to make a good impression.
Trying to save face, I said good morning, and my voice came out shaky and nervous because I was intimidated by him. He just stared at me, his eyebrows drawing closer together as I spoke. His jaw clenched. His eyes slimmed to slits. He’s been a dick to me ever since, and I’ve hated my job more and more each day, for years.
Still, my feet carry me forward. I put on my brave face and nod to the workers gathered at the front desk. They shoot me smiles that are tainted with sympathy. They know what my job is and whom I work for. They return to their conversations, happy in the knowledge that they’re not me.
I head for the elevator. There’s no one else waiting—everyone here thinks they get bonus points for taking the stairs. But not me. Not when I’m thirty-two stories up, on the top floor. In the executive suite, with the owner and CEO. The big cheese. Top dog. Head honcho. Biggest asshole, aka Man of Stone.
Well, at least William isn’t waiting for the elevator today. If he calmly pushes the close button one more time when he sees me approaching the elevator, running like crazy to make it on time, I just might kill him.
The top floor is relatively quiet. All of the most important people get stuck up here, and if they know what’s good for them, they stay as quiet as possible. William hates to be disturbed. It makes it all the more tempting to create a disturbance, but I head to my office silently, not in the mood to cause trouble. I settle in my room, which is essentially a glass box. I’ve gotten used to my sleek computer, my ultramodern desk and my breathtaking view of Chicago. In any other job, I’d probably appreciate these perks. But now it’s just a reminder that I’m stuck here for the next eight hours.
As I settle in, I notice that William isn’t around. He’s the kind of person who turns up early to work for no good reason. It’s probably because he has no social life—he’s a lone wolf, according to my mother, but to me that translates as he’s an asshole with no friends. Despite the lackeys who follow him around everywhere, I know he doesn’t have any real friends. After all, I control his calendar for personal appointments, and in truth there aren’t many.
But where is he today? Not being early is like being late for him. Until he arrives there’s little I can do, so I meander to the coffee machine and make a cup for myself. As the machine is churning up coffee beans, the elevator dings and William appears.
I’ll admit, something about his presence always knocks the breath from me. He stalks forward, with three people following in his wake. His hair is perfectly slicked, his stubble trimmed close to his sharp jaw. His eyes are a shocking blue. I can picture him now on the front cover of Business Insider, his piercing eyes radiating confidence from the page. But today his eyes are clouded by anger.
He spots me waiting at the coffee machine. The whole office is watching as he stalks toward me with a bunch of papers in his arms. His colleagues struggle to keep up, and I discard my coffee, suddenly fearful of his glare. Did I do something wrong?
“Good morning, Mr. Walker—”
“Ah, but it’s not really a good morning, is it, India,” he growls.
He shoves the papers into my arms and I almost topple over in surprise. “I need you to sort out this paperwork mess and I don’t want to hear another word from you until it’s done.” When he stalks away without so much as a smile, I notice I’ve been holding my breath.
And this is why, despite his beauty, despite his money, despite his drive, I can’t stand the man.
William
Ever recognized a mistake the second you made it? I do all of the time. Most recently, several seconds ago, when I was rude to my assistant. The second I shoved the pile of paperwork into her hands, I knew I was being harsh. When I walked away without acknowledging my mistake, I knew I was unforgiveable.
But who cares, right? This is me now. I stalk away with my head held high, and no one is shocked or disappointed. This is what the people working for me expect. I cut through the BS and it’s served me well for years. It’s become the norm. I’ve made my bed and now I lie in it.
It’s just the way things are.
I head to my office and shut the door before anyone can follow me inside. I need to be alone, but it’s hard when this entire building is made of glass. My father suggested the design when I was busy building Walker Industries from the ground up. I didn’t care about aesthetics at the time, so I went along with it. My father claimed it would promote a healthy work environment. He said that my employees would see me as accessible if they could view me at work in my office. Instead it makes me feel like I’m in a giant fishbowl, being judged left, right and center.
I sit down at my desk with an inaudible sigh, hoping I don’t seem as stressed as I am. When I glance to my left, India has retreated to her office to deal with the paperwork I’ve given her. She glances my way and gives me a fake smile before sitting down and angling her chair away from me.
India is the only one who is clear about how much she dislikes me. I don’t know if she intends to show her disgust, but it’s written all over her face whenever we interact. It’s kind of a relief, in some ways. No one else has the guts to do anything but accept my behavior with grim determination. India might not say anything, but I know exactly what she’s thinking.
William Walker is a total bastard.
I sit at my desk for a long time without doing anything. I can’t think straight. Not after the news I received this morning. My little brother, Kit, the screwup of the family, welcomed a child into the world a few months ago, which was hard enough to accept. As if it wasn’t enough that he’s got the perfect wife. Now the new feature he’s released at Cupid’s Arrow, my father’s company and now the world’s leading dating app, has earned Kit billionaire status. Which makes us equals in terms of our careers, despite how many more years I’ve put into Walker Industries than he has at Cupid’s Arrow.
I can’t figure out why I care. Maybe it’s because I was always the successful one. Maybe it’s because I’ve always taken some kind of pleasure in being compared to Kit. His mistakes only ever made me look better. Now all that’s changed. Now we’re on equal footing and I can’t quite figure out how to handle that.
I’m selfish. How can I not find it in me to be proud of my brother, who has finally picked himself up out of the gutter and made something of himself? And then it clicks. He’s managed to do everything I’ve done. He’s done it quicker than I ever did. And he’s come out the other end with everything I’ve ever wanted. Power. Status. Money.
Even his wife he met through working together at Cupid’s Arrow. Now he has everything, including the perfect family.
Family.
It’s the thing I’ve always craved above all else. My father and I have never been particularly close. He’s British, as is Kit. Kit and I are brothers from different mothers. Mine is American and cultured. Kit’s is British and a total mess. My father transplanted here when he met my mother, but he met Kit’s mother on a fling when he was visiting family in Britain. Two divorces later, my father stayed in the US to raise Kit and me. My father and I...we spend a lot of time together, but it’s a kind of business arrangement when I think about it. We talk about the company, we talk about money and shares and expenditures, and then we shake hands and go our separate ways.
He
