And just for the record, I’d never consumed human flesh in my life. It was too lean, too unsanitary, and entirely too uncommon.

Mentally tapping my foot until takeoff, I cracked my knuckles.

Once we were in the air, I stood and walked around, making notes on the contract with a red Sharpie.

When I returned to my seat, it was taken.

Not just taken but taken by my archenemy.

The man I’d expected to resurface from the shadows the minute I’d been appointed CEO of Royal Pipelines. Frankly, I was surprised it had taken him so long.

“Arrowsmith. What a terrible surprise.”

He looked up, beaming back at me.

Andrew Arrowsmith was a good-looking bastard, in a local news anchor sort of way. Identikit haircut, bleached white teeth, each the size of a brick, tall frame, and what I was seventy percent sure was a chin dimple transplant. Once upon a time, he was in my social sphere. These days, all we shared was a rivalry going back to our time at Evon.

We both attended the same schools until we didn’t. Until his family went bankrupt, and he fell off the social ladder, so low he entered another dimension, full of trailer parks and canned food.

“Cillian. Thought it might be you.” He stood, offering me his hand. When I made no move to take it, he withdrew, running the same hand over his Keith Urban hair.

I hadn’t seen the man in over two decades and was perfectly content to spend the rest of my life forgetting his pretty boy face.

“Tough crowd. My family.” He gestured to the row of seats behind me, where a bleach-haired woman in full Lululemon attire practiced deep breaths to save herself from a mental breakdown, two snotty kids on her lap, at each other’s throats. “This is Joelle, my wife, and my twin boys, Tree and Tinder.”

It didn’t escape me that Andrew, who was the same age as me, had a wife and kids. The invisible noose was tightening around my neck.

I could lose my job.

My inheritance.

My golden, grand vision.

I needed to start reproducing, and fast.

“Who picked their names?” I jerked my chin toward the little monsters.

Joelle perked up, waving a hand as though I asked who found the cure for cancer.

“Moi. Aren’t they darling?”

The names or the children? Both were awful, but only the names were her fault. I turned back to Andrew, ignoring his wife’s question. I never lied. Lying would imply I gave a damn what people thought.

“Heading back to Southie?” I inquired. Last I checked, he lived in the worst part of Boston where his family barely made ends meet, thanks to mine.

Clearly, his fortunes had changed if he was flying first class these days.

“You’d be surprised to hear I am.” He grinned big, his chest swelling with pride. “Bought a house there last month. I’m getting back to my roots. To where I came from.”

He came from Back Bay, the rich pricks’ area, but I didn’t give him the pleasure of showing him I remembered.

“Just took a job with Green Living. You’re looking at their newest chief executive officer.”

Green Living was a nonprofit environmental organization that was seen as Greenpeace’s more violent, more daring sibling. There weren’t many companies that hated Royal Pipelines more than Green Living did, and there weren’t many men who loathed me as much as Andrew Arrowsmith.

This, in and of itself, wasn’t news. I could count on one hand the people who knew me and didn’t actively dislike me. What made Andrew dangerous was that he knew my secret.

The one thing I’d kept safely locked away since boarding school.

Since Evon.

Now that was a game changer.

“That’s cute,” I said dryly. “Do they know you’re about as competent as a napkin?”

That wasn’t true. I’d kept tabs on him over the years and knew that not only was he a successful attorney with a flair for ecology and environmental issues, but that he was also the morning shows and CNN darling. Every time climate change popped into the news, he was there with a microphone, either leading a mass demonstration, chaining himself to a goddamn tree, or talking about it on prime-time TV.

Andrew had interfered with Royal Pipelines’ business many times along his career. He bullied advertising companies from working with us, had a gaming company drop their partnership with us, and wrote a best-selling book about petroleum lords, essentially blaming companies like mine for giving people cancer.

He had fans, groupies, and Facebook groups dedicated to him, and I wouldn’t be surprised to know there was a dildo with his face on it.

“Oh, they know my capabilities, Fitzpatrick.” He plucked a flute of champagne from a stewardess’s tray. “Let’s not pretend we haven’t been keeping tabs on each other. You know my credentials. My victories. My agenda. I let my principles guide me just like my old man.”

His old man had been fired by my old man when we were both boys, thrusting the Arrowsmith family into a life of poverty. Before that, our families had been close, and Andrew and I had been best friends. The Arrowsmiths never forgave the Fitzpatricks for the betrayal even though Athair had a solid reason to fire Andrew Senior—the accountant had dipped his hand into the company’s honey jar.

“How’s your old man doing?” I asked.

“He passed away three years ago.”

“Not terribly good then.”

“I see being an asshole still runs in your blood.” He downed the champagne.

“Can’t fight my DNA,” I said bluntly. “Now, people who are out for my blood are another thing. I can fight them tooth and nail.”

“How ’bout Gerald? Still hanging in there?” Andrew ignored my thinly veiled threat.

“You know Gerry. He can survive anything short of a nuclear blast.”

“Speaking of soon-to-be dead things, I hear Daddy gave you the keys to Royal Pipelines since he had to step down because of… what was it?” He snapped his fingers, frowning. “Type 2 diabetes? Gluttony always ran in your family. How is he handling his health issues?”

“Wiping his tears with hundred-dollar bills.” I let loose a wolfish smirk. Arrowsmith tried to offend my delicate sensibilities, forgetting I had none.

We were still standing in the aisle when the new reality settled in, trickling into my bloodstream like poison.

Marrying was no longer an option.

It was a necessity to secure my position as Royal Pipelines CEO.

Andrew Arrowsmith was headed back to Boston to bring me down, taking over a company that put ruining Royal Pipelines on its flag.

He had leverage, an appetite for revenge, and was privy to my darkest secret.

I wasn’t losing the company, and I definitely wasn’t losing my wealth to Hunter and Aisling’s future kids.

“Are you going to skip to the good part, Andrew?” I made a show of yawning.

“No part of me believes we bumped into each other accidentally.”

“Always such a straight shooter.” Andrew leaned forward, dropping his voice low as he went in for the kill. “I may or may not have taken the job to settle an old score. The minute I heard you were on the throne, the temptation to behead the king became too much.” His breath fanned the side of my face. “Killing you and your father financially would be easy. With Gerald weak and out of the loop, and you vulnerable after years of bad press, I am going for your throat, Fitzpatrick. The media darling versus the press villain. Let the best man win.”