Fifth Avenue Devil

Chapter 40

Forty

Cash

T he sun glints off the Hudson River. The sleek hull of my yacht slices through the choppy water. I stand at the helm, navigating smoothly. Seven other boats are racing against me, but I don’t look back to see where they are.

The key to winning anything in life is confidence. My pulse pounds in my ears. A sharp wind rips at my jacket and tousles my dark hair. With the finish line in sight, I have every assurance that I will finish this race first.

I lean forward as I jet across the finish line. Slowing my boat so as not to make any wake, I look left and right. At my yacht club, only twenty yards away, the crowd applauds. I finished ahead of the rest of the yachts, which are just now clearing the finish line in one contentious clump.

My heart pounds with exhilaration. A grin splits my face. I've clinched the solo captain's pennant for the third year running. Even after a decade as a billionaire CEO, the thrill of victory never gets old.

I do a celebratory lap, spinning the wheel and turning the boat in a wide circle. Showboating is kind of my thing . As I guide my boat to the pier, I spot my friends Jack and Tom tying up their vessels.

"Well, if it isn't the man himself," Jack calls out with a smirk. "Congrats on the win, you jerk."

I flash him a cocky grin as I secure my mooring lines. "What can I say? I aim to please. And I please regularly ."

Tom laughs, shaking his head. "Classic Cash. You'll be playing the field and breaking hearts 'til you're old and gray."

"I would resent that remark… if it weren’t a prophecy." I shrug a shoulder.

“It’s not a bad thing.” Jack shakes his head. "You’re just a shark by nature."

I force a chuckle. I know my friends are right. It's not really a joke. It's just the cold, hard truth about who I am. Commitment has never been my strong suit.

“Speaking of being a man-slut.” I offer them both a tight smile. “Let’s finish with our boats to get to the party. People are celebrating us. We need to be there.”

The reception is in full swing when we make our way to the yacht club's opulent ballroom. Servers weave through the crowd of dark suits and cocktail dresses, loaded down with trays of champagne.

I look around, assessing the situation. At any fancy dress party, there are a few types of people. Older men, drinking scotch and socializing. Some boring married guys who are glued to their spouses. My brother Nate has recently entered that category. There are handsy, drunk cougars looking for secret relationships.

Then, there is the category that I look for: available young women who are looking for the ride of their lives.

That’s where I shine. Dance a lot, drink a little, target one woman, and make her feel extra special. Boom . I’m hooking up in a coat closet by the night’s end. It’s the perfect formula.

There are only three rules I follow. No kissing, like I’m fucking Pretty Woman . No bringing them back to my penthouse. And absolutely no sleeping with the same woman twice.

No exceptions, even for girls that suck my cock so well that I can see God. I don’t want any of these girls to get the wrong idea. I’m not a nice guy.

That’s okay. Girls don’t hook up with me because I’m nice .

Looking around to assess the situation, I’m slightly put off by the crowd tonight. Tons of cougars. Lots of married guys. But there are almost no single girls. Maybe they’re all on the patio for some reason? God knows.

I spot my friend Derek sulking by the bar. His usually cheerful face is pulled into a pout. Poor guy. I didn’t see him finish, so he had to have come in toward the back of the pack. I snag two flutes of bubbly and make my way over to him.

"Drink up. You look like you could use it." I press a glass into his hand.

“Nah. I shouldn’t. I just got out of the hospital. If Dr. Stein knew I was here, he’d have a fit.” Derek gives me the ghost of a smile.

“You are a champion.” I clap him on the shoulder. "It was anyone's race out there. I only won by a hair."

"I saw the replay footage," he mumbles. “You won by forty-five seconds.”

"Look," I say. I point him towards a waiter laden with hors d'oeuvres. "Have some crab cakes. Relax. We're here to celebrate."

I survey the glittering crowd as Derek reluctantly nibbles on a crab cake. A group of beautiful women in slinky dresses catches my eye. They must have been hiding behind a large group of older men. Here, I see the real reason I love these events.

The thrill of the chase. The promise of a night of passion with no strings attached. It's what I'm good at.

What I'm notorious for.

Derek comes to stand beside me. He notices the group of young women, and a smile splits his face. "Right, Cash. You owe me for that race. Time to pay up."

“Is that right?” I take a sip of my champagne and arch an eyebrow. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

"You’re going to be my wingman tonight. I need to get laid. You’re going to do what you usually do. Instead of helping yourself, you're gonna help me, too."

Even as I nod in agreement, I can't help but roll my eyes. Derek does fine for himself, supposing he’s not high out of his mind or rushing home to take care of his teenage daughter. He’s probably the worst parent I have ever met.

And I know Celia and Doug Fordham, my parents. I sigh deeply.

"Fine, fine. I'll be your wingman. But you’d better play it cool."

As I scan the room for potential conquests, I can't help but feel a twinge of concern for my friend. Ever since his wife passed away, Derek's been spiraling. Drinking too much, sleeping around, neglecting his responsibilities.

I clear my throat. "Hey, uh, where's Charlie tonight?"

"With the nanny, probably." Derek shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “Don’t worry about her.”

The dismissive tone in his voice makes me wince. I want to press further. Someone should remind him that his daughter needs him. But I know better. Derek gets touchy when anyone brings up his parenting… or lack thereof.

Before I can change the subject, I spot a familiar face in the crowd. Thank god. I nod my chin toward the door. "Look who just walked in."

It’s Amir Ahmadi, voted ‘Mr. Gotta Have Him’ by the Wall Street Times. Which is their awkward way of saying that Amir is one of Manhattan's most eligible bachelors. I have to admit, he does look dope as fuck in his bespoke charcoal suit and crisp white dress shirt. Right now, Amir is strolling through the party with a stunning woman in his arm. I wave him over, curiosity piqued.

"Cash. What’s up?" Amir greets me with a fist bump. "Congrats on the win today."

I nod my thanks, but my eyes fix on his companion. She's a knockout. Lithe body, long blonde hair, and sparkling green eyes. "Who’s your friend?"

Amir grins. "This is Holly. Holly Barnes, meet Cash Fordham. Holly’s my girlfriend."

Girlfriend? My interest begins to wane immediately. Still, I turn on the charm, flashing her a warm smile.

"It’s truly a pleasure, Holly. How did you two meet? I'd love to know where I can find a woman like you."

Amir laughs. There is a knowing glint in his eye. "Sorry, Cash. That's never going to happen. Holly and I met through a matchmaking service."

"A matchmaker? Really?" I blink, taken aback. That seems pretty old-fashioned.

"Really," Amir confirms. "It's not for you anyway, Cash. We all know you're not interested in meeting ‘the one’. You’re only interested in hookups. My matchmaker wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole."

His words sting more than I'd like to admit. Is that really how everyone sees me? Just a perpetual playboy? It’s not wrong . But I don’t like being so easily quantified.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, trying to appear unbothered.

Amir raises an eyebrow. "Come on, Cash. You know exactly what I mean. The parties, the revolving door of women..."

"I'm only 32. Since when did that become too old to have fun?"

But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they ring hollow. The truth is, I've been feeling the pressure lately. The sidelong glances from board members, the not-so-subtle hints from my PR team about "settling down" and "presenting a more mature image".

I purse my lips and force myself to relax. "Look, maybe you're right. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to... explore my options." I turn to Holly and flash her my most disarming smile. "Any chance you could put me in touch with that matchmaker of yours?"

Holly's eyes light up. "Oh! You’re in luck. She's here tonight! The yacht race is a big event for her." She gestures towards a cluster of women near the bar. "That's Scarlet over there, in the red dress."

My gaze follows her pointing finger. I’ll admit that a plan is already forming in my mind. I could use a "nice girl" to appease the stockholders. Date someone for a while, break it off, play up my heartbreak. It's a perfect ruse.

"Thanks, honey. If you'll excuse me, I think I have a date with destiny." Leaving Amir and Holly in my wake, I saunter towards the group of women. Red dress. Red dress… My eyes lock on an elegant older lady with silver hair in a red crepe dress.

That must be Scarlet , I think to myself.

“Excuse me,” I say to her. “Are you Scarlet?”

The woman frowns at me. “No…”

Someone touches my arm. I turn, unprepared for what I see. A woman, a vision in red, steps forward. She looks a little puzzled. My breath catches in my throat.

"Mr. Fordham?" Her voice is like warm honey. "I'm Scarlet Espinoza. I believe you were looking for me?"

I blink, momentarily stunned. Scarlet is, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s all curves, and dark eyes, and full red lips. She’s the matchmaker? No way .

I recover quickly, hiding my surprise. “You know my name?”

Scarlet smiles. “I make it my business to know everybody who’s anybody in New York City.”

"Call me Cash. I must say, Scarlet. If the women who use your service are half as stunning as you, I need to sign up yesterday ."

Scarlet's eyebrow arches, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Fordham."

“Really?” I arch a brow. “How about into your bed?”

She pauses, wetting her lips with her tongue. Her gaze grows guarded. “I’m not on the market. But I know thirty women who are just your type.”

“Not on the market, huh?” I chuckle and lean in closer. The hint of her perfume wafting over to my nose is intoxicating. "Is that a challenge, Scarlet? Because I do love a good challenge."

Scarlet takes a small step back, maintaining her composure and her personal space. "It's just a statement of fact. Now, should I give you one of my business cards? Or is this just an elaborate ploy to hit on me?"

I can't help but admire her directness. Most women fall for my charm instantly. This back-and-forth, this is refreshing.

Why won’t Scarlet Espinoza simply fall at my feet? It’s refreshing, but still fucking annoying.

"Why can't it be both? I'm always open to exploring all my options."

She studies my face for a few moments before she sighs. Reaching into her purse, she pulls a business card out and hands it to me. “Call me if you decide it’s time to meet the woman of your dreams.” Then Scarlet turns away, moving amidst the crowd of young women. Though I stare at her for some time, she doesn’t glance my way again.

Damn. I look down at the card Scarlet handed me, running my thumb over the fine linen stock. I just met a new breed of woman. One that doesn’t want me the second I walk into a room. Curious. Very curious.

I stroll back to where Derek is sitting. My ego is slightly bruised, but the cutthroat competitor in me is alert. Does Scarlet Espinoza know that she just roused the beast? Doubtful .

Derek is hunched over a mountain of seafood, shoveling crab cakes into his mouth with reckless abandon. "Easy there, champ," I quip, sliding into my seat. "Tasting like day-old seafood will not get you on the Wall Street Times’ most eligible bachelor list."

Derek barely looks up, waving a dismissive hand. "I need sustenance to recover from defeat," he mumbles through a mouthful. Swallowing, he adds, "So, how'd it go with the hot matchmaker? Is she in your little black book of dates yet?"

I lean back with a cocky grin plastered on my face, masking my frustration. "Oh, Scarlet's going in the black book. Have you seen her up close? She’s a wild mustang just waiting to be tamed."

Derek snorts. "Then why are you back here with me?"

“Patience, my friend.” My jaw tightens imperceptibly. "The best games of chess require timing and strategy."

" Strategy? Since when do you need a strategy? Usually, you just mention that family name and flash that smirk."

"Let's just say Ms. Espinoza presents a…” I pause, smiling. “ Unique challenge. Trust me, I'll have her wrapped around my finger soon enough."

“Really? Because she sounds like someone who resisted the infamous Cash Fordham charm. I'd pay good money to see you two duke it out."

"Please," I scoff. "Listen, I already have a plan. I'll engage Scarlet’s services as a matchmaker. It's the perfect way in. Then I’ll just meet with Scarlet and be my very handsome self. She’ll beg to sleep with me once she sees what she's missing."

“Wait.” Derek's eyebrows shoot up. "You mean you're going to use her matchmaking service? Now that's desperate."

I spread my hand wide, grinning mischievously, and lean close to Derek. "Care to make this interesting?"

"What did you have in mind, Casanova?" Derek's eyes sparkle with intrigue.

"I'll bed Scarlet within a week. If I succeed, I get that custom Lamborghini of yours."

“That’s a pretty high price.” Derek chuckles, shaking his head. "Luckily, I’m not going to have to give you shit. Look, I'll give you a month to bed her. And when you fail – because you will – I get your yacht."

My heart races at the idea. I love a high-stakes gamble… especially when I'm sure I'll win.

"You're on," I grin, extending my hand.

We shake, sealing the bet. I can already feel the leather of Derek's Lamborghini beneath my fingers.

"Hope you've got good insurance on that Lambo." I smirk and lean back in my chair. My mind is already churning with possibilities. "Because in a month, it'll be mine."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Don't count your chickens, Cash. Scarlet might just knock you down a peg."

I scoff, but there's a flicker of doubt in my eyes. I push it aside, focusing instead on the thrill of the chase.

"Trust me, Derek. I've got this in the bag. No woman can resist the Fordham charm for long."

As I sip my champagne, my mind races with plans. I'll need to be clever. Seducing Scarlet will require a different approach than my usual conquests. But the thought only excites me more.

After all… what's life without a little challenge?

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