Chapter 6
Xander
Ilean back in my chair and sip a coffee that tastes suspiciously like Roxy’s contempt. The woman is the best office manager, but she doesn’t hold back on any weapons when it comes to the four of us, the partners.
I catch her smirking as I spit the concoction back into my cup. Corm finishes a phone call as the other two partners walk into his office. Caleb takes a seat beside me on the sofa.
“I didn’t know you worked from the office today.” Corm pats his brother.
Declan’s been working at home ever since the paparazzi started stalking his family.
None of us knew his nanny wasn’t who she claimed to be, and none of us expected the media circus after the secret was uncovered.
“Yeah, me being here is the least of my problems. Lily wanting to go out today, on the other hand. Fuck…” he grumbles and sits down, scowling.
“Oh, yeah, Saar told me it’s Cora’s birthday.” Corm sits down.
“It’s not a good idea for them to go out. The photographers will be relentless,” Declan scowls.
“No worries. I just spoke with Celeste. She suggested they all come to our house because of the baby,” Caleb says. “I was going to force one of you to entertain me, but she just texted me that the girls agreed to postpone the celebration and go out when things calm down.”
“Thank fuck for that.” Declan relaxes visibly.
Will Cora be alone on her birthday? The idea bothers me more than it should. Especially since she never called me after I dropped her at her dad’s.
I expected her to reach out once she had sorted out the situation with her father. I thought we would pick up where we left off. And even if she started overthinking it again, at least she could have let me know everything was okay.
Not that she owes me any explanations, but still…
Fuck. I have no business spending as much time as I do thinking about her.
It’s been a week since the luncheon and the spa afternoon, and she hasn’t reached out. I almost barged into her bistro once.
Or twice.
Okay, three times.
I distracted myself instead and went out. But the Manhattan nightlife doesn’t do it for me lately.
“Okay,” Declan says, adjusting his cuff like he’s about to issue a death sentence. “San Francisco.”
Roxy picks up her tablet and types before she looks up. For some reason, we all wait for her before we start talking. Sometimes, I wonder who is in charge here.
Cal clears his throat. “Atlas wants someone from Merged on the board of that renewable firm they’re acquiring. Part of the advisory clause.”
“The clean energy company?” I ask, pushing the ginger curls and green eyes into the back of my mind. “The one whose vision is progressive, but the board smells like old money and older secrets?”
“Vireon, yep. They made some changes recently,” Corm says, drumming his fingers on the armrests. “They specifically want one of us. Someone who understands scale, and can talk to the West Coast crowd without sounding like a Wall Street bulldozer.”
“So not you,” Roxy chirps.
He glowers and then focuses on Cal, who looks at me.
“Folks at Atlas like you,” Cal says and pauses, studying my reaction. “And your name still carries weight in that city,” he adds.
Caleb and I met at Wharton, and I was the one who recruited him to join Merged. He’s also the only person in the room who has an inkling about my relationship with my father.
Other than Roxy, who’s been fielding his calls lately and knows for a fact I never call back.
“Only because half the city still hates my name,” I mutter.
Roxy snorts from the corner. “I’d say more than half if we count all the ladies who mourn your departure.”
Declan makes a dismissive sound. “Your father is on the board of three of their partner firms. He could open doors.”
The air shifts. Just slightly. I crack my neck. “He could,” I say smoothly.
Cal glances at me, his gaze not sharp, but measured. Like he’s weighing something and already doesn’t like the answer.
My heart rate speeds up just at the idea of that phone call. Hey, Dad, yeah, I ignored your calls for months, but now I need your help, so I’m finally calling back. Fuck.
I can avoid that by explaining to the men in this room that my relationship with my family is on shaky ground—the understatement of the century.
But the mistake I made back home was the last mistake I’ll ever make. My last loss. I promised that to myself, and I delivered on that promise thus far, bringing in win after win for this firm.
And that’s what is going to happen. I will figure it out. Roxy isn’t as subtle as Cal, studying me with raised eyebrows.
I look away. “We’ll need someone out there frequently at first. Enough to attend the quarterly and smooth the transition. It’s a good look for Merged if we show up committed.”
Corm snorts. “Funny. Xander Stone talking about commitment. I thought you were allergic to the concept.”
I shrug. “I’ve been committed to giving you a stroke for months. Feels like I’m close.”
Declan grunts impatiently. “Xander has been committed to this firm.” He turns from his brother to me. “You’re our best option.”
I nod. “Sure. I’ll talk to my father.”
The lie passes through my throat, followed by a lump clogging it. I avoid Cal and Roxy’s eyes at all costs for the rest of the meeting.
To be honest, I kind of miss most of what’s discussed because my mind wanders. My mind never fucking wanders. It’s ultra-sharp.
Today, it oscillates between my father, the San Francisco deal I can’t fuck up, and back to my father. Round and round we fucking go.
The loud circus in my head is only interrupted by a certain foxy bistro owner.
“Okay, let’s break up this party. Since my wife will be at home after all, I’m out of here.” Corm snatches his phone and leaves us in his office.
“This is the proof that marriage should be avoided at all costs.” Roxy stands up, jabbing her pen into her dreadlock bun.
“Don’t dismiss what you haven’t tried.” Cal also stands up, but he lingers.
“Okay, I’m out of here, too. Roxy, send us the minutes. Thanks.” Declan leaves.
“I thought you didn’t speak to your father.” Cal doesn’t wait for Roxy’s departure, because, like all of us, he knows nothing escapes her.
“I know he doesn’t.” She closes the door, leaning against it.
“Are you two ambushing me? What is this, a schoolyard?” I approach the door, glaring at Roxy.
She rolls her eyes, but steps to the side. “Most of the time, all of you behave like schoolchildren, so the answer to your question is yes. What’s the answer to Caleb’s, though?”
“He didn’t ask anything, Roxy. A question ends with a question mark, sweetheart.” I smirk.
“Sweetheart me one more time and I’ll staple your tie to HR’s desk.” She returns my glower with her own.
And while I question whether this encounter is high school behavior, now I’m the one engaging in a glaring contest. For fuck’s sake.
“My apologies, Roxy.” I open the door.
“Xander—” Cal follows me.
“I’ve got it covered, van den Linden. Go hover over someone else.”
“Mr. Stone, will you want dinner in your room tonight?” the concierge greets me when I emerge from the underground garage.
“John, I think I’ll just have a bite at the bar. No worries. Have a nice evening.”
“If I may, Mr. Stone. The team at the spa found a journal. It only occurred to them now that it might belong to your companion from last week.” He pulls a small diary from behind his desk.
I open it, and on the inner cover, I find Cora’s name. I slam it shut.
“Thank you, John; I will return it to her.”
I stroll to the bar in the corner of the lobby. The place is open to the public from the street side, but it has a private area with tables always available to the hotel’s guests.
After ordering a steak and a glass of wine, I pull my phone out. My fingers tap reluctantly until I’m just a green icon away from calling my father.
The events that led to my move to the East Coast flash through my mind. A silent whisper reasons with me, suggesting I’m carrying more blame than I should own. I know my family—they would look the other way, protect me.
And that would only lead to more self-loathing.
Not that I don’t hate myself for my role in the sale of our developer holdings, but at least I don’t need to do it under the watch of my loved ones, constantly wondering how much of their disappointment they hide.
Some wouldn’t even try hiding their contempt. Well, fuck them all. I’m richer than I’ve ever been, and it’s all my achievement.
Yes, fuck them all. The sentiment spurs the reckless gene in me, and I’m about to tap the green call button when the phone rings, and I almost spill my wine.
Jesus.
“Xander speaking.”
“Xander, it’s Sissy.” The sweet Southern drawl hits my ears.
“Sissy, how are you?” I deploy the Xander-Casanova persona, but my heart is not in it.
“I’m in the city, and I was hoping we could go out. It’s been too long.”
“Sissy, I’m too busy tonight. Let me know when you’re here next time.”
Busy? Eating my dinner alone? I guess I can always do more work when I get upstairs to my room. And that’s what I’ll do, so I’m not lying.
“Aw, don’t be such a bore, X. Work can wait.”
“Sissy, I wish it could, but not tonight.”
She whines for a few more minutes before she makes me promise to see her in a few weeks, when she is back in Manhattan.
We finally hang up when the server brings my steak. Well, I guess I can’t call my father while chewing.
But it’s not like the issue is kept at bay. I spend my dinner thinking about the ways I can avoid asking my father for a favor. I research other board members, and make a list of my contacts on the West Coast who can help me.
I contemplate calling Lottie to see if she could call in some favors, but I know my sister would help, and then feel guilty about sneaking behind Dad’s back. I don’t want to put her in that position.
“Can I get you a dessert?” The server cleans my table. “The chef made his signature chocolate cake tonight.”
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
I wonder whether Cora likes chocolate cake. What? I don’t wonder that. She probably didn’t get a cake for her birthday.
Reaching for her journal, I consider the whole privacy situation for a beat, but open it anyway.
She built a sky-blue cottage for the sparrow with a broken wing.
A burrow with a library for the badger who had no friends.
A tall, pointy-roofed tower for the owl who wanted to feel closer to the stars.
What is this? The words are written in a tidy cursive, and I think it’s the same as the one I saw on the blackboard menu in the bistro. Is this a story?
I flip to the back of the journal and find another entry.
Someday…
Own a private island — Tiny. Useless. Mine.
Is this some sort of bucket list?
See the Northern Lights wrapped in a ridiculous fur coat.
Eat my weight in pizza in Tuscany. Maybe live there for a while.
I chuckle. I can picture her there.
Have my stories published.
Are the lines in the front the beginning of a story? Does Cora moonlight as a writer? The need to know is so powerful, I’ve half a mind to find her and demand answers. Yeah, fucker, as if you had any right to her story. To her answers. To her time.
But then, she is alone on her birthday.
Finally give up the bistro.
Be held like someone’s first and last choice.
Something squeezes my stomach. It’s like heartburn building in my digestive tract. This place always serves top-shelf wine. What the fuck?
Forgive my mother (maybe).
Another need to uncover what’s behind this wish hits me. Why do I care about her story? It makes no sense. I find the woman attractive, but when have I ever wanted to go beyond the superficial?
Fly first class without guilt.
Who feels guilty about first-class flying?
Find a way to matter outside of duty.
Fuck, Cora Winslow, you intrigue me more than I care to admit. More than I have time to explore.
The way her pupils dilated when I touched her thighs at the spa… The way my dick hardened just seeing her on the lounger in that fluffy robe… The way her lips parted… It’s all etched on my mind, playing on repeat and without a pause button.
She had a lot of excuses though… like our age difference. I never even thought about her as an older woman. In fact, her being more mature just drives her into a league of her own.
None of the women in my recent past hold a candle to her. Her being mature and not taking me seriously is a fucking turn-on.
Unfortunately.
Clearly, she hasn’t thought about me since the spa day, so why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about her?
Because it’s new? I haven’t had to work hard to get a woman for… well, ever.
Is that her allure? That she keeps resisting? That’s fucked up.
Maybe I should call Sissy back.
I pay the bill and take the elevator to my room. I don’t bother with the lights, the silence and darkness coiling around my nerves.
Why do you live in a hotel?
“Well, Cora, it’s convenient, but it’s fucking awful,” I say to the empty room as I get undressed.
Perhaps I’m staying here as a punishment. As my personal prison to pay for the mess I created back home.
The melancholy latches onto me with its relentless gloom.
Fuck that.
I get changed, grab my helmet, and head to the garage. I know exactly what will help me clear my head.