Fifth Avenue Devil

Chapter 34

Thirty-Four

Nate

W hy am I here? I wonder.

This charity gala is as boring as the last one, and the one before that. I'm already three drinks in, my tuxedo rumpled and hair disheveled from the sleepless night that preceded this gala. I tossed and turned, thinking about the last time that I shared my bed with Annalise.

Where is she right now? Probably holed up somewhere. The news that Annalise was fired from Gellar Industries is everywhere. She’s unlikely to show her face when it’s being splashed across the front page of every newspaper, along with the headline CEO Fired. Investigation Of Embezzlement Looms!

And as for me? I’m skulking around the ballet gala, hoping against hope that she’ll be here in spite of all that.

I don’t know why I want to see her so badly. She made me weak. And yet, I’m here, skulking around and hoping to catch a glimpse of Annalise.

"Pull it together, Nate," I mutter under my breath.

I shouldn't be here, not with Annalise haunting every corner of my thoughts. But I couldn't resist the chance to make sure she's doing okay after I forced her out of her company. It was just business. That's what I've been telling myself. Nothing personal.

But I know better than anyone how much Gellar Industries meant to her. It was her family's legacy. She was determined to prove herself worthy of it.

Now she’s the punchline to many New Yorkers’ nasty jokes.

My phone buzzes. I look at it and find yet another alert for Annalise’s name. It reads, “Annalise Gellar, the latest CEO of Gellar Industries, has been fired by the board after she was found embezzling over twenty million dollars.”

The information that this article is based on is blatantly wrong. I scroll up and squint at the author’s name. Constance Lee.

I know that name. She’s Cash’s pet journalist.

Well Constance, you can go fuck yourself. And take your shitty source with you.

Was firing Annalise what I wanted? Yes, sort of. But now, articles are being written and YouTubes are being made that point to her as the obvious suspect. Somehow, I didn’t anticipate that part.

Though it seems obvious now. I should have anticipated this.

As the orchestra begins another elegant waltz, I scan the room for any sign of her. Those golden curls or that fierce, stubborn gaze that had once held me captive.

But she's nowhere to be found. I didn't expect her to show up. Still, disappointment claws at my chest.

"Looking for someone, Nate?" A voice interrupts my brooding. I turn to find James, smirking in his perfectly tailored suit. My twin brother knows me too well. The bastard was always able to read my thoughts as if I were an open book.

"None of your business," I snap.

"Come on. We both know you're searching for Annalise. How's she doing since you took over Gellar Industries? Are you enjoying playing the ruthless businessman?" he taunts, but there's no heat behind his words. He may enjoy poking fun at me, but he also understands the weight I carry.

He, too, feels the loneliness that comes with being a Fordham.

"Like I said, it's none of your business," I reply, my voice sharper than intended.

James raises an eyebrow, studying me for a moment before speaking again. "Look, Nate, you're not fooling anyone. Your heart was never in this takeover. I’m surprised that you went through with it! It's clear you care for Annalise. I thought you brought her to the poker tournament to test the waters for announcing your relationship.”

I push out a harsh breath. “She’s the daughter of my business rival. I’m a capitalist through and through. At the end of the day, I only care about money. It was destined to end this way.”

But with Annalise gone, why do I feel like I’ve been run over by a steamroller? Flat, dull, lifeless. Am I really this sad about a break-up?

James looks at me intently, pursing his lips. "Why don’t we get out of here?" he asks. "The Porter’s Club is right around the corner. We can catch up in relative privacy."

I swing my tired, slightly drunken gaze around the room. All around me, there are deals being made and jokes being cracked. I’m not in the mood for any of it.

Besides, there is no sign of Annalise. Why bother staying?

"Fine," I begrudgingly agree. “As long as they have more scotch.”

My brother pushes me out of the room, shaking his head. Together, we leave the gala behind and make our way down the darkened Manhattan streets.

We soon arrive at a discreet brownstone building tucked between two modern high-rises. The contrast between the old and new fa?ades is stark. James punches a code into a sleek keypad and hustles me in the front door.

The interior is rich and masculine, with dark wood paneling and plush leather furniture. A hushed murmur of voices drifts up from the downstairs lounge. Uniformed waiters drop drinks off to guests and collect empty glasses. On any other night, I would be tempted to join this room.

But James knows my moods too well for that. He pushes me toward the back of the foyer. We ascend the elegant staircase to a private library. I look at the walls, lined with leather-bound volumes and exquisite pieces of art.

An impeccably dressed employee appears almost instantly, a testament to the level of service in this exclusive sanctuary. "Bottled water for both of us," James orders without hesitation.

"Make that a Scotch for me," I counter.

"We’re fine with water," James says firmly. He levels me with a serious gaze. I shrug and the employee disappears to fetch our drinks.

As I sink into one of the overstuffed leather chairs, I feel a sense of foreboding. Whatever James has to say, it's bound to be something I don't want to hear.

But a part of me hopes that he has an answer to the gnawing emptiness inside me. An emptiness that seems to grow every moment since I pushed Annalise away.

The chilled glass bottle of water lands on the mahogany table between us with a soft thud, accompanied by two crystal-clear glasses. The employee vanishes as silently as he appeared, leaving James and me in the dimly lit library.

"Let me guess," James says, pouring his water. "You listened to Cash's advice about Gellar Industries?"

"Unfortunately," I mutter. I slouch down in my chair.

James throws his head back and laughs. He quickly catches himself. "Sorry, Nate. But you've got to admit, Cash isn't exactly the best person to give relationship advice. He's in it for the money, not for the... emotional whatever ."

"Tell me about it. Sometimes I think that guy is destined to be one of those billionaire seventy-year-olds who marries a girl young enough to be his granddaughter."

"Or he'll never settle down at all, knowing him." James fills my glass and nudges it toward me. “Drink this. It’s not a good look to wander around drunk in public. For fuck’s sake.”

I gulp the water down, then go right back to lamenting my decision. "The point is, I screwed up with Annalise. I tried to do what I would normally have done. But… I’m starting to think that was a mistake.”

James snorts. “Ya think?”

“I thought you were here to console me.” I rub a hand over my face, blearily.

“Sorry. Old habits die hard.” He crosses his legs and gives me a serious look. “You screwed up. Go on.”

I shrug. “And now she’s dumped me. Or we broke up? The details are kind of fuzzy.”

“Let me ask you a question. Did you and Annalise ever use that four-letter word? You know the one."

"Love?" I feel like my stomach is lined with icy rocks. "Just once. The night before I fired her, actually."

James blinks. "You fucking fool," he mutters.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, brother.” But deep down, I know he's right. I've been an idiot.

"So. You've driven her away. How are you going to fix this mess you've made?"

I run my tongue over my teeth. “Do you think I can?”

"Depends. Can you continue on this path you're on?" His voice is heavy with concern. "You seem lonely and miserable."

“I am.” I sigh, admitting defeat. "But even if I apologize to Annalise, it won’t undo any of the damage I’ve caused."

"Then you must grovel .”

“Grovel?” I scoff, the word sticking in my throat like bitter poison. The thought of begging for anything goes against every fiber of my being. But for Annalise…

I need to have her in my life. In my bed. As my wife, if she’ll agree to it. What if groveling is the only way to get her back?

"Fine," I concede, clenching my fists in determination. "I'll grovel if that's what it takes."

"The things worth having sometimes require us to,” James replies. Then his phone buzzes. He checks it, making a face of disgust. "Shit. I have to go, Nate. Derek needs me."

“You can’t leave! Derek’s just a friend. I’m your twin .”

James shakes his head. “He’s in the hospital, asshole. I’m going to pick up his daughter and take her over there.”

“Oh.” I wince. “I guess that’s more important.”

“Nate, good luck. I know you’ll figure out the best way to beg for forgiveness.” He gets up abruptly, dialing his phone as he strides across the room.

As the door shuts behind him, I sink deeper into the leather chair. The weight of the situation presses down on me. My fingers drum impatiently against the armrest as I pull out my phone, lost in thought.

How can I convince Annalise that I'm not the villain she believes me to be? Okay, I am the villain. Or rather, my brother is the villain. But I’m sure that Annalise won’t see it in such black and white terms.

But how can I tell her that I know I did the wrong thing? A grand gesture, perhaps? No, Annalise is far too intelligent to be swayed by empty theatrics. It needs to be personal, meaningful, and most importantly, sincere.

A sudden thought strikes me like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the darkness clouding my mind.