20. Asher
TWENTY
ASHER
I don’t breathe a sigh of relief until the last stroke of Allen’s pen meets the contract sitting between us. It’s been a long road of convincing him to stick with me as his realtor, but we’ve finally sealed the deal. After clearing up the swirl of rumors floating around the city about me, Allen agreed to stay on as my client. In the end, he told me his decision was based on his previous experience working with me, and while the offer Cyrus presented to him was enticing, it wasn’t enough for him to ditch me.
Allen stands from the end of the conference table and shakes my hand, promising to get in touch when he’s in the market for another apartment building. I wait until he and a few of other employees gather up the scattered paperwork before heading back to my office. I can’t wait to get to Charleigh’s shop to help her get the rest of the flowers over to the hotel. It’s been nearly six hours since we last spoke and it’s driving me crazy.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her, working when all I can think about is the spark in her eyes when she looks at me. We haven’t talked about what yesterday means for us, but for the first time in years, I feel hope .
I didn’t realize how empty I’d become until Charleigh came back into my life. She filled me with her sarcasm and defiance. She pushed me to open myself back up to the possibility of feeling again. And now I’ve had a taste, I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.
Once I’m in my office, I’m double checking my inbox when Janette’s voice comes through on my intercom.
“Mr. Egan? Cyrus Temper is here to see you.”
I stare at my phone, wide-eyed. Why the fuck would Cyrus Temper want to speak to me?
“I’m about to leave, Janette. Have him schedule a meeting with me for another time.”
“I tried, sir. He says it won’t take long and it’s important.”
Reluctantly, I groan and check the time on my phone before answering Janette. “Send him in.”
Before Cyrus steps into my office, I stand from my chair and close out my computer. I don’t plan on staying long. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a meeting with Cyrus face to face. I met him last year at a fundraising gala in Los Angeles. He wasn’t there for long, claiming he had a slew of clients to return to in New York. Everyone rolled their eyes at his comment, especially me. The sleaziest real estate brokers are usually the ones who stroke their own egos. Cyrus Temper is no exception.
Janette knocks on the door before opening it, allowing Cyrus to follow her into my office. She closes the door, giving us privacy.
Cyrus is one of those men who makes his presence known when he’s walking into a room. What he lacks in integrity and personality, he makes up for in appearance. His suit is perfectly tailored like mine, but he’s always worn an ostentatious color underneath it—baby pink or pale yellow, sometimes with a dark blue tie wrapped around his neck. His brown loafers are very outdated but probably cost more than the bright gold watch resting on his wrist.
He holds his hand out to me. “Asher. Good to see you again.” He flashes me a grin, his stark white teeth nearly blinding me.
“You, too, Cyrus.” I nod, putting on a saccharine smile. “I don’t have long. I was on my way out the door, actually.”
“Oh, your gorgeous secretary out there made me aware.” There’s a sinister spark in his eye that leaves me unsettled. “I wanted to congratulate you.”
“On?” I pinch my eyebrows, tilting my head in confusion.
He laughs as if I should know exactly what he’s talking about. His belly bounces, and I cringe on the inside. “Your firm landed in Fortune ’s top 100 fastest-growing companies, correct? Number two, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Oh.” I nod once, sitting on the edge of my desk. I cross my feet at the ankles, tucking my hands into my pockets. “Yes, it did. Thank you.”
“How old are you again?” He moves around my office, pretending to study the pictures I have on the walls.
“I’ll be turning thirty at the end of the year.”
Cyrus clicks his tongue as he paces my office. “Wow. Fortune 100 before you hit thirty. Quite an accomplishment.”
I shrug, not sure what he’s getting at with this conversation or even why he’s here. “Well, becoming a real estate broker has always been a dream of mine. I worked hard to build this business and basically haven’t stopped chasing this dream since I was a kid.”
“Not without a bit of help from your father, no doubt.” He stops, holding his hand out. The pleasantry in his voice is now gone replaced with bitterness with a hint of disdain.
I remain silent, unsure of where this conversation is headed.
“He helped some,” I finally offer. “My love for real estate began long before I lived with him, but he certainly taught me a few things. He worked out of a firm down on Wall Street before deciding to move out to California. I didn’t realize you two had met.”
“Years ago, when he was a big name here in the city. It’s been a while since we’ve talked or seen one another.” He grins, the corners of his thin lips curling. “Give him my regards.”
I clear my throat. “I will.”
I watch as he walks over to the small bar built into the far wall of my office. He fills a glass with some of the water from the pitcher, dropping a lemon wedge into it before he holds his glass up to me, turning the corners of his mouth down and wrinkling his forehead, then points to the bar.
He’s silently asking me if I’d like a glass of my own water. Fucking asshole.
“No, thanks.” I shake my head and move toward the door, holding my arm out for him to follow. “I apologize, but I was just on my way out, remember?”
“One more thing,” he croaks. He takes a sip of water then walks over to where I am, standing in front of me. He’s at least an entire head shorter than me, and he smells like cigarettes. I want to vomit. The scent makes me feel as if I’ve suddenly grown seasick. My stomach wobbles, remembering the way my mother used to smoke over a pack a day, the scent embedded in the only three shirts I owned at the time.
“I thought you were here to offer your congratulations,” I quip, my nerves unsettling. This fucker needs to get out of my office. Now.
He smacks his lips and runs his hand over his mouth. Two beady eyes stare up at me as the gold chain around his neck glints in the light of my office. “I came down here to deliver a warning.”
I narrow my eyes, pinning him with daggers. “A warning? ”
“I’m onto you, Mr. Egan.”
“You’re on to me?”
“Yes,” he says, matter of fact. “Allen Simon is a good man, and I was disappointed to hear he’d back out of my deal before crawling back to you. But alas, in this business, I guess you win some and you lose some. It’s the name of the game, and as you know, I like a good match every now and then.”
I don’t answer him, instead clenching my jaw so tightly I’m convinced my teeth will crack. Everything about Cyrus Temper makes me sick.
“But just when I thought our game with Allen Simon had played out, the opportunity with Charleigh’s Florals appeared.”
My stomach does another turn, causing tidal waves inside me. I clench my jaw, feeling every muscle in my body tense. I try not to allow Cyrus to see my reaction at his mention of Charleigh’s flower shop, but it’s too late. His eyebrows slant and his eyes narrow as if I’ve already confirmed his suspicions, whatever those suspicions may be.
“You know,” he continues, amused with where he’s taking this conversation. “It wasn’t interesting or surprising to me when she mentioned you at our first meeting weeks ago. After all, Allen Simon had been deciding between the two of us. It didn’t occur to me even when she told me she was a graduate of NYU or that she was originally from Connecticut. Then I decided to do a little digging.”
I clench my hands inside my pockets, making fists. My nails dig into my palms. Hearing Cyrus talk about Charleigh is bringing out a side to me I rarely ever share. A side that would do practically anything for those I care about. Especially Charleigh.
“You’re from Connecticut as well, aren’t you?”
“How would you know that?” My blood boils.
“Oh, please.” He sneers. “It’s a matter of a simple internet search, Asher. Not that difficult. You can learn quite a bit about someone: where they’re from, where they went to school, what their family is like. I know the history between you and Charleigh. And I know about your mother.”
“What exactly do you want from me then, Cyrus? Yes, I knew Charleigh when we were younger. So what?” I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to drive my fist right into his smug grin.
“I don’t want anything from you,” he spits. His face turns a deep shade of red, and the veins in his head bulge. “I just want you to know that I’m on to you. Just like your father, you’re a scammer and a cheat.”
“You knew my father?”
“Christopher Egan was a lying, cheating prick. It was no surprise when he ran out of this city, dragging his tail between his legs. And just like him, you’ll fuck anybody to close a deal.”
I straighten my back and tighten my fists. I’m not entirely sure if he’s making an accusation about me fucking my clients, or if he’s talking about my father as well. I didn’t even fucking know he knew my father. My nails cut into my palms even harder, but I don’t give a shit. They can bleed for all I care. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”
“I think you know exactly what I’m accusing you of, you little shit. Like father like son.” He snarls, sniffing before he wipes his hand across his big, red nose. “You and your reputation are on the line here, so I think it’d be wise to think twice before pulling out that tiny dick of yours. Just watch yourself, because I won’t hesitate to expose all your secrets.” He points a stocky finger at my chest. “All of them.”
I’m not a fan of threats.
I step closer to Cyrus. He lifts his chin just to keep his eyes on mine. I look down on him, forcing myself to remain calm. I don’t know exactly what he’s insinuating. Does he know Charleigh and I share a past? I don’t know how much of mine and her personal life she’s shared with him, but I doubt she has. Charleigh isn’t the type of person to share the pieces of her personal life with strangers. I can’t imagine a world where she’s told Cyrus about our past. Still the thought of him threatening me in my own office pushes me to the edge.
“Get the fuck out of my office,” I grind out.
With an evil smirk, he scoffs and lifts his glass of water to his mouth. With narrowed eyes, he swirls the water in his mouth before turning his head to the side and spitting. A gush of water sprays from his mouth and onto my desk. Spit and water droplets coat the surface of my mahogany desk. What the actual fuck?
I move an inch closer, clenching my fists at my sides.
He wipes the back of his hand across his dripping mouth. Slamming the glass down on my desk, he turns to me with a smile. “You’ll want to clean that up before it ruins the wood. Would hate to see such an expensive piece of furniture go to waste.” He pats my chest a few times.
Goddammit, I want to punch him in the fucking face. But I also know if I do, the asshole will call the police and press charges. I’d play into his hand perfectly. I’d give him the satisfaction.
He gives me one last smile that makes me reconsider. Consequences be damned.
“It was good to see you, Mr. Egan. We’ll be in touch.”