Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
No prenup.
He doesn’t want a prenup.
And I know I’m right.
Ophelia Hart needs saving, once again. And I’m the one who always saves her. She said so herself. I won’t fuck up twice. I won’t let her walk away twice.
14
SILAS
The top two floors of the Oasis Tower building are taken up by Hart & Fox Enterprises. I ride the elevator to the top, watching the lights of the city below through the glass walled elevator. It’s after ten o’clock on Friday night, and the building is empty.
Sly himself will be heading back to Sinistral tonight.
Big night tomorrow. The Fox annual masquerade ball will be back for the first time since the shit hit the fan with Hart. I’m sure Sly is anxious to get there and collect all those congratulations, the pats on the back, the nods of we knew it couldn’t be you bullshit because up until Horatio Hart took the plea deal and confessed to it all, those same people kept their distance from Sly Fox, not wanting to be ensnared in his web.
“Cecilia just emailed the last of the paperwork,” Nigella says, and I turn to her, having almost forgotten she was there.
“Good,” I say, adjusting my tie and checking the time. “Once we get his signature, you’ll head back to Atlanta and finalize everything.”
She nods.
“I appreciate the hours you’re putting in, Nigella. Especially given the time of year.”
“I know this is important to you, Silas. What about you? When will you head home?”
I shift my gaze to the elevator doors as the bell dings and the doors begin to open.
“Not sure. I may just stay here and work through the holiday,” I say. No one to go back for. Mom’s gone. It’ll be my first Christmas without her.
I’m looking straight ahead, but I can see Nigella studying me.
“Let’s get this done.” I say, buttoning my suit jacket, stepping off the elevator and heading through the empty office toward the door at the far corner. I glance at what was once Hart’s corner office and see his name has already been scraped off the door, replaced by Ethan Fox’s.
My hands clench and unclench. I hear Sly’s voice as an older woman opens the office door, head down reading a file. She doesn’t see us right away.
“This week, Ethan. You do it this week,” Sly says.
“You saw how skittish she was. She’s not going to go for it.”
“Well, that’s for you to figure out, isn’t it? I can’t hand you everything on a silver fucking platter. Do not fuck this up.”
Sly Fox is a bully. Always has been. Always will be. Even to Ethan. I contemplate the question of nature vs. nurture. If he’d been kinder to Ethan, would Ethan be less of a shit now?
The woman closes the door and turns, gasping when she sees us. “Oh, goodness. You’re quiet.”
“Didn’t mean to scare you, ma’am,” I say. “Mr. Fox is expecting us. Silas Cruz.”
Her eyes skip between mine, and I know she knows I’m Sly’s son even though he has only acknowledged Ethan as such.
“Of course. Just a moment.”
“Let them in,” comes Sly’s voice before the woman has even knocked on the door.
I nod to the woman in thanks and walk into the office to find Sly leaning back in his chair, feet up on his desk, looking casual and relaxed. It’s an act. Ethan is standing at the window sipping on a whiskey and giving me a death glare.
I think about Ophelia the other night. What she said. Of course, they’ve been intimate. I know that. Why it bothers me now, though, is what I’m trying to make sense of.
“Would either of you gentlemen like something to drink?” Sly’s assistant asks.
Ethan snorts, mutters something about the use of the word gentlemen.
“They’re fine,” Sly says. “Close the door behind you, Lydia.”
“Yes, sir, good night,” Lydia says and leaves.
Sly’s eyes never leave mine as he straightens up and puts his dirty shoes on the floor. I take a seat. Nigella sets her briefcase on his desk and opens it.
“Silas. Heard about Esmerelda’s passing. My condolences.”
“Keep them.”
“No reason we can’t be polite.”
“I’m not here to be polite. I’m here to lend you the money that’s going to keep Hart & Fox Enterprises afloat.”
“At rates of a loan shark,” Sly says with a smile.
“You can get your money from the bank if you prefer,” I say, standing. “Oh wait, they won’t lend to you.”
“Sit down, Silas. Fucking dramatic.” He shakes his head.
Ethan snorts again, refreshes his whiskey.
“Don’t be rude, Ethan. Offer our guests a drink,” Sly tells Ethan.
I look over at him, seeing Ophelia every time I do. Hating that he’s had his hands on her.
Ethan carries the whiskey over along with two glasses and slams them down on the desk.
“Careful, son. That’s expensive shit,” I say, pouring a glass for myself when Nigella declines.