Page 46 of Fifth Avenue Devil

"All right, all right," I say. My finger hovers above the list, hesitating momentarily before scratching out several names. I can only hope that firing so many people is enough to salvage what remains of my father's legacy.

"Are you satisfied?" I ask, looking up at Nate.

He nods, but there's something different about him now. He exudes a calmness that wasn't there before.

"Let's move on to business strategies," he suggests. He opens a thick binder full of charts and graphs. I can't help but be a little intrigued by his change in demeanor.

"You’re so relaxed," I tease him, trying to lighten the mood. He smirks at me and the familiar edge returns to his expression.

"I’m very comfortable doing my job, Annalise." His tone is firm as he guides me through the intricacies of mergers and acquisitions. He talks about cost-effective marketing strategies and the advantages of vertical integration.

As we dive into corporate strategy, I find myself growing more and more fascinated. Not just by the subject matter, but by Nate himself. The intensity with which he discusses these topics reveals a passion I hadn't seen in him before.

Discussing synergy with him should be boring. But it’s actually a little bit hot? I can't help feeling drawn in by his smooth talking.

"Okay, so what do you think is the best approach for Gellar Industries regarding market penetration?" I ask. I slyly move my chair a little closer to his. I want to soak up whatever charm and charisma bomb has just gone off all over Nate Fordham.

"First and foremost, you need to identify your target market and define your value proposition," Nate explains, his voice oozing confidence. "Once you have that down, it's all about staying ahead of the curve. You must anticipate trends and pivot when necessary."

His words ring through me, and I nod in agreement. The more time I spend with Nate, the more I realize that beneath his prickly exterior lies a wealth of knowledge. Perhaps behind that gruff demeanor lies a genuine desire to see Gellar Industries succeed.

"You know," I say, my voice laced with genuine admiration. "You're a fantastic teacher when you let your guard down."

Nate looks at me, his gray eyes locking onto mine with a hint of surprise. "Well, you're a quick study, Annalise."

A smirk plays at the corner of his lips. I feel a flutter in my chest.

There’s so much more I want to learn from him.

Eighteen

Annalise

My workday goes long. At half past seven, I look at my watch with a blustery sigh. My head pounds faintly and there is a crick on my neck from sitting at my desk for so long. I get up and call for a car to take me home.

The Manhattan street glows like a string of diamonds as I head to my small, but luxurious, apartment overlooking a small park on the west side. My body aches for the comfort of home. I need a glass of wine and the sweet relief of kicking off these damn high heels. They make my ass look great, but they are torturous after a long day.

As I unlock the door, it swings open with unexpected ease. I’m alarmed to see a woman in my house.

And not just any woman. My mother.

She stands in the middle of my living room, her hands on her hips, surveying the chaos around her feet. The furniture is in disarray, with couches and chairs rammed into an odd configuration. The wall art lies in a messy stack leaning against a window, broken and ruined. One corner of a painting sticking through the delicate stretched canvas of another.

My chest tightens. This is what my mother does to her surroundings. She hates anything outside her chosen color palette of bland beige, drab gray, and muted pink. She is also outspoken about finding most places too cluttered and messy. I call her aesthetic ‘bleak brutalism.’ Mom prefers to refer to it as refined minimalism.

"Mom," I say coldly. "What are you doing here? How did you get in? And what the hell did you do to my stuff??"

She turns to me, gesturing to her destruction as if she has done me a favor. As always, she is entirely unbothered by my irritation.

"Darling!" she greets me. "I just thought your apartment could use a little sprucing up. It was sodisorganized."

“You’re not even supposed to be in here. This is my house. I don’t have to abide by your silly rules about housewares here.”

Mom smiles at me, waving away my concerns with a hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. I came to see you, but you weren’t in. Your doorman was kind enough to let me in. I’m just sprucing up a little since I had time to kill.”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. Of course, Mom would find a way to worm herself into my sanctuary, even going so far as to charm the doorman. That doorman is gettingfiredlater.

“I am not relitigating the issue of my chosen color palette, for my living room,” I growl, putting emphasis on the word ‘my’. I could wring Mom’s neck. “Just leave everything as it is right now. I’ll have the maid try to reassemble the living room tomorrow.”

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