Page 6 of Fifth Avenue Devil

I've insinuated that it is his file.

What file? I didn't say whether it is from the police, the FBI, or just a private eye. I don't need to, either.

Because as far as Davis knows, it contains all of his misdeeds, from HardDig, all the way back to cheating off some other kid when he was in kindergarten.

I pin Davis with a look and give him a grim little smile. "So... Davis. You've been a very bad boy, apparently."

"Mr. Fordham, I think there has been a misunderstanding." He mops his brow. "I don't even understand why I'm here."

I give him a frank look. "Really? You don't understand why the CEO of a well digging company would be asked to meet the CEO of a company that makes its money primarily from finding oil?"

He swallows. "Sure, but?—"

I hold up a hand to stop him from further explaining.

"Davis, let's cut to the chase. I'm too busy for any more foreplay. You have been claiming losses for HardDig with the IRS for three straight years. But I have it on very good authority that you have a second set of books that hide the fact that your company earned north of thirty million dollars last year alone."

Davis looks like he's been hit in the face with a frying pan. His mouth opens and closes. "Mr. Fordham?—"

"Here's what is going to happen. You're going to sell HardDig to ViaLife for a million dollars. I will take over the company. You'll get a golden parachute of... let's say, ten million. And we don't call the IRS and rat you out." I give him a smile as sharp as a razor blade. "How does that sound?"

He looks petrified. "I... I don't know..."

I stand up, checking my watch. "I think we're done here. Sign the papers or be prepared to see the IRS on your doorstep tomorrow. I'll be able to buy your company assets when they are auctioned off by the government. This is just a faster way for me to get them, and also the only way that you escape prison."

"P-prison?" he gasps. "I can't go to prison!"

I turn toward the glass door of the conference room and beckon for my assistant to enter the room.

Sal pushes the door open with a questioning expression. "All set?" he asks.

Davis is weeping and wiping his face. I jerk my thumb toward him. "He's agreed to sign. Get him the paperwork."

I stride out of the meeting room without another word, leaving the sobbing man behind. By the time I take a few steps into the hallway, my thoughts have already left this situation behind. I pass by a few glass-doored offices before I reach mine.

My office is the size of six smaller offices and it has the corner view of downtown Manhattan that any reasonable human being would kill for. Right now, I see a buttery leather wingback chair, a marble-topped chrome coffee table, and a sumptuous leather couch upon which a dark head is currently resting. It can only belong to one of my brothers; no one else has my permission to be in here when I'm not present.

I push open the office door and walk the ten paces to my huge slate desk. Perching on the edge with a sigh, I see that my visitor is indeed a Fordham. Cash is stretched out on my Maison Tallairdat couch, leaving scuff marks from his leather wingtips on the seat cushion. He greets me without looking up from his phone.

"Hey Nate." He continues swiping and typing on the small screen.

"Cash." I cock my head. "What brings you here?"

He keeps looking at his phone. "What happened to all the hot, available women in Manhattan?" he complains. "I'm in a real hot girl desert."

"Well, you've slept with most of the women in New York, married and unmarried. And since you profess to only have one-night stands..." I lift my shoulders in a shrug. "Honestly, if you hadn't gone to L.A. for a few years, you'd probably have encountered this issue before now."

Cash sighs and puts his phone on his chest. "Damn. I was afraid you'd say that."

I wait a few more seconds for him to get to the point. Then I pointedly check my wristwatch. "I assume that there is a point to you loafing on my couch?"

Cash sits up. "Do you feel like going downstairs for a drink?"

"It's three thirty, Cash."

"So?" He shoots me a dirty look. "You're worse than James and Grant. None of you are any fun."

I pin him with a look. Cash sticks out his lower lip and makes a begging gesture with his hands.

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