CORA
The Princess of Manhattan.
That’s what the tabloids called me. The rag mags. The publications posing as news.
And really, could I blame them? That’s what my parents created me to be. They raised me like a rag doll with a porcelain head. Fit to toss around as needed. Always picture perfect on command.
No emotion. No reaction. And always at the ready.
Thank God I’d been practicing the subtle art of turning my emotions off with the flip of a switch for my entire life. Because I needed that porcelain control when Axel Fairchild walked into the boardroom of Margulis Realty.
“Good god, Allan Margulis! What a joy to see you again!” Axel strutted into the board room with every ounce of earned swagger. At just over six feet tall, Axel was a broad-shouldered badass. He always had been. A gorgeous, dark-furred dog trotted along beside him, ears at attention.
Electricity zipped through the air. Every inch of me wanted to crumple at the sight of him. To crawl to him on my knees, to beg for one last touch from him. To do anything to make up for all the years we’d lost, for my actions that had robbed us of a chance to be together.
From the outside, my position on the board was just one more piece of the perfect puzzle I’d been assembling my entire life. Next quarter, I’d become CEO. I was mere steps away from accomplishing every last item on my professional to-do list. And at age thirty-one, no less.
And while the tabloids loved to comment on the picture-perfect princess life—with exceptional attention paid to my business-casual wardrobe—they had no idea what the reality was.
I wasn’t a princess.
I was a prisoner.
And this board room was my cage.
My wardens—sorry, fellow board members—were stretched out along the edge of the table. It wasn’t just my father, but also my husband Eli, as well as two others, Robert and Frank, who were outside majority shareholders like Eli. But based on the way Axel focused on Allan, you’d think no one else existed.
My father let out a low chuckle, tapping the end of his pen against the side of the table. “Mr. Fairchild. What an unwelcomesurprise.”
“No, no. Call me Mr. Wattford.” Axel flashed a devilish grin. He hadn’t looked my way yet, and every inch of me was anxious to make eye contact.
Axel had grown up in nearly every way possible. It had been eight years since I told him we were over for good. Eight years since I’d last heard that cocky, rough-silk voice that acted as both balm and sandpaper, depending on who it was directed at.
Eight years since my heart had last felt full.
Axel loomed larger now. It wasn’t just the expensive, tailored gray suit or the neatly trimmed dark blond hair that suggested daily maintenance. He’d bulked up. Muscles filled out the suit, suggesting an altogether new terrain underneath. New tattoos crept from the sleeves of his suit coat and past the collar of his button-up, licking up the sides of his neck.
Axel was a new man. A self-made man.
He was exactly the man I’d hoped he would become if I removed myself from his life.
Eli turned to me, his brows drawn together. One strand of his blond hair had slipped from his immaculate updo, the same swept back, high class Hamptonite style he’d adopted about five years back and hadn’t budged from.
“Am I missing something?” Eli asked, his eyes sliding back toward Axel. “Why is this hillbilly in our board room?”
“May I sit? I’d love to chat business.” Axel gestured at the row of empty chairs facing our side of the table. “I’ve got an offer I think the board will be keen to accept.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Wattford,” Frank said, gesturing to the seat across the table from him.
“Call him Mr. Fairchild,” my father said, practically in a growl of his own. “And send that dog outside.”
“Oh, gosh. Sorry, Mr. Margulis.” Axel rolled out a leather chair and settled in, expelling a satisfied sigh. “He’s my emotional support animal.”
Eli hefted with a laugh. “Figures a guy like you would need some extra support in this line of work.”
Axel’s gaze didn’t waver from my father. And now his game was clear. Hewasignoring this end of the table. My heart rate increased, helplessness taking over.
I hadn’t expected to be face-to-face with him like this. Not today, not ever again. Not after what I’d done to him.