Page 122 of Collide
What?
My mind tries to reconcile the man standing at the podium with the one I thought I knew. I pegged Broderick as a corporate finance guy, the type who closed million-dollar deals over whiskey and handshakes—practical, sharp, maybe a little ruthless.
But this? This is unexpected.
“Goodman Enterprises is known for building cities, infrastructure, but initiatives like this are what really matter. A house isn’t just walls and a roof; it’s safety, dignity, a future, and not everyone is that fortunate. And if we have the power to change that, how can we not?” he continues, his beautiful eyes sparkling with passion.
He speaks with a quiet conviction, no arrogance, no bravado—just a certainty that what he’s doingmatters.And the way the room hangs on his every word, I realize I’m not the only one seeing him in a new light.
“So tonight, I’m personally pledging five hundred thousand dollars to this initiative, not as an investment, but as a promise. I’m hoping there are some generous pockets here tonight who will match or even surpass my donation. And together, we can make sure more people get to claim that right.”
I swallow; my pulse steady, but my thoughts racing. Maybe I underestimated him. Maybe there’s a side of Broderick I never thought to look for. Sure, he’s rich, but maybe he’s got a genuine heart under all that money and privilege.
And now, I can’t stop looking. Even though I should.
“Thank you,” he says finally, his eyes glancing out at the crowd before catching mine. I drop my gaze immediately as my heart starts to rush in my chest.
“Wow,” Riley whispers in my ear, and I know I’m in trouble.
As the formalities conclude, the time comes for me to take the stage and officially open the dance floor. The lights soften, casting a golden glow over the ballroom as I settle onto the piano bench, my fingers grazing the cool ivory keys. A hush falls over the crowd, anticipation humming in the air.
With a deep breath, I begin to play, my voice threading through the space in a soft, aching ballad—something slow, something meant to be felt.
As I sing, my gaze drifts across the dance floor. My father holds Carole close, the two of them swaying intimately, their smiles warm and genuine. It’s strange, seeing him this way—content, at ease. It isn’t the version of him I grew up knowing, but it’s one I’m slowly coming to understand. Philippa and Andrew dance nearby, their movements graceful and easy, the kind that comes with knowing and loving someone for years.
And then there’s Broderick.
He stands off to the side with Riley, their heads bent close, deep in conversation. The flickering candlelight plays against the sharp lines of his jaw, the way he nods, the glances he steals in my direction. Riley says something, smirking, and his gaze lingers on me a beat longer than expected.
Are they’re talking about me?
I can see it in the way Riley’s eyes twinkle with mischief, in the way Broderick’s expression shifts—curious, thoughtful, unreadable. I try to focus on the song, on the delicate notes beneath my fingertips, but I can’t shake the feeling that, in this moment, I’m being seen in a way I’m not sure I’m ready for.
And yet, I keep singing.
As the evening wears on, I find myself caught in more fleeting glances with Broderick. I try to look away, pretend I don’t feel it, but the pull is undeniable. There is something different in theway he looks at me tonight—something unreadable, something waiting. It’s nothing. Probably the lighting. Or the wine.
Eventually, he crosses the room, closing the distance with casual ease.
“You planning to ignore me all night?” he asks.
I glance up at him through my lashes, heart thudding like a baseline I can’t control . “I’m not ignoring you.”
He leans in, his breath brushing warm against my neck. “Prove it.”
Every muscle in my body tightens. My thighs clench.
Fuck.
I clear my throat and take a slow sip of champagne as he straightens again, far too composed.
“Dance with me?” he asks, extending a hand like it’s already settled.
I pause, eyes drifting from his hand to that maddeningly smug face. Broderick’s eyes sparkle beneath the twinkling lights, dimples deepening with that grin he knows damn well is dangerous.
I shouldn’t.
He tilts his head, all charm and challenge—and just like that, my willpower wavers. Who the hell says no tothatface?
