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“I guess I will,” Trace said, leaning back into his chair. “Having Margulis Realty as a banner brand would be…intriguing.”
“See? You like where I’m heading with this. I’ll fill in Damian soon. We’ll all be one big happy fucking family soon enough. With the Margulis side of the family kicked to the curb, of course. Because Cora and I are done. Would I try to capsize her entire livelihood if I believed in her?” I held out my hands, as though this was the last remaining piece of the irrefutable evidence puzzle.
“All right, brother,” Trace finally conceded, dropping the judgmental brow of doom. “I believe you. You and Cora are capital D-O-N-E. I’ll conduct all further meetings via phone or video call.”
“Great. Well, back to work.” I clapped my hands on my knees, ready to resume my previous life, the one I’d maintained just fine for the past eight years, without Cora in it, no sight of her, no mention of her fucking family, none of it.
The building deal just needed to close, and I’d be on my merry way to quietly ruining Allan’s empire.
Before I could take a step away from the chair, a knock sounded on the door.
“It’s Francis,” Francis said, his voice muffled through the door. “Can I come in? It’s urgent.”
“Yeah, it’s open,” Trace called. I smoothed down the front of my pants and adjusted my cuffs as Francis stepped inside the office, worry etched across his face.
“I have some news,” Francis said, nibbling on his bottom lip. “And it’s not good. The Margulis camp called.” He paused, grimacing, as he looked between Trace and me. “They rejected your offer.”
CHAPTER SIX
CORA
“Hold it…hold it…hooooold it.” The bright and encouraging voice of my private Pilates instructor, Jazz, was the only thing breaking through the burn of my abs. “Jazz” wasn’t just a quirky name; it was necessary for this grueling shit. She needed to jazz me up, or I’d never make it through. I grimaced, my entire body shaking as I struggled to hold the pike position for what felt like the hundredth minute straight.
“You’re doing so good! You got it, Cora! Woooow!” She slapped my biceps, which were also shaking. “Look at your alignment! This is incredible.”
“Hnnnggh.” I tried to respond, but the burn made it impossible. All I could see was the flashing clock behind her. Ten seconds left. Which equated to an eternity in Pilates Land.
“Almost there. Almost there!” My legs started to drop at the five second mark. “Nope! Hold it!” I righted my posture, and a couple seconds later the time went off. I collapsed to the mat like a deflated balloon.
“Pheeew, girl. That mademeburn just watching you.” Jazz chuckled as she walked around my living room, picking up equipment. I’d called an emergency session today and come straight to my condo from the Fairchild building, ready to sweat the pain away.
I needed some kind of release after that tense face-to-face with Axel in his office. If he wasn’t going to fuck me—which would be the best route to dissolving all this tension I carried in my body—then it needed to be this masochistic exercise.
“Thanks for this,” I said, gesturing weakly at my limp body and the props she had in her arms. “I needed it.”
“No sweat. Or in your case, lots of sweat.” Jazz chuckled. Her perfectly toned and tanned body glinted in the late afternoon sunlight streaming in through the wall of windows in my high-ceilinged living room. Six-pack abs winked at me as she bent down to collect the foam roller. She always came in the cutest sports bras and sleekest leggings. It was probably a law for in-home Pilates instructors to represent their physical strength during working hours.
“Think I’ll have a six pack like yours someday?” I hauled myself to sitting, pinching at the belly flab that appeared.
“Only if you want it.” She winked over at me. “What do you want?”
The question landed more heavily than she probably intended. I sighed, my gaze drifting toward the windows. The tops of the maples across the street in Central Park moved gently outside my window. The first thing that streaked through my mind was embarrassingly unachievable.I want out of here, and I want Axel Fairchild.
But no. I needed to be more realistic. We were only talking about six packs.
“I think I want you to come back tomorrow,” I said with a laugh as she offered me a hand. I popped to standing, grabbing for my water bottle on the end table. “There are a few things I want to keep off my mind. And this is just the ticket.”
Jazz giggled. “It’s hard to think about what bothers you when you’re planking for an hour.”
While we went over possible times to meet up the following day, my front door clicked and slowly swung open.
Through the archway, I saw Eli strut into the main hallway, his face partially obscured by an enormous bouquet of white roses.
“Where is my gorgeous wife?” he called out, his voice echoing slightly.
I sighed, avoiding Jazz’s gaze. He knew exactly where we were. He was just putting on a show for the visitor. “We’re in here.”
Eli’s footsteps scuffed across the wood floor as he headed our way. His smile was ear to ear as he presented me with the bouquet, as if this was the first time any man in history had thought of such a thing. “These arefor you.”
