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“We’re good. It’s been great doing business with you, Cora. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.” I sent her the most genuine smile I could muster—which wasn’t very successful—as she flattened the front of her dress. With a final intense look, she headed for the door.
My brother led her away, and I took one last look at her perfect figure in that emerald green dress.
It had to be my last taste of her.
Because no amount of stolen kisses in my office would erase the truth that at the end of the day, she was Cora Margulis-Rossberg.
CHAPTER TEN
AXEL
Our offer was in that Monday afternoon.
The board voted on Friday morning.
And Saturday night, my brothers and I were out in Manhattan, celebrating our status as the future owners of the building on Tenth Avenue.
We had opted for a French bistro in SoHo to celebrate. I couldn’t believe the Margulis board had voted to sell to us, but Cora had been right. Her extra money had paved the way. Whether this would prove to be a scheme of hers was still up for debate, but it had been her funds, not ours, that got the deal done. And now all we had to do was wait for our legal teams to finish up the details.
Damian, Trace, and I waltzed into La Fève in our Wall Street finest. I’d opted for dark slacks, alligator shoes, and a light gray button-up with the sleeves rolled up, exposing all the colorful details of the tattoos on my neck and arms: Jordan and Kaylee’s names, . As we stepped into the intimate, cluttered setting of La Fève, a hostess leading us to our reserved table, I scanned the restaurant for familiar faces.
There was always someone we knew when we went out. That was the nature of the Wall Street beast. We were incredibly connected—for better and for worse.
Usually my brothers made sure there was nobody unsavory on the premises before we sat down. And by “nobody unsavory,” I specifically meant anyone from the Margulis family.
Maybe it was because Cora had been within a ten-foot radius of me on multiple occasions recently that my brothers let their guard down. Or maybe they’d simply forgotten to check. But for whatever reason, it wasme,not my brothers,who first noticed the Margulis family, tucked into their little VIP table, set above the regular floor and protected by golden railing.
Cora, her parents, and the charming Eli.
“Oh Jesus,” I muttered as my gaze landed on their little party. They hadn’t noticed us yet.
“What is it?” Damian asked.
“The nation’s foremost realtor is in attendance,” I spat as we gathered at our round table. The hostess left us with menus, and we settled into our seats.
Trace looked around briefly before spotting them himself. “Should we go?”
Damian nodded. “I’m cool if you wanna go somewhere else.”
“No, no. It’s fine.” A month ago, it would not have been fine. I would have demanded we leave. We had a history of executing one-eighties when anyone Margulis was on the premises. But tonight, I wanted to stand my ground. Even though I’d learned just how devastating it was to be around Cora again, I didn’t want to back down.
“You sure?” Damian asked, in his stern but affectionate way.
“I think we should send them a round of drinks.” I could feel the mischievous smile taking over my face. “To celebrate their outrageously overpriced sale.”
I watched the Margulis table intently. Cora glanced over, and though a crowd of people separated us, I could feel the electricity snapping between us. Worse, I could still taste her lips from our incredibly hot make out session earlier that week. I might have used the memories of those kisses a time or ten while pumping my cock to ecstasy in my shower over the past week. But nobody had to know that. Cora would certainly never know.
Nor would I ever make that mistake again.
Because no matter how much the chemistry was alive between us, there was one simple fact. She hadn’t divorced Eli, and from the looks of it, didn’t intend to. You didn’t dine out with your parents and the man you were separated from on a Saturday night in SoHo. Simple facts.
Eli’s arm draped protectively over the back of her chair. Allan and his wife Bernadette looked around the room smugly while Eli the douche nozzle yammered on about God knew what—probably his fucking fleet of helicopters and how many one must own before they had the authority to speak to him about it.
If I’d had no intention of getting near Cora over the last eight years, I was even less inclined to get enmeshed in whateverthatparty was over there. But it didn’t mean I couldn’t fuck with them a little bit.
“Axel.” Damian snapped his fingers. “I said what red do you want?”
I looked guiltily between my brothers. A server stood at the edge of our table, looking uncomfortable.
