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Nope, here he is, striding into my space like he owns the place.
As per usual, a scowl has settled on his face.
The man never smiles. He always looks like he’s plotting someone’s murder.
As long as it’s not mine, I’m cool.
“Making you money,” I reply, not looking up at him from my computer. In reality, there’s a game of online poker in front of me. I’m up several thousand.
“No, idiot.” He lounges on the luxe leather chair on the opposite side of my desk, legs kicked up beside my nameplate like he owns the joint. “I know you’re making money. A shit ton, by my calculations, and I’m thankful for that. What I mean is, what are you doing with that girl?” He snaps his fingers. “Paula.”
The way he says “that girl” rubs me the wrong way. She’s mine to play with.
Fuck.
I’m territorial.
I can’t even stand her.
But if you asked me at gunpoint, maybe I’d admit that her in a towel is now my new favorite memory. That’s neither here nor there. The truth is, I need to get over my weird obsession with her.
“It’s Payton,” I correct casually.
He snorts, picking up a metal Rubik’s cube off my desk. None of the fifty-four squares share the same shade. There is no way of winning. But knowing Cyrus, he’d find a way.
“Are you sure it’s not Phoebe?” he quips.
I shrug. “Might be Penelope.”
It’s a striking image to see Cyrus Reed here in all his glory. It’s striking that this building—my building—exists at all.
It’s been a long road coming.
My father left me with nothing but the clothes on my back and the desire to be successful. Yes, maybe I didn’t set out to be the owner of the most ruthless hedge fund in New York City, but I fully enjoy the position I hold.
“I don’t know why you keep this thing,” he says, tossing it in the air and catching it just before it slips past him.
If his desired effect is to have me on edge, it’s working. I’m not afraid of him. He’s my brother-in-law. He wouldn’t hurt me. But nothing about the man would make anyone relax. I don’t know how Ivy does it.
“It’s a reminder.”
I don’t elaborate.
He toys with the cube. It occurs to me that revenge is technically his right as well. Payton will be taking money that, in fact, should be his by proxy. He is married to my sister. Ivy’s third of the multimillion-dollar estate is half his, entitling him to a little under four mil.
To us, that kind of money is pocket change. Him more so than me.
Sure, I’m worth a lot.
But Cyrus is in a whole other league.
I’m no billionaire. Pretty damn close, but not there yet . . .
After my next investment, I could be, though.
Which reminds me . . . I have more pressing matters than spending my time thinking about the money Payton is soon to inherit.
I need to talk with Cyrus about an investment I want to make. Using funds he and a few other clients are part of.
