CHAPTER THREE
AXEL
“Are you ever gonna put that thing down?”
Trace paired his words with the condescending eyebrow arch he knew irked me. I squeezed the ring box harder into my palm and sent him the deadliest glare I could muster.
“Are you ever gonna stop being annoying?”
“Are you two ever gonna stop being ridiculous?” Damian intoned from the kitchen, which was barely a separate area in our too-tight-to-breathe Manhattan closet we called a home. Even between three of us, rent was still so expensive that selling an organ wasn’t entirely off the table.
“Are you two ever gonna stop asking questions?” I shot back. Silence stretched through the apartment while we all smirked at one another in turn.
“I bet you’ll sleep with it under your pillow tonight,” Trace finally said.
“Fuck you,” I offered, pointing in his direction where he lay on the loveseat, an open textbook on his legs. “I will.”
“We should call him the Ring Bearer,” Damian muttered as he made a lazy path toward the recliner in our living room. Again, not so much a room as a general area in which all activities occurred. This place was a step up from our apartment in during our undergrad years at Columbia, though. Back then, we had a bona fide studio apartment, with imaginary walls and a sheet for a bathroom door. Now, we had a two bedroom and took turns sharing the second bedroom every few months. Luxury, only sharing a bedroom with your brothers for half the year.
“Funny,” I retorted. “Though I plan to be the groom. Maybe one of you could be the ring bearer?”
My brothers had been giving me shit for approximately a year about this ring purchase. They knew how much it meant to me—but of course no opportunity for ribbing could be ignored between brothers.
“I vote Damian, with his insatiable appetite for human interaction,” Trace cracked as Damian settled into the worn brown recliner facing the kitchen. Damian lifted the corner of his lip, his round, wire-rimmed glasses making him look like an early Bill Gates-style nineties computer geek. But with much better hair.
“I’d rather be coding, thanks.” When both Trace’s and my gazes fell on Damian, he added, “But obviously I’d take a break to go to the wedding.”
“You better,” I warned him. “But as soon as you start to have a good time, you need to leave. Because no recluse nerd brother of mine can be caught having a good time.”
Damian tried to send me a withering look, but a smile ghosted his lips, breaking the fa?ade.
“Depends on where you have it,” Damian said, raking a hand through his honey brown tresses. “If you’re gunning for a church wedding, I think we can count on nobody having a good time.”
Trace kicked Damian in the knee, which elicited a scowl.
“I think the right answer is, ‘Brother, I’ll have a good time at your wedding no matter where it is,’” Trace corrected.
“I’d fucking hope so,” I said, peeking into the box one last time. A constellation of incredibly expensive diamonds winked up at me, sending another jolt of excitement through me. I still didn’t have a plan, much less a timeline. Hell, I didn’t know if we’d end up having a church wedding. I just knew I was going to ask Cora to marry me the next time I saw her, which probably wouldn’t be for a few months.
I had time to plan. And because of that, the proposal would be perfect. I’d settle for nothing less.
My phone buzzed in the deep pocket of my black sweatpants. I knew it was Cora before I even looked at it. My body had a way of alerting me when she called or texted. It was a little weird, but I was never wrong.
“′Sup, cowgirl?” I said into the phone, still looking at the ring. Cowgirl was one of my preferred nicknames for her, born from a particularly sweet and sexy trip we’d taken to Kentucky last year. Sweet because she’d met Mama Deb and Papa Gary, and sexy because I’d fucked her senseless in the back acres of my parents’ farm under the light of a full moon. She’d been in awe of the sheer ruralness of my parent’s house—the wide swaths of hayfields, the rolling horse farms, the way tractors shared the roads with cars. I’d called her cowgirl once while she giggled her way through the chicken coop, and it stuck.
“Oh, that’s Cora,” Trace said in the same way he always did: a combination groan and announcement.
Cora laughed from the other side of the country. “Hey, babe. Is now a good time?”
“It is. But let me relocate.” I headed for my bedroom—I was the lucky one at the moment who didn’t have to share. “Fuck you guys,” I called over my shoulder before I kicked the door shut. “Now where were we?”
“I think you were about to tell me how much you missed me,” she purred into the phone.
I switched the phone to speaker and tossed it on my bed while I got to work selecting the perfect resting spot for the ring box. “It’s funny you mention that, because I was just realizing there are no words in the English language to come close to describing that.”
“Not one?”
“The ones that exist barely scratch the surface of how much I miss you,” I told her while I peered at the shelves of my bookcase. There was too much space there; she could spot it while lounging in my bed. No, this hiding place needed to be rock solid. Diamond solid.
“So what are you going to do? Just accept the fate that the English language has handed you?”
I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. “Babe, I love it when you talk like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like one of the judges on Shark Tank.”
She burst into laughter, and the husky lilt caused both my heart and my cock to swell. “We can thank my dad for that.”
I didn’t want to thank him for anything. A business mogul worthy of joining the cast of Shark Tank—that was one of the only good qualities I’d grant the man.
“For that, and for bringing you into the world. But that’s about it.”
Cora sighed heavily, though I couldn’t tell if it transmitted annoyance or agreement. Probably both. “Well, let’s not condemn him just yet. He is, after all, putting me on a flight to New York this weekend.”
A sputtering noise blocked my airways. My fingers reflexively gripped the ring box while a cough tore through me. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t choke and die before I can see you.”
“Don’t worry, babe. Even if I died, you know I’d haunt you until you came.”
That husky laughter thrilled through me again, prompting another grin I couldn’t have wiped from my face if I tried.
“God, I love you,” Cora said.
“I love you more. So what’s the special occasion? Somebody getting married?” I tapped the ring box against my forehead as my brain started sectioning off to conquer the new challenges in front of me. I thought I’d been working with months to plan the perfect proposal. Now she’d be in my arms in mere days, and I wasn’t prepared.
But I’d go through with it. So help me God, I was going to ask this woman to marry me when I saw her.
She laughed softly, but it sounded humorless. “Ah…no. Well, I’m sure my father would love if there was a wedding. But no.”
“What?”
She started to say something then stopped.
“Cora.” I stared at the far wall of the room, where my poster of Elon Musk kept an eternal watch over my belongings. “What does that mean?”
“It means nothing.”
“What does that fucking mean.” I hated when she played coy like this. Her mouth was often faster than her brain, and I could read her like a book. So when she tried to sidestep a comment like that, I had to dig.
When a long sigh ripped out of her, I knew my shovel had struck gold. “He set up a meeting between me and the Rossbergs.”
I knew that name—I knew I knew it, in the same way that lesser-cultured people knew the name Rockefeller without being entirely sure why. “What for?”
“I don’t know. Potential business collaborations, now that Eli and I are graduating soon…”
Eli. The lightbulb went on, but it illuminated a picture I didn’t want to fucking look at. “You and Eli, huh?” I knew she and the white-collar bastard went to Stanford together. I’d run into him at a charity function once, one of the few events in their world that Cora’s father had allowed her to bring me to. Maybe “allowed” wasn’t the right word. I’d slipped in, and I’d been shadow banned ever since. Eli had been a disgusting, smarmy mess—slicked hair, condescension crinkling at his eyes, a sort of bored distaste punctuating his every murmur and movement—even in his mid-twenties.
I remembered this shit because it was so fucking common in the elite circles. My brothers and I even had a bingo card for the most ostentatious signs we were dealing with rich assholes and their ilk. Using the word “ilk” was, ironically, on the bingo card.
“We’re in the same program…”
“I know.” I squeezed the ring box, a million different questions sprouting to life inside me. The conflicting pressures created a dangerous environment beneath my rib cage. “So the wedding thing—your dad wants you to marry him?”
“I…think so.”
A long silence stretched between us, and I felt sick. Of course her dad wanted her to marry Eli. It didn’t surprise me. On the list of potential fiancés, anyone with a 401(k) was automatically in line before me. But at the front of the line was anyone who looked, talked, and acted like Eli. Jackpot for coming with family money.
No, what landed like a surprise punch to the balls was the fact that her father was weaving the Rossberg business into Cora’s future. This was an opportunity—whatever it was. And I had a sinking suspicion that whatever they wanted to talk about, it would feature a gilded future and lots of cash.
Cora might have a hard time saying no.
“So when are you going to tell him the only man you’re gonna marry is me?”
She laughed, but it sounded sad. “Well, I guess a good time would be once someone pops the question…”
I ground my teeth, staring at the ring box in my hand. Did she know? Could she feel me holding this engagement ring? I tried to keep the amusement out of my voice, lest anything give me away. “Seriously, Cora. When is he going to accept that we’re together?”
“I don’t know. Once you get your MBA? After your first million? You know, you could fast track it and just go work for him.”
A bitter laugh tumbled out of me, one that I couldn’t control. “Cora, I love you, but—”
“But what?” The acid edge in her voice told me we were entering new territory here. We never talked about me working for Allan, because it was an idea that could not exist in the real world. Much like dinosaurs would never reincarnate wearing Chuck Taylor shoes and playing the White Stripes, I would never spend a single moment of my life as Allan’s subordinate bitch.
“There are other options,” I hurried to add. I didn’t want to say but I don’t love you that much, because it wasn’t true. When it came down to it, I’d do anything to make Cora mine. No matter how much I postured, I knew that spending time as Allan’s subordinate bitch was a possibility, but only if it was the last option.
I’d simply make sure that outcome never arrived.
When she stayed silent longer than I liked, I added, “My brothers and I are starting our business. Like we’ve been planning for years. Trace already has a lead on some potential clients, and if we can get ten clients right out of the gate, I’ll make sure that ten turns into twenty. Twenty into fifty. Fifty into one hundred. And pretty soon your dad will be knocking on my door to manage his money.”
“I know. I believe in your business. But you know there are other routes that won’t…take so long.”
I felt my hackles rise. I was used to the entire fucking world doubting me, but not my Cora. “Take so long, huh?”
“Starting a new business takes time. It takes capital.”
“No fucking shit.”
“Don’t snap at me like that, Axel. I’m just being realistic. You’re the one who asked me what it would take. Well, I told you.”
I squeezed the ring box again, the anxiety churning alongside the frustration. “I didn’t mean to be like that. He pisses me off—not you.”
She laughed so softly it sounded like a sigh. “I know, babe. And I believe in your business. I support it. But you can do other things before you become a millionaire.”
I popped open the black velvet box, looking at the brilliant diamonds floating over the gold band. Maybe she was right. Maybe the only way to get this ring on her finger was to suck it up and become Allan’s subordinate bitch.
She navigated the conversation to safer topics: schoolwork, funny stories from the day, memories from the last time I’d made her come. We talked until her next class started, and then I was left staring at Elon Musk, clutching the velvet ring box harder than if I expected Allan to come in here and rip it from my hands.
“Guys.” I pushed the door to my bedroom, beelining for my brothers. “You got a minute?” The conversation with Cora rattled through me, like the warning shake of a warlock’s skull-topped walking stick. This needed to be addressed. If it wasn’t, secret poison might take root and I’d decay from the inside out.
“What’s up?” Trace looked up from his book; Damian pushed his laptop aside wordlessly, the strongest signal he knew how to give that he was listening.
“You’d tell me if proposing to Cora was a bad idea, right?” I still clutched the ring box. I might never let it go. “With how her dad feels about us and everything.”
Inscrutable looks settled on their faces. And I didn’t like that shit one bit.
“I was just talking to Cora, and she brought up the idea that I might need to go work for Allan in order to…you know...”
“Get a yes?” Trace finished for me.
“Cora will say yes whether I work for her father or not,” I said.
“I mean get a yes from him,” Trace clarified.
I sent him a withering smile. “I’m not asking for his blessing.”
“Why not?” Damian asked.
“Yeah, you probably could stand to get into his good graces,” Trace said, tossing his book on the lopsided coffee table.
“If I ask for his blessing, he’ll tell me no. Besides, posturing wouldn’t get me into his good graces. It just tells him his opinion matters, which it doesn’t.”
Silence stretched across the living room, the first sign my brothers didn’t agree with me. They’d developed this annoying habit over the years. When I’d rather they would come out and fight me about it, they let me simmer in my own doubts and discontent first.
I always cracked first. “What?”
Trace narrowed his eyes. “Bro, you need to posture for this one.”
“Why bother?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Damian shot back. The duh tone in his voice made me angle toward him.
“I don’t want to waste time asking for the blessing of a man who will barely sneeze in my direction. I thought you both understood that.”
“Yeah, we do,” Trace said with the type of cocky look that annoyed the fuck out of me, “but that was before you planned to marry his daughter. This guy could do a thousand different things to make your life harder, any day of the week. You could play by his rules for once and make your life a little easier.”
“Fuck his rules.” I squeezed the ring box again, as though testing it was still there. Testing that this dream of mine—make Cora my wife—was still alive.
“That’s what you always say,” Damian said.
“And I always mean it. Fuck his rules.”
Damian rolled his eyes. “You come out here asking if proposing is a bad idea and then get pissy when we tell you the truth.”
I blinked rapidly, turning so my entire body faced Damian. So I could pounce if needed. “Excuse me? Were you looking to get beaten up in the middle of your little coding assignment?”
Laughter escaped him, and he let his head fall back on the couch. “Jesus, Axel. Excuse me for answering your question.”
“You don’t have to be a fucking dick about it,” I shot back. Tension burbled in the air between the three of us while I mulled over their words. They had a point—one I didn’t want to admit out loud. So I followed up with, “So let’s say, in an alternate universe, you guys have a point.”
“In an alternate universe,” Trace repeated.
“I’d go meet up with him and what? Ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage? I’d feel like I’m about to board the Titanic or something.”
“You want to prove to him that you are not a bad idea,” Damian said. “Right? Well, how do you do that? You need to tell him what your direction is. What our direction is.”
“Yeah,” Trace added, “Tell him about our business. Make him feel like you’re not driving blind. Convince him your future is solid and that he can rest assured his daughter’s future is equally secure.”
“Show him the fucking business plan,” Damian added.
“The business plan?” It wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. I had four different iterations going with wildly varying projections. Trace and I couldn’t settle on the ideal profit margin. I shot for the stars, while he wanted to be conservative and shot for the tree line.
But I didn’t play like that. Not when my future was at stake. It was go big or go bury your fucking head in the sand. I didn’t particularly like the taste of sand in my teeth, so I knew where we were headed.
“We’ve got enough drawn up that we could start hunting for investors,” Trace said. “Even though we’re not finalized, I think we’re ready enough to prove that you’re serious.”
“I haven’t even started the LLC,” I told him. “This motherfucker will be the first to shoot me down because my paperwork isn’t in order.”
“It’s not like he’s gonna check your tax ID number,” Damian muttered.
“You don’t think he will? He probably runs a monthly background check on my ass just for fun.”
Trace shrugged. “You want to go to that pitch unprepared, then do it. But if this is how the CEO of Fairchild Enterprises works, then maybe we need to talk.”
“Oh my g—Trace. You are fucking ruthless.” I wasn’t sure if I was more upset or amazed by his boldness. Questioning my commitment to our business, right to my face. What an asshole. A brilliant asshole. “You’re gonna be the next one I pound into the couch.”
He looked pleased with himself. “Maybe I should be the CEO.”
“Absolutely not. You have no idea how to woo the pants off people. You should stick to cold hard cash.”
“You haven’t wooed Cora’s dad,” Damian pointed out.
“Thank you, Damian, for your overstatement of the obvious.” I kneeled on the couch so I could punch him in the shoulder, which he accepted with a muffled laugh. “That man barely likes his own family. I never had a chance. So it’s a moot point.”
“Great. So it’s settled. You’ll stop letting your emotion cloud your judgment,” Trace said, adding a smirk at the end that told me how much pleasure he derived from calling me out like this.
“I’ve had about enough from your smartass mouth,” I said, closing the gap between us so that I could deliver a blow to his shoulder as well. He just laughed, because he knew he was right. Hell, even I knew he was right.
If this weren’t about the one person I loved more than life itself, I’d have no problem waltzing into her father’s office and putting it all on the line.
Cora was the one thing in my life I couldn’t stand to lose. I couldn’t gamble with her. I would accept no negative response to the big question.
But I had to treat this like another of the chameleon social moments I’d gotten so good at over the years. If this were a business deal, Trace was right—I’d be posturing the fuck out of this.
I ground my teeth as I played with the idea. I could already see it, however much I didn’t want to—meeting Allan on his turf somewhere. Sharing my meticulously crafted business plans. Telling him how much Cora meant to me. Practically getting down on one knee to propose to him too.
My brothers were right. They knew it. And they knew that I knew it, too.
I finally slipped the ring box into the right pocket of my sweats.
“You’ll both be my best men, right?” I asked.
I got two cocky smiles in return.