Then again, he’d bet the entire company stock of Ross-Handler Inc. that none of these people, except for the Hamilton family, would have ever given him the time of day. Not that he gave a damn about that, or them, of course. Being left out all throughout childhood had hardened him and turned him into the ruthless businessman he was today, who acquired family companies that failed and took over them without batting an eye. Thanks to them, he never thought twice when he made a deal with the devil, and he always succeeded because he kept a cool, clear head at all times. People like the ones in this room were quick to forget about his past the second he inherited his trust fund, so he was quick to take their money when they offered it. And when the women who used to laugh at him threw themselves at him…
Well, he caught them.
For a night.
These people had taught him a valuable life lesson. Never trust anyone. Never let them close. And most importantly, you’re better off on your own.
No one let you down that way.
He’d grown up in his aunt and uncle’s care, but they’d barely tolerated each other, and they’d hated him…but they loved his money as much as they hated each other, which was saying a hell of a lot.
It was no wonder he didn’t put much stock in marriage and children as an adult. The lawyer who handled his accounts, an old buddy of his father’s, kept pushing him to do his duty and marry so his father’s company didn’t die with him, but he’d rather walk off a damn cliff. He never wanted a wife, or kid, to depend on him for their health and happiness. What if he had family and, God forbid, something happened to him and his fictional wife? Who would care for his child? His aunt and uncle?
Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.
Not in this lifetime.
Besides, marrying someone would require at least a modicum of emotion, and he wasn’t capable of that. Of caring. He liked his life the way it was. Quiet. Isolated.
Safe.
His eyes sought out the few people in his life he’d been able to trust. The only people who loved him. Fed him. Helped him study for finals and for the SATs. All were accounted for—except Anna.
Where had she gone?
She’d been strangely distant all night long, ever since he tried to get her to give him the place card. He still wanted to know what was wrong with the damn thing. It hadn’t been an extra letter. The look of relief on her face when Wyatt ripped the card had been palpable. If they hadn’t been interrupted, he would’ve gotten to the bottom of the mystery, even if he’d had to climb on top of her on the floor…
He tugged on his tie.
The air in the crowded room was stifling and hot, and that weird sensation he kept having when he thought about Anna struck again, making his palms sweat. Fresh air would help clear his head. He always did his best when he was alone on his penthouse roof, but since he was an hour and a half from home…
The Hamilton garden would have to do. He smiled at everyone he passed, still unconsciously scanning the room for Anna. He almost made it outside. Almost.
Eric Hamilton stepped in his path, smiling. “Where are you running off to so fast?”
“Nowhere. I just wanted some fresh air.”
“Where’s Anna?” Eric asked.
Brett raised a brow. “How the hell should I know? I wasn’t with her.”
“Did you notice she still looks at you like you’re a god?”
“No,” Brett said automatically. “I hadn’t noticed at all.”
Liar.
Eric snorted. “Yeah. Sure. Just stay away from her, okay?”
“Who says I wasn’t going to?” Brett gritted his teeth. “But if I wanted to be with Anna, you lurking about in dark hallways wouldn’t stop me…just so you know.”
Eric went stiff. “Is that a confession?”
“No. It’s a fucking statement.” Brett smiled coolly, annoyed but refusing to show it. “Hey, how did it go in court last week? Did you manage to keep your license, or did they revoke it for too many points on your record?”
Eric flushed. “How did you hear about that?”
“I play golf with some guys from the courthouse on Sundays, and they keep me up to date on this stuff.” He rocked back on his heels and tsked. “What were you thinking, doing ninety-five in a sixty-miles-per-hour zone?”
“I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the speedometer,” Eric drawled.
“What did your parents say?” Brett asked, knowing damn well they hadn’t said anything, because they didn’t know.
Eric shifted on his feet. “I’m not a child anymore. I don’t have to worry about what my parents have to say about my driving habits.”