Hunter
“For the last time, Eric, the company isn’t going under,” I snapped. “The handover will be
smooth and there will be no hiccups. Can you please just listen to me instead of the bullshit
you’ve been fed from an outside source?”
“They seemed credible, though,” Eric said, his lilting southern accent starting to grate on me.
I glanced at the phone to see how long I’d been on the call—over forty minutes. I still had so
many people to call, so many more minds to change, and yet Eric fucking Aster had to test my
patience after a morning spent putting out fires just like this one.
I tried not to think about how this was likely the fault of my legal wife. The light flashed on my
office phone, indicating a call waiting. “Give me one second, Eric. I’ve got another call.” I didn’t
wait for his approval before I moved over to line two, fully expecting it to be another angry client
that I’d need to put on hold. “Hunter Harris speaking.”
“Can you come down to meeting room three?” The voice on the phone was one I’d heard a
million times in my life, but never with that tone of voice. “Why? What’s up, Fred?”
“Dad’s called a shareholder meeting. I don’t know what’s happening.” Shit. I couldn’t
remember the last time we’d had a shareholder meeting, two years ago, maybe? This was
either incredibly positive or horrendously negative. “Alright. Give me ten.”
“We need you here now.” For fucks sake.
My phone rang for the eighteenth time as I walked down the hall toward meeting room three.
Irritated and stressed, I answered without checking the number.
“Hello?” “Hunter, do you have a moment to speak about the Keelings Group purchasing the
Harris Agricultural Empire? I’d like to take a statement for The Denver Post.”
I stopped in front of the frosted glass door, my suit suddenly feeling too tight around my
body. They were the same ones that had released an article about my relationship with Lottie
being an arrangement. Sure, they’d been correct, but I had half a mind to fucking sue them for
it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“R eportedly they’ll be taking on your debt.” “That’s not happening. No comment. Get rid of
my fucking phone number.” I hit the end call button before they could spit a response at me. I
didn’t have the patience for this right now, not with whatever chaos was going on behind the
conference room door.
My stomach churned at the idea that maybe the call was telling me exactly what I’d be
walking into. With my hand on the door handle, I actually considered suing them for printing a
false r eport, that and the article about Lottie.
It still made me sick to think about how everything had gone down with her.
The door clicked as I pushed it open. My father sat at the head of the table, his dark gray suit
neatly pressed and complementing the gray in his hair, his eyebrows, and the bit of stubble on
his cheeks. His lips twitched up at the corners as the room went silent, every other man and
woman in suits around the table turning their heads to me.
“Hunter,” Dad said, his hand outstretched, motioning to the empty seat at the other end of
the long table, directly opposite him. “Please, sit down.”
My brother sat next to the empty chair, his mouth pressed together in a thin line as he stared
straight down at the wooden table. What the fuck is happening?
I st epped toward the other end of the table and pulled out the black leather office chair.
“Dad—”
“Sit down,” he said again, more sternly. Stomach acid cr ept 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 r eplacing 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
rec eption 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 acc epting 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
ke eping 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 de ep 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
st epped 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.” “We’re not trying to take you down,” he blurted, his words coming out
almost too fast for me to make sense of them.
I stared at him. What the fuck does that mean? Wesley took a de ep breath, his potbelly
bulging. “We don’t have anything to do with this. My son has been acting on his own. I know
what we do is unconventional and unsavory, but we would never target the Harris Agricultural
Empire. It’s far too large.”
Jared’s been acting on his own. Shit.