Chapter 6
Connor
The elevator climbs toward the forty-second floor of Walsh International Holdings, my family’s empire. Been coming here since I was little, always expected to smile and play the perfect heir.
Today, I'm about to blow it all to hell.
Henneman is pressed against the wall, probably wishing he were anywhere but here. His cheap navy suit doesn’t hide the way his shoulders bunch, the way his throat works when he swallows.
He disappeared again last night. Came back early this morning with shadows under his eyes dark enough to be bruises. Wherever the fuck he went, he didn't sleep.
At least I was productive, placing a hidden camera in the room while he was gone. Can’t afford another surprise, another miscalculation. I need to know what I’m working with.
“You look like you’re heading to your own execution.” My voice comes out flat, bored even.
He lets out a breath. “Feels like it.”
“Remember what we discussed.” I step in front of him and straighten his tie. “Smile. Hold my hand when I reach for yours. Don’t speak unless someone asks you a direct question.”
His amber eyes meet mine. “And if I can't?”
“You will. Because I own your future.”
He nods.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. We step out onto the marble landing, where I take a moment to check my appearance in one of the mirrors lining the wall. Charcoal gray suit, white shirt, bright green socks with large green pickles all over—a silent fuck you to my father.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.” Henneman’s voice is barely a whisper.
We walk down the hallway toward one of the large corporate boardrooms, which is being used for today's press conference. Walsh International Holdings and Callahan Group banners hang behind the mahogany podium. Journalists mill around with cameras and notebooks. They’re here for the merger announcement that’s supposed to crown my father and Patrick Callahan as kings of North American sports media.
They're going to get a show. Just not the one they're expecting.
Security is stationed at strategic points. Some faces I recognize, most I don't. My father tends to fire people for breathing wrong, so turnover is constant.
The Callahans are up front. Patrick Callahan commands the room the same way my father does—silver hair that’s been freshly cut, expensive suit tailored to perfection, presence that demands attention. His wife hovers beside him.
And then there's Veronica.
She's stunning in that sky blue dress that hugs her athletic frame, her dark hair pulled back in a sleek chignon. Every inch the perfectly poised corporate princess. Her smile falters when she sees Henneman beside me.
Behind her, almost hidden in her shadow, stands her younger brother. Ben is on his phone, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He’s more like a stray cat than a Callahan.
A reporter steps too close to Ben. Veronica shifts, her body blocking him, upper lip twitching. She's always been overprotective of her brother.
“Connor.” My father approaches, eyes already narrowed. “You brought company?”
I shrug, nonchalant. “One of my teammates.”
Henneman's shoulders tense, but he manages to nod.
My father doesn’t return it, doesn’t even slow down. “Try not to embarrass the family.”
His gaze drops to my feet as he walks past us toward the podium, and a muscle near his jaw twitches.
I smirk and pretend to scratch my leg to lift the hem of my pants. Maybe my socks will make the evening news.
“If we could take our places?” Patrick Callahan's voice booms across the room, and the crowd begins to settle.
My father takes the podium first, launching into a prepared speech about strategic alliances and market dominance. The usual corporate bullshit that makes stockholders salivate.
“Today marks a new chapter for both Walsh International Holdings and The Callahan Group. Together, we will reshape the landscape of North American sports media.” My father’s gaze finds mine. “But it’s a merger in more ways than one.”
Game time.
I reach for Henneman's hand. He flinches but lets me claim it. Our fingers intertwine, his clammy palm pressing against mine.
“It is my great pleasure to announce the engagement of my son Connor—”
“Not engagement. Henneman and I couldn’t wait any longer. You all know how it is with wedding planning.” I face the reporters and wink.
They chuckle and flashes go off. Henneman’s grip is crushing, every breath loud as I lead him toward the podium.
“We actually eloped last week.” I turn to Henneman. His eyes are wide, skin pale. I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Time to kiss for the cameras.”
“Connor, I—”
I press my mouth against his, silencing him. His lips tremble against mine as he lets out a pathetic whimper. Once the cameras get their shot, I pull away and smile at the reporters. “Sorry, everyone. My husband’s shy.”
Henneman ducks his head, cheeks and ears bright red.
Perfect.
My mother’s face drains of color. My father shows nothing at all. And Patrick Callahan looks ready to choke on his own tongue.
I smile wider.
Fuck them.
Henneman’s hand is shaking in mine. I let go, moving mine to the small of his back, steering him away from the podium as the press conference resumes. He looks like he might collapse, but I won’t let him.
When the conference ends, my parents storm out. A moment later, the security guard who nodded earlier walks up to me. “If you would come with me, sir.”
Henneman shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck. “I need to, uh, use the restroom.”
“Mr. Walsh wants to speak to his son only. You can meet him here when they’re done,” the security agent says, voice flat.
The man walks me down the hallway to a small conference room, blinds half-closed. My parents wait inside, looking murderous. I enter the room, hands in my pockets.
“Mr. Blake, see that we’re not disturbed,” my father says.
“Yes, sir.”
The door closes, and my father drops all pretense. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”
I straighten to my full height, meeting his glare. “Taking control of my life.”
My mother sneers, crossing her arms. “So you married that nobody?”
“Is that what bothers you so much, Mother?”
She cringes, hating the term, which is why I used it.
“You put this business in jeopardy. For what, a silly tantrum?” My father’s voice booms. “You agreed to marry Veronica.”
“I lied.”
The muscle near my father’s eye tics, then he closes the distance between us, the back of his hand cracking across my face. My head snaps sideways, teeth cutting into my lip. Blood fills my mouth, a sharp ache spreading across my cheek and jaw.
Through the partially open blinds, I see Henneman in the hallway. He’s staring at me, eyes wide and mouth agape.
He saw.
Fuck.
He moves toward the door. But Blake cuts him off, standing too close. Way too close.
My nostrils flare, fists clenching. That security fuck better move.
Now.
But Henneman falters, retreating slowly until he’s out of sight.
I spit blood onto the expensive carpet and shift my attention back to my father. “Nice hit. Been a while.”
My mother clicks her tongue, eyes narrowed. “You're an embarrassment to this family.”
“Maybe you should’ve swallowed.”
Her eyes narrow even further. “Trust me, that’s exactly what I would’ve preferred.”
“Enough!” My father slams his hand on the table. “We need to resolve this problem we have now.”
I quirk a brow. “Problem? You mean that I didn’t marry Veronica. Or that I married a man?”
My mother rolls her eyes. “If you prefer men, Benedict could’ve replaced Veronica. But you said nothing. Made us look like fools.”
“I’m not your fucking pawn.”
“You are whatever we say you are, and you do whatever we tell you.” She jabs a finger at me, each motion punctuating her usual contempt for my existence. “So, get this marriage annulled immediately.”
I laugh. “Good luck with that.”
“Keep pushing and you’ll find out just how little power you have. I still control the majority of your trust, your future, everything you think you own.” My father’s tone is cold, calculating.
Before I can respond, the door opens and Blake steps inside. “Mr. Walsh, the Callahans are requesting to speak with you.”
My father smooths his tie and jacket, the calm mask slipping back into place. “We'll finish this later.”
“Looking forward to it.”
At the door, I get in the security fuck’s face until we’re nose-to-nose. “Get too close to my husband again and I’ll break your fucking fingers.”
“Connor.” My father’s voice is deep, threatening.
“Just making sure your help understands not to touch what’s mine.”
I walk into the hallway, lip throbbing and cheek aching. But, for the first time, I’m smiling for real. Even as fresh blood seeps into my mouth.
Until Henneman's face flashes in my mind—his wide amber eyes staring at me through the blinds.
Goddammit.
No one’s ever supposed to see weakness from me, especially not him.
I exhale hard and roll my neck, then crack my knuckles. The elevator better fucking be there.
Behind me, my parents' muffled voices echo into the hallway. Damage control, most likely.
Fuck them.
I press my tongue to the split again until it hurts. The pain is mine. The blood is mine.
The choice to blow up their merger was mine.
Now comes the price.