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“This is so exciting,” Cora said, squeezing my hand. Her green eyes were like exotic gemstones as she met my gaze, her dark hair pulled back into a low, glossy bun. “I heard about the plans for the Tenth Avenue building too. We’re going to be neighbors!”
“It feels like a dream to me still,” I said with a laugh. “I won’t believe it until the first day there!”
“Well, the good thing is, it’ll be so much closer to your new place,” Damian said, sliding a protective hand over the small of my back.
“Ournew place,” Kendra said, sliding into the convo.
“You’re moving?” Cora asked.
“Yes,” I told her. “Kendra and I opted for a new place in Chelsea. Damian was insistent after I got robbed last month. And we love it! We signed the papers yesterday.”
Insistent didn’t even cover it. Damian had been hellbent on getting me out of our place in Brooklyn while still respecting my desire to maintain my own apartment and at least the appearance of separate existences. I ended up spending most nights with Damian anyway, but the separate spaces were perfect for us, even though I knew we’d likely give up the illusion altogether.
“That’s thrilling,” Cora said, giving Kendra and me a warm look. “Housewarming party sometime?”
“Uhhh, I’d be honored,” Kendra said, touching her chest. “If Cora Margulis ever set foot in my home, I could die happy.”
Cora batted away the comment. “Kendra, you’ve always been too kind.”
I blinked, looking between them. “Wait. How long have you two known each other?”
“Kendra is the reporter who collaborated with me to publish my expose letter inBig Apple Mag,” Cora said off-handedly.
I blinked a few more times, looking between them. “Seriously?”
“We only ever spoke on the phone,” Kendra said. “And my senior editor got the byline.”
“What a small little Wall Street,” I mused. Practically every day showed me just how tight the elite circles were. It had turned out that Cora’s friend who was opening the boutique and needed my designs was none other than the daughter of the woman I’d met at the Programmer’s Ball—Mrs. Bancroft, who had the link to Anna Wintour. I was fresh out of fashion school and already rubbing elbows with Anna Wintour—with two degrees of separation, of course.
Axel joined our group, slinging his arm over Cora’s shoulders. “Anything I should be informed of over here?"
Cora laughed, eyes twinkling as she looked up at her boyfriend. “No, CEO. You can stand down.”
“Good. Just checking in.” He saluted with two fingers and wandered off, giving Trace a wide berth as he headed to the bar. The rift was still deep between all three brothers, but worst between Axel and Trace.
Trace stepped up, sliding his arm around me for a side hug. “Man, my brother knows how to throw a party, doesn’t he?”
“We haven’t even started, and it’s one of the best I’ve been to,” I told him.
“You weren’t at Jessa’s party, the Programmer’s Ball,” Damian interjected. “That one was the best.”
“You’re just saying that ’cause you like me,” I teased him.
“And you’ll let me,” he whispered into my ear, snagging a quick bite at my ear lobe.
“I’m shocked you didn’t invite Francis,” Trace deadpanned.
A laugh rocketed out of me. “You know, I thought about it. All those attempts to make it seem like I was the one fucking you guys over—they were so sweet and thoughtful of him. But you know…” I shook my head. “Not gonna happen in a million years.”
Francis had been formally dismissed from Fairchild Enterprises immediately after Damian and I converged on the Kentucky playground. Axel and Damian were able to find other tiny clues in the call logs at the office and a few scrubbed emails that Francis had thought he could get past the tech wizard.
Axel and Damian confronted him in the conference room before he’d left for good. When they slapped him with a lawsuit related to violating the non-disclosure agreement required at Fairchild Enterprises, he’d squealed like a pig in exchange for a speedy settlement. Apparently, the ultra-loyal and unflappable Francis had seen a sinking ship with the Fairchilds, thanks to the SEC investigation, and had thought he could have his cakeandstuff his face by raking in extra cash from leaking information to the magazine. He’d used me—the vulnerable newbie—to divert attention from him. His professional reputation was ruined—at least with anyone who valued transparency and honesty—and now he was officially broke. Great job, Francis.
I knew the betrayal stung for the brothers. They’d worked with him for years and had considered him one of the last trustworthy, reliable outsiders they’d met on Wall Street.
But now their circle was a little smaller.
“Hey there!”
