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.

Pasting the fakest smile on my face, I stare at the crowd, a blur of gray and black suits, flailing hands, and bright flashes. Nausea roils in my stomach, and I clear my throat.

"It was simply a dance between acquaintances. I dance with multiple people at events at The Orchid. No need to make a story out of nothing. Any other questions regarding the IPO?" Sweat trickles down the back of my neck.

They aren't satisfied with my response. I see it in the shrewd glint of their eyes, the harsh scribbles on their notepads, the fervor in their follow-up questions, which are decidedly not about the IPO.

My heart thuds an ominous beat in my ears.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

The ticking of a timer on its final countdown.

"You know, if you want me to help you with this, all you need to do is ask."

The quiet man sitting in front of me appears nonchalant, like he doesn't have a care in the world.

His dark navy suit unbuttoned, a silver metal chain hanging from his tailored vest to his vest pocket, one ankle propped up against his other knee.

But it's his eyes that give him away. The vivid green, a lethal sharpness in them, which pairs well with the long scar spanning his entire cheek.

Elias Kent is dangerous, and his help comes at a price.

I stare at the man who handles the personnel for our Rose floors, which straddles legality with the companionship services of a more amorous nature. But he makes sure the employees working there are well protected and have agency in their jobs. The infamous crime boss has his own set of moral codes, after all.

Elias rakes his fingers over his dark hair and smirks.

Of course, he'd love to get a favor from me.

"No, I think I can handle this."

The damn smile remains on his face, and he cocks a brow. "You sure? Considering you and Maxwell brought me on all those years ago, I owe you one. I can handle this for you for free."

He reaches into his vest pocket and takes out the antique gold and silver lighter attached to his vest chain and fiddles with it. I see him carrying that damn thing everywhere.

Tossing back the rest of my century-old MacGregor single malt whiskey, the smooth taste barely registering in my mouth, I stare beyond him through the glass walls of the private room we're sitting in inside the MacGregor's Whiskey Library within The Orchid.

Turning my attention back to him, I respond more firmly. "Appreciate the thought, Elias. But no, I don't think we need to pull out the big guns yet."

With Elias, his methods will most likely involve some sort of blackmail or strongly worded "suggestions" to the press to persuade them to pull their attentions away from Millie and our waltz on Christmas.

I set my tumbler on the table. "I think any intervention will fan the flames right now."

"Fair enough. But I have to ask, is there any truth in their speculations?"

"You too, Elias?"

He laughs. "I admire you and your brothers, Ryland. It seems to be a shame you all are perpetually single. I have to think the Anderson family needs to think about heirs."

Elias holds my gaze for a beat and adds, "Especially with your family trust and the requirements for legitimate heirs."

My nose twitches. Of course he knows about the trust. The man can unearth secrets from the dead. "I'd ask how you found out, but I don't think I want to know."

"Frankly, I hate seeing you being such a loner. You seem happier lately." This time, his eyes warm up a smidgen. Concern. I should be touched the master of the shadows is concerned about me.

"Some things aren't meant to last, Elias. It'll just be a beautiful memory to hold on to later."

And that has to be enough.

My heart clenches at the thought and I draw in a harsh breath.

"You know, if I never took risks in my life, I wouldn't have gotten to where I am right now," Elias replies. "I'd still be in the slums, running weapons for lowlifes. Maybe I'd be dead."

He stands up and clasps a hand on my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "Think about it, Ryland."

Like a phantom breeze, he slips out the door as my phone vibrates.

Steven

Tread carefully. Adrian called me, asking about the rumors between you and Millie. He's protective of his sister.

My fingers type out a quick response.

Ryland

Thanks. Inaction is the best action right now. If Adrian brings it up with me the next time we talk, I'll tell him the truth. I'd want the same if this were Lana.

Steven

Understood. I don't want him to jump to conclusions anyway and Millie hasn't told him anything. I'll run interference for you guys but be careful. I care about you both and don't want to see you guys as victims of unfortunate circumstances.

There comes a time when you encounter a fork in the road, and you know your next decision will have lasting impacts.

I'm at the fork now.

My phone vibrates again. This time, it's an email from the dean lighting up the screen.

Ryland,

The research the JEAP committee has conducted on the Professor Archer case has been very thorough. The Ethics Committee is impressed with your work. You make a compelling argument against disciplining Professor Archer and Tammy Simmons based on the evidence so far, but the optics aren't good. Several conservative members of the Committee are still concerned about the clandestine nature of the alleged sexual affair, even if the evidence leans toward no favoritism. While they recognize your viewpoints, there are significant reservations about the JEAP recommendation.

The Committee will reconvene in a month but continue to send information our way.

Your honorary doctorate also looks promising.

I know I didn't hire the wrong person.

Regards,

Jacob

My tie feels more and more like a noose around my neck as I reread the email. A sticky heat travels up my spine, landing on top of my chest.

I've been in the business circuit for a long time—politics, optics, they are all the same whether it's in Fortune 500 companies or in large universities. Everyone is in it for themselves. Selfishness, cover-your-ass actions always win.

The Ethics Committee will side against Professor Archer and Tammy. I'd bet my net worth on it. He's a younger professor, hasn't earned his stripes yet to be irreplaceable by the university. He'll lose his career, his reputation will be tarnished, and his prospects to teach in the future will be dismal because others will treat him as a predator.

As for Tammy, her reputation as a student who has slept her way to the top will precede her. When people run background checks on her in the future, this black mark will come up first, even before people review her work and contributions. Opportunities will be lost. Admissions to graduate school will be rejected or rescinded.

That's how the world works.

It's all about optics. No one really cares about the truth.

No amount of wishful thinking will change that fact.

Visions of Millie float to the forefront—her soft smiles, her intoxicating kisses, the way our bodies move together as one, and how I've never felt freer than when I'm with her.

My beautiful lark who has just learned how to fly. She has so much to give, many more beautiful songs to sing.

She hasn't seen the world yet or felt the wind beneath her wings.

And my family? My siblings may be a rowdy bunch, but what have they done to deserve to be dragged through the muck with me? They are fulfilling their obligations as unimpeachable offspring of a centuries-old dynasty.

If being an Anderson is such a burden, why would I want the woman I love to suffer the same fate?

How can you be so selfish, Ryland?

I bury my head in my hands, the pangs in my chest more incessant, a thousand knives slicing my heart.

"We still have tomorrow,"Millie's voice whispers in my mind.

Eventually, all tomorrows have to end.