My heart raced as I reread the email then opened the attachment. YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED… lined the top of the invitation in a formal script font. Below, the details of an upcoming fundraiser were laid out.
The Fairchild brothers were hosting a fundraising gala this weekend for their charity organization, Foster the Future.Dinner, drinks, and live entertainment would be provided.
The brothers were trying to sway the board.Good on you, guys.It might not help, especially if the other offer was truly so much higher. But there was time until the final vote. I had information that could help the brothers make an effective counteroffer. And maybe I could somehow become part of the future of the building too.
As much as I tried to ignore it, the building was calling to me. I didn’t want to strip the opportunity from the brothers. But could we work together? That way I could see my own ideas brought to life without invoking the ire of my parents. Something that nodded toward suicide prevention, without needing to include the Margulis name in the press release.
Since this fundraiser wasn’t on Fairchild property—andthey’d extended a formal invitation—I felt confident that I could attend. I’d also be honoring Axel’s demands. Win-win.
I could already imagine the annoyed look on Axel’s face when I pointed this out to him. And I absolutely planned to.
I planned to become the unofficial negotiation liaison. Except I wasn’t negotiating for the best interest of Margulis Realty. No, this was strictly for personal reasons. And beyond that, I wanted any excuse to get near Axel again. Even if all he did was act annoyed and ignore me.
The brushes of warmth I felt from him and his brothers were more comforting than anything I’d experienced in years. I was starved for the familiarity. For genuine people.
My ecosystem in Manhattan was getting sparser and less nourishing as time went on.
Something needed to change. And the only way forward that made sense was to get closer to the Fairchilds.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AXEL
“Hey, Axel, you ready?”
Damian’s voice floated into my bedroom, where I’d been spending far too long obsessing over which cufflinks to choose for our black-tie fundraising event beginning in an hour. I usually went with the sterling silver with the stylized F of our logo, but tonight, I wanted something different.
I kept telling myself it was not because Cora might be in attendance.
“Help me pick my cufflinks,” I called out. Zero stirred from beside my dresser, slightly annoyed that my loud voice had awoken him.
Damian’s groan traveled through the doorway, but he appeared a moment later. “You spend more time getting ready than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes at him. He was just as concerned with his appearance as the rest of us, just quieter about it. “Your barber comes to the penthouse daily, so don’t even start.” Damian’s longish, dark blond hair required more upkeep than my simple haircut, so he had no room to speak.
“Everyotherday,” he corrected with a smirk, coming up to the wide surface of my dresser. “Now what are the options?” He jerked his chin toward my snoozing dog. “Oh, hey, Zero.”
I gestured toward the mirrored plate that held every cufflink I’d ever purchased. There were Gucci lapis lazuli cufflinks, New York Yankees studs, knotted sterling silver, as well as five different styles of Fairchild links. Damian barely looked at my stash for a few seconds before snatching up a pair of silver bears.
“Here. Use these.” He held them out in his palm. “Kids will love them. Adults will think you’re referencing the current bear market. And both of us will know that really, it was Jordan’s favorite animal the last time we saw her.”
I nodded, taking them from him. “Always gotta make it meaningful, don’t you?”
“Everything I do.” He sent me a warm smile. The man lived and breathed meaning. He barely took a shit in the morning without dedicating it to someone out there in the world. He watched as I inserted the cufflinks. “You feeling good about tonight?”
“Of course I’m feeling good,” I lied. I had been on-and-off anxious since Trace sent the invitation to the Margulis camp. I knew why he did it—I’d even signed off on it. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t terrified that Cora would actually show. “Why wouldn’t I feel good?”
He inspected his own cufflinks. “No reason.”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay.” Damian shoved his hands in his pockets then, affecting a casual smile. “I’m done henpecking.”
“Thanks. You and Trace really suck at the ex-fiancée check-in thing, you know that?” I clapped him on his shoulder, taking a moment to look him up and down. “Dang, Damian. You clean up nice. You fixin’ to go home with a purty girl tonight?”
He laughed, shoving my shoulder. He hated it when I used the exaggerated Southern accent. Though when we got drunk enough, the accent came out regardless.
“No girl on my radar.”