker quips, unleashing another annoying grin as he waggles his brows at me.

“Shut up, fucker,” I mutter, unable to stifle the laughter in my voice.

We walk back toward the glass double doors and I can’t help but admire the modern sleek lines softened with carefully groomed low-maintenance shrubbery and trees, environmentally conscious materials such as reclaimed wood and locally sourced granite and limestone.

Parker’s architectural firm, which he opened with his friend and partner, Dylan Jones, is one of the best in the country. They will work on the upcoming renovation of The Orchid after this IPO business.

“You’re doing a good thing here,” I comment as we step inside the brightly lit air-conditioned lobby. “I’m happy to support.”

Parker slaps a hand on my back. He doesn’t need to say much because I already know his story—as a child, he lived in one of these homeless shelters with his mom after his dad died. He has always wanted to give back and now that he’s a successful architect and businessman of his own right, he helps to design and build, pro-bono, these award-winning battered women and homeless shelters across the nation.

It’s this desire to give back, to leave a legacy in this world which draws me to the man, even though he doesn’t make it out to New York often enough.

“So, how’s the IPO going? Audit stage, right? Everything is going smoothly, I hope? We haven’t seen Jess these days, so I’m assuming she’s holed up in the audit cave, pulling her hair out from work.” Parker nods to a few attendants bustling around in the lobby. He ushers me up a flight of stairs to God knows where.

“It’s going fine. I don’t expect smooth sailing. Jess is probably sick of us by now.”

Jess, Steven’s oldest sister, is Liz’s good friend and sister-in-law, since Jess married Liz’s younger brother, James. “But she’s treating us kindly. You know how Jess is. Even with the stresses of the audit, I haven’t seen her blow a fuse yet.”

He chuckles. “Yep, that’s her. Well, I’m excited about your IPO and will be the first in line to buy myself some shares when you guys are listed on the stock exchange. Have to see what your ‘impeccable reputation’ will bring us. You know that’s what the market is frenzied about—even though we’re in a bad economy and folks are pinching pennies, everyone seems to be excited about your IPO because of you. Whatever magic you’re wielding, you need to give me some.”

Impeccable reputation. The words sound scathing in my mind because everything is smoke and mirrors. They don’t see the darkness inside me.

They don’t see the ethics professor who almost fucked his much-younger student in his office the other day because he couldn’t help himself. They don’t realize this unimpeachable Anderson nearly threw away hundreds of years of lauded reputation, endangered the IPO, which would impact the family business, gave up his dream of becoming a tenured professor, smashed through the last ethical wall of being a professor without a second thought.

I’m a disgrace and this is so very wrong.

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