Page 1 of Bound Hearts

1

FOSTER

"It’s all on you, little brother," Patrick mutters, with a sly and smug grin. He’s taunting me. I hate how he gets under my skin. Not that I wish him harm. He’s my older brother, but God, I dread seeing him. The awkward family lunch that we just had proves it.

We’re waiting with our father as his driver pulls up the Rolls-Royce to the valet stand at the country club. The place has high membership fees, and the heating outside is set to high to protect its members from Chicago’s bitter winter chill. Smiling at our dad, we wish him a good weekend. The difference is that my smile is genuine and Patrick’s is overdone.

Luckily, my father ignores him and instead meets my eyes with his intense blue gaze. Douglas Roth is pushing seventy, but he’s still going strong and analyzes his stocks over morning coffee every day.

"Your mother would’ve been proud," he says. "You can influence our future. It's what we want." His words linger.

I scratch my cheek, searching for the right words for the man who taught me work ethic and built model planes with me. Even when I left real estate—the century-old family business—he supported me.

“It was your mother’s wish,” he reminds me.

I’m sure bringing up my mother isn’t intentional blackmail, as we are both fond of the life she led and her commitment to the family. Losing her a few years ago was painful. She had elegance to the end and a whimsical view of the world. She also had dying wishes that she had put in ink, unbeknownst to me until after she passed.

"Have a good weekend, Dad." It's all I can manage.

He nods at my brother and me as his driver opens the back door. Not even five seconds after the car closes, Patrick blows out a low whistle at my predicament. I stare at the car pulling away.

I'm fully aware of what’s coming while in my brother's presence. “And?” That's all I supply back to Patrick without giving him a glance. I’d rather he get to the point.

“Foster.” His arrogance fades into a direct tone. “You might have that fancy CFO position at Haven Crossroads, but don’t forget where your loyalty lies. And without you, Dad will have to sell the family company. The one that for generations has built wealth.”

I turn my head sharply, and my vision is greeted by a smug look on his face. He’s wearing a gray winter coat over his polo and sweater. We’re in our thirties, and although I would say we have a good sense of style with tailor-made suits, there is something about country clubs that makes it irrelevant, and suddenly, we look and feel the preppy image, a throwback to our boarding school days. It’s everything I hate. “Thanks for putting me in this position, I’ll be forever grateful.” My words are steeped with sarcasm.

He cracks a grin. “Listen, I’ve been the black sheep of the family since my twenties, so I’m out as an option to redeem our family reputation.” At least he’s honest and self-aware, but I’m not sure he should take so much pride in it. He slept with the family housekeeper, partied like it was a job, and nearly lost all of his money in a poker game, and the press getting a few scandalous photos was the cherry on the top. It’s his doing that my mom overlooked him in her will. Which meant, my mom had to put me in the clause. Because of him, I’m in this mess. “So that means Roth Real Estate only remains in the family if you follow the terms that our mother set in writing. So get on it.”

The weight of family legacy grates on me. I have zero intention of bringing those terms to life; it feels like a trap. I want the company to survive—just not through these means. I harden my gaze, forcing indifference. With Patrick, letting emotions break the surface is never safe, so I wear my stone mask and refuse him the satisfaction of seeing me react.

He opens his mouth again. “Just think about Dad, the company, the family dynasty, and legacy. Mom. Screw having a wife, Mom made the clause herself that it’s not needed because divorce sometimes happens. A child? You have a son or daughter for life. No greater commitment than that. So we need a kid to magically appear with your eyes. A surrogate, a woman who is all too eager to be a gold-digger. Make it happen. Hell, put a pin in the condoms you use.”

My eyes blaze. “That is a fucked-up thing to say. Especially, because I don’t think you’re even joking.” Everything he says is a reminder of why I can’t stand him. He has little regard for other people.

“If it works.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

I shake my head. "I’m done. I need to get to Everhope." A glance at my watch—if I hurry, I’ll beat rush hour and get there before dark.

“Why the fuck are you going to the middle of nowhere?”

“Because Julian has a weekend place there, and sometimes we need to cleanse shitty family lunches with a quaint small town.” An hour and a half or so away, and I’ll be free from the stress of the week.

At Julian’s, I can relax with friends. He’s the CEO; Hayes is the COO and an old friend; and Easton adds chaos but means well. It’s guys' night, even if Hayes’s romantic crisis promises whiskey.

Hell, I need a bottle of whiskey.

“Well, enjoy the land of corn and probably some guy on a banjo, and remember what needs to be done,” he bites out and walks away, leaving me to ponder for a second and rub my temples in aggravation.

Lunch with my father is normally special. It’s a shame that our bond gets put on hold when family business comes into the conversation.

All because he holds the magical 2% that gives him, my brother, and me a majority of the company, instead of my uncle David with his 49%, and he's intent on merging the company with a big real estate firm focused on modern high-rises. That isn’t us. It runs far away from the whole reason Roth Real Estate even began. The company was built on classic, historic buildings eager for new life. My dad has to forfeit the 2% by the end of next year on my thirty-eighth birthday, leaving us with only 49% of the company, if a certain clause isn’t met.

The one that involves me settling down with a family.

Why did my mom have to pick her favorite number as thirty-eight? And decide suddenly the traditional idea that a kid is going to be the key to happiness and business viability? Both of those reasons have led me to this very moment in time.

My mood dampens when I think about letting down a father who’s been a giant in both business and family—someone I’m proud to call mine. Worse still is the idea of tarnishing the memory of my mother, who set impossible standards by simply loving us. Disappointment is inevitable, and I can’t shake that heaviness.