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Stomach acid crept up my esophagus, burning my chest. I swallowed, hoping to quell some of it, and dropped into the chair. This was going one of two ways.
Dad nodded to himself before he leaned back in his chair. “Now that everyone’s here, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you all for coming at such short notice and supporting me throughout my years spearheading this company.”
No. Shit, was the press right?
“You’ve all been incredibly patient while we’ve figured out the particulars of replacing me as CEO. Obviously, with the chaos of the Keelings Group, things haven’t gone as smoothly as I had hoped,” Dad continued. I clutched at the open sides of my suit jacket, trying to calm my twisting stomach. You haven’t failed. There’s no way we’d fold so easily. “I appreciate each of you greatly, and I genuinely hope that you’ll continue your support for the Harris Agricultural Empire as I pass the reins to my son.”
My father’s hand extended again in the same direction—toward me.
“Hunter, would you like to say a few words?”
I wasn’t sure what would come out of my mouth first—my lunch or words. Fred glanced at me, his fingers twitching on top of the table. “You should be happy,” he said quietly.
I should.
Why wasn’t I?
This was what I wanted; long before Dad had announced his retirement, ever since I started working for him full-time. I’d abandoned what I’d originally thought I wanted, and running the company was my sole focus now. But the one person who had helped me get to this point more than anyone was potentially a traitor and hadn’t spoken more than a handful of sentences to me since our wedding.
Nothing felt right.
I swallowed the bile in my throat and plastered a smile on my face. “Thank you,” I said, my voice hoarser than I expected. “I will do my utmost best to ensure this is a smooth transition for everyone, and that I’ll be as good of a leader as my father.”
————
Dom Pérignon flowed and celebrations were in full swing for the new CEO. As I stood in the reception room, champagne flute in hand, watching staff members carrying in trays of seafood and hors d’oeuvres, I couldn’t help but feel unsatisfied.
I worked the room the way I was expected to. Shaking hands, exchanging words, talking about my vision for the company, and accepting congratulations on my recent wedding. I wished more than anything that the grin I held was real, but with the chaos going on in my life, the looming suspicion of my wife not being truthful and having access to the now CEO, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed.
Surely, technology had advanced enough that there was someone who could invent a time machine for me, right?
“I’m going to be honest with you,” Alice, one of the largest shareholders, said to me as she sipped at her champagne. Her grin was shit-eating, laughably large. “I was hoping it would be you. Your brother might be older, but you’re definitely the better option.”
I faked a chuckle. “Thanks, I think.”
“Definitely the better-looking one, too.” Her smile morphed into a smirk as her hand lightly grazed mine. Will I ever stop feeling nauseous?
“I’m married,” I deadpanned.
“That doesn’t have to mean anything.” She pushed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. Any other day, any other time, if Lottie wasn’t in the picture, I’d likely have taken her up on her offer. “We all know how it is. We’ve all done our fair share of keeping our mouths shut.”
A tap on my shoulder pulled me from the uncomfortable situation. I turned, locking eyes with one of my assistants. “You have a visitor,” Ethan said quietly.
“Who?”
“It’s, uh, Wesley Keelings.”
————
The door to my office nearly fell off its hinges as I pushed it open. “Get out,” I growled, the words coming from deep in my gut. I stared down at Jared’s father, the head of the Keelings Group. He was a short man, plump, with a sheen of sweat coating his forehead despite my thermostat sitting at a cool sixty-five.
“We need to talk,” Wesley sighed.
“What part of get out do you not understand?” I snapped. I stepped to the side, leaving the doorway wide open, and motioned toward it. “I do not want to talk to you, or your son, or any of your goddamn employees.”
“Hunter—”
“Leave.”
