Page 22 of When Hearts Remember

Career limiting move.

Shame slinks through me. I should tell him nothing will happen to me because I have something more valuable than mileage points—I own the entire airline. But I don’t want to debut Ethan Anderson as a failure. How will I ever gain the respect of my colleagues and my family if I out myself now?

“Take the afternoon off. Go to a bar, get a drink, de-stress. Come back tomorrow and we’ll strategize.” Trey waves me off.

Guilt eats at me, but I nod. “I’m sorry again.” Stopping at the door, I turn around. “And Trey?”

My mentor looks up and arches a quizzical brow.

“Thanks. Not everyone has a boss looking out for them.”

Trey chuckles. “You’re good. Get out of here, Delaney.”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I make my way to The Orchid, a few blocks away.

“Mr. Anderson, good afternoon. Your brothers have arrived already.” The concierge nods after I step through the double doors of the fifty-plus-stories building. “I’ll have them send up your Pintzer.”

My preferred drink as soon as I enter the premises. The gold standard, as always—all our members receive the same treatment.

The Orchid is the pinnacle of our company, a place where all dreams can come true—whether it be scrumptious food from world-renowned restaurants to bespoke concierge services, and kink rooms and sex clubs.

After thanking him, I enter the private elevators and press the floor to the gentlemen’s club. Rolling out my shoulders, I examine my appearance in the mirrored walls.

Dark brown hair, a little shaggy but presentable. Dark circles around my eyes betray my lack of sleep. A bespoke blue suit—not the highest quality because an entry-level analyst wouldn’t be able to afford that.

I force a smile, hoping my brothers won’t see through my mask.

The elevator doors glide open.

Adjusting the lapels of my suit, I hold my head high and stride through the spacious lounge toward the private room reserved for our family. The club is half-full, and I recognized a few folks who regularly grace the cover ofFortunemagazine. Old money is a cesspool of underachievers—half the people in the room didn’t earn their place here. They’re here because they were born with the right last name.

Without knocking, I enter our room. Maxwell nods at me, his phone against his ear. He looks every inch the future CEO of the company in his wide stance and imposing demeanor. The man reeks of the confidence I hope to have someday.

“Cancel the contract. Fleur doesn’t do business with The Association. I don’t give a fuck how big this contract is.” He turns to face the floor-to-ceiling windows as he continues his conversation.

I cock my brow.The Association?

Dad had looped me in once I graduated—several years ago, a few senators attempted to pressure him into letting The Association use The Orchid for their business.

The Rose floors, where sexual appetites were satisfied, could provide a prime venue for laundering money, capturing illegal footage for leverage, and other shady business.

“Never give up your morals for the sake of power. Do the right thing with our privilege. Give back to society instead.”

Dad declined and the next thing I knew, Elias Kent was installed to man those floors. Ironically, the crime boss made sure there was no funny business happening within these walls.

I’m damn lucky to be born in this household.

Scanning the room, I see Ryland sitting in his blue armchair, his brows furrowed as he types on his laptop. Rex is nowhere to be seen.

As everyone is working, I park myself at the dining table and tug my tie loose. I can’t fucking breathe. An attendant hands me my beer, and I take a sip before pulling out the journal.

A distraction—that’s what I need.

A pressed sprig of lavender falls out of the pages, and I smile. She likes to enclose little keepsakes in our journal of things she came across earlier in the week—flowers, photos of sunsets or food, whatever fits her fancy.

Dear Keeper of My Days,

Is it strange to call you my best friend after only two months of letters? I can’t explain this, but you understand me. The real me with all the squishiness and dark thoughts, the dreamer and the worrier. You’ve never seen me before and it doesn’t matter how I look or dress, who my family is, so ironically, I can bare my soul with you.

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