Page 13 of When Hearts Remember

Quarter-life crisis, maybe. The swirling in my gut is more apparent these days.

“You know, you’re the most stubborn bastard I’ve ever met.” Liam munches on something on his end. “Be like me. I’m a Vaughn. My family owns a bank. But I don’t go around trying to prove myself to anyone. I don’t need to.”

I sigh. He’ll never understand.

I recognize I’m the definition of privilege. The CFO position at Fleur is earmarked for me whenever I’m ready. I’m set for life and doors open whenever I throw out my last name.

But it’s not enough. I don’t want to phone things in. I want to get there because Ideserveit. I want Ethan Anderson to be synonymous with something.

Is that too much to ask?

“Anyway, I haven’t seen Firefly in ages. Thinking I’ll drop by her place later and surprise her with some dessert.” Liam slurps down some drink. “Want to come with? You haven’t met her yet.”

I scoff. “You want me to meet your sister? Are you sure? Didn’t you always say I’mnotsupposed to meet your sister?”

“Oh fuck, you’re right. You and your broody, mysterious vibe with your dark hair and shit. Stay away. Forget I asked. And don’t you even think about it—I know you; you can’t settle down and commit to any woman. What was I thinking—”

“Chill. I promised you before—you’ve nothing to worry about from me. I won’t do anything to jeopardize our friendship. And I’m not interested in your little sister.”

Who probably just grew out of her braces and happily follows her brother around whenever he’s home.

“Got to go, Liam. See you later tonight.”

I hang up as my phone pings.

Cleo

Ethan, come on, baby, don’t be this way. I didn’t mean what I said. I was just hurt. Call me?

I swallow a groan. This is what Liam meant. I broke up with Cleo two weeks ago because our relationship has been circling the drain for a while. She wanted things I couldn’t give her—moving in together, meeting the family.

“Why couldn’t you have protected me? You shouldn’t have made me fall in love with you.”

Her tear-streaked face when I left her apartment after our break up haunts me. When we started, I explicitly told her love wasn’t in the cards.

Love and Anderson men don’t mix. That’s been proven time and time again.

Plopping down in a chair, I get to work. Focus. Work is my number one priority. Come Monday, I’ll be Delaney Anders, entry-level financial analyst at Fleur, eager to fetch coffee and lunch orders, hungry to climb the corporate ladder as fast as he can.

In order to do that, I need to be current on the markets and financial forecasting models, like the ones described in the book I’m holding in my hand.

The hours fly by as I mull over the text and take notes. It’s cutting edge stuff in a nerdy way, but it gets my gears working.

The next time I look up, the floor is mostly vacated, and it’s dark outside. Only the howling winds banging against the windows and the glow of the lamps keep me company. I check my watch.

Five p.m. Shit. Almost time for dinner.

I gather my things and put on my jacket, my mind still whirring with graphs, numbers, and worries about work next week.

But as I head toward the lobby, something catches my attention.

A spiral staircase tucked away in a dark corner. The gleaming gold on the banister calls to me, and my pulse quickens.

I stare at the narrow steps which seem to lead up to another world. A minute later, I find myself on the rare text archival floor, a place I’ve never visited before, since I’ve only been to this library twice in the past.

My heart pounds as I admire the rows of books—poetry, my secret friend, lining up the walls, leather volumes of science texts and literature in neat stacks, undisturbed and probably gathering dust.

I trail my fingers on the shelves, admiring the beautiful books and the intricate stained glass window with a hummingbird design in the far wall, when suddenly, I see it.

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