‘The numbers don’t stack up.’ I interrupt my Australian director of operations, fixing him with a level stare. ‘The returns don’t justify the investment.’
‘But we’re seeing strong growth—’
‘Not strong enough.’ I stand, sweeping my gaze around the room, letting my eyes land on each person in attendance. ‘I’m not going to waste my time for numbers like this. Show me a plan for improvement and then I’ll consider it.’ I move towards the door without a backwards glance. I’m bored with meetings. I’m bored with business.
I’m bored with everything except Cora. I pull my phone out to text her right as it starts ringing. My brother—no, not my brother. When will I get used to that? Theo’s face flashes up on the screen. I swipe it to answer.
‘You’re there?’
‘What?’ I’m testy.
‘You’re in Australia.’
I compress my lips, stalking away from the boardroom and into the office I use here in our Sydney headquarters. The trees of Sydney’s Hyde Park are just visible from here, buffered by a few glass buildings between.
I fight an urge to ask Theo what the hell it is to him.
‘So?’
‘I’m glad. Did you see Felicity?’
It takes me a second to realise who he’s talking about. The baby. Jagger and Grace’s child, the little Hart. My eyes sweep shut and my breath chokes a little. What I’ve lost stands before me, a monumental, epic, indisputable pain. Everything I believed myself to be is gone.
I am alone.
No parents. No family. No pink niece with fluffy hair. Just me.
‘Yeah.’
‘And?’
I press my palm into the desk to stop myself from swearing. ‘And what? It’s a baby. What do you expect me to say?’ I try to cover my anger with a laugh but it comes out as derisive.
Theo’s silent. I hate this. I hate hurting him. I know if we were having this conversation face to face he’d be looking at me with pity—the kind of pity I came to resent as a child. He and Jagger were sorry for me then, sorry for how hard Ryan was on me, for how he pushed me not to show my emotions, not to cry when I was hurt, pushed me to ‘man up’. And they’re pitying me again now. But I’m not some kid any more, thrown away by his mother. I’m a grown ass man and I have every right to feel the way I feel.
I shake my head roughly, brushing a hand over my short hair.
‘Are you seeing her again?’ For a moment I think of Cora but he’s talking about Felicity, not my sex life.
‘I hadn’t planned on it.’ I close my eyes and see the little girl, who possessed Jagger’s eyes and nose, and feel the strangeness of my blood and features. I never looked like a Hart, not like Felicity will, and now I know why.
‘For God’s sake, man.’ His breathing is rushed down the phone line. ‘I know what you’ve been through and I’m trying to be sympathetic, but how long is this Holden Hart pity show going to go on for?’
I slam my palm into the desk again, harder this time. There’s no satisfaction in that. No satisfaction in anything except alcohol and sex. Cora.
I grip the phone tighter, staring out at Sydney.
‘I’ve got work to do.’
‘Like you give a shit,’ Theo snaps. ‘You’ve been drinking yourself into oblivion for the better part of a year—’
‘I’ve still been working,’ I bite out because it’s bad enough to have inherited a fortune from Ryan Hart, it’s another to know I have no rightful claim to it. The only solace is that I’m great at what I do, that thanks to me the value of our casino holdings has trebled in the past decade.
‘Fine. I’ll concede that—’
‘That’s big of you.’
‘Just stop being such a pain in the arse.’ He makes a groaning noise. ‘I’m sorry Dad lied to you. I’m sorry your mom lied to you. I’m sorry every fucking person who should have known better didn’t do you the courtesy of telling you who your biological father is. I’m sorry you had to learn the truth from Barrett Byron-Moore—for both him and you.’ I wince as I remember that distinctly uncomfortable conversation with one of our oldest family friends, a guy who’s almost like a fourth Hart brother. ‘But don’t you get it? Ryan chose to raise you. He chose to bring you up as a Hart, and Holden, he loved you, as much as he was capable of loving anyone. More than he loved me, more than he loved Jagger. He chose to love you. How long are you going to torture yourself with this?’