Page 12 of Living on the Edge

Luckily, he doesn’t scare me.

I don’t understand how beautiful women keep falling into bed with him, but that’s not my problem.

I do have a problem with Ryleigh, though.

Not just because our management team embedded a journalist without even talking to us ahead of time, but because she’s hot. And smart.

That’s a dangerous combination for me.

Add in the fact that she’s a journalist?

A guy with secrets could be fucked.

And I’m a guy with one fairly big secret.

There’s a reason I legally changed my name when I turned twenty-one.

Frankly, there are a lot of reasons.

Ironically, it’s been eleven years, and my family still doesn’t know my name change was legal, and that Angus Jeffries isn’t just a stage name.

I was born August Michael Gregory Hollingsworth, III but changed my name to Angus Jeffries because I love Angus Young from the classic rock band AC/DC, and because Jeffries is also Tate’s last name. He and I are close, so it was a kind of rock and roll brothers type thing.

The Hollingsworth family is notorious for long, memorable—though I’m not sure to whom—names. And first-born sons like me are practically royalty.

Which is why I keep my identity hidden from almost everyone and work hard to stay under the radar when I’m forced to spend time with my family. People hate them and what they represent. As the CEO and members of the board of a huge pharmaceutical company that’s made billions, they get the worst press, and we deserve it.

If that got out, it could absolutely impact the band and our music.

And I love my band.

The music, the friendship, the musical dynasty we’re trying to build.

But mostly the guys.

They might not know who I really am, but they get me. We’re a unit, friends, bandmates—practically brothers. We’ve been through a lot the last two years and despite my secrecy, I would never do anything that might blow back on them.

And frankly, being a Hollingsworth has been more of a curse than a blessing so far in my life. From my high school hockey team to my place at Harvard, everyone watched carefully.

To see if I would succeed.

To gloat if I didn’t.

To determine if I was as smart as everyone said I was.

To discern whether or not I was worthy of taking over for my father and grandfather someday.

To see if the women I dated were the right kind of women for a man of my status.

But more than that, they watched to see if I would fail.

A bad grade on a test?

Fiasco.

Couldn’t score for the team?

Loser.

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