I grunted goodbye to Elise and moved back into my office, shutting the door. I was done for the day, even though I often worked late. I didn’t examine why I suddenly wanted to rush home at 5 p.m. every day. Probably to see Huey, because he seemed to grow bigger and bigger every time I looked at him.

It definitely didn’t have anything to do with his pretty guardian. Or the fact she’d been so damn sad today in that park. I’d wanted to destroy that old bitch who’d made Nova cry. It had been an urge so visceral; it had poured through my veins like acid. That in itself scared me. I knew Rigby thought I was aloof—he always teased me about being the tin man—but it was only because if I didn’t keep a firm control of my emotions, I knew where they could lead me.

I still had nightmares about the things that had happened when my father lost control of his emotions. When he was strung out and in his psychosis if he couldn’t get a fix. I couldn’t blame the drugs, though; my earliest memories were of him screaming at me.

I wouldn’t walk in my father’s footsteps. I’d keep it under control. Which meant it was best if I felt nothing at all.

I nodded to my personal assistant, a financial aid kid who’d done an MBA and who would’ve been paying off his debts for the next thirty years if it weren’t for this job. I wasn’t giving him a free ride; he worked fucking hard for the six-figure salary I gave him. But I also knew he had a mom and three younger sisters that he helped support and put through college. I liked him.

Taking the elevator down to the parking garage, I breathed a sigh of relief that no one hopped in with me. If I had to pretend to write emails to avoid small talk, I would, and my reputation as a hard-hearted ice monster really didn’t need much more evidence.

Pulling my Porsche keys from my pocket, I folded my body into the seat. Most CEOs at my level had a driver, but honestly, I couldn’t stand the idea of giving up control to another person. I drove my sports cars so everyone just thought I was vain, and no one ever questioned me. Not that I didn’t like my classic Carrera 911, but I wasn’t the Car Guy everyone seemed to think I was.

Pulling out of the parking garage, I navigated through the peak hour traffic with growing annoyance. It gave me too much time to think. Normally, I would’ve thought about work, or it used to be about Alana and Huey, or River’s pesky knee injury, or a hard hit one of the guys had taken that week.