Page 14 of Fifth Avenue Devil

I don't want to turn her loose. But I step back anyway, forcing my hands behind my back. "Be ready at six. I don't tolerate lateness."

Then, before I can be tempted further, I turn and thunder down the stairs. Only one thought rings through my head.

I'm going to have Annalise Gellar. I'm going to take Archer’s little daughter and pathetic his little company, too. I'm going to rub it in Archer's face.

Nobody gets revenge quite like I do.

Six

Annalise

My lips twist sourly as I slide from the back seat of the chauffeured SUV that Nate Fordham sent for me. I wrap the expensive white cashmere and fur wrap that Nate had messengered to my apartment more closely around myself to ward off the chill evening air.

I look up at the broad stone steps before me that lead up to a slate-covered, modern-looking building. I let a puff of breath escape my mouth.

The New York Ballet could be the only ballet in the world, for all I care. Since it was taken over by Nate’s cousin Calum Fordham, their dancers have put on nothing but incredible performances. Everyone who is anyone fights for tickets. Because of the size of the theater, I know that only the most vaunted patrons get box seats.

You can’t buy your way onto the waitlist. You have to beinvited. And I’m willing to bet that the Gellar family hasn’t even gotten close to the top of that list.

Because the Fordham family is one of the founding families of New York City, here I am. Heading up to the door, knowing that a much-contested box seat will be waiting for me. I have to admit, my interest is piqued.

An usher holds open a massive oak door for me and I step inside. A soaring, three story space surrounds me. I can see that I follow a group of ballet-goers closely. But their sounds are muffled and distorted by this huge, slate-lined atrium. Nothing sounds like it should.

"Annalise."

When Nate touches my inner arm and says my name, I almost jump out of my skin. I turn to him, my heart thrumming. "Mr. Fordham!" His name from my mouth sounds like a curse. "Don't sneak up on me!"

He chuckles. "I said your name twice before I touched you, Annalise. You are a skittish little thing. I should call you Kitten."

I make a disgusted face. Even though I kind of like the way Kitten sounds, coming from him, it's hardly appropriate. This is a business relationship at best.

I try to remind myself of this as my eyes travel down his body. Once again, he's wearing a tuxedo like he was born in it, commanding my attention. "Mr. Fordham. I would appreciate if we kept things formal."

His eyes skate down my figure, but he doesn't comment on what I am wearing. Thank god for that. I don't need to know what he's thinking; the blaze of hunger in his eyes tells me all I need to know.

This guy is trouble.

Nate sticks out an elbow. "Let's find our seats, shall we?"

So he's going to pretend he didn't hear me. Great.

Sighing, I slip my hand onto his forearm and press my lips into a thin line.

His forearm radiates heat. It's everything I can do not to huddle closer to Nate's big body. They have the air conditioning jacked up in here, perhaps in deference to the ballerinas that will soon be dancing under the hot lights.

As we take the elevator up, and walk past other rich couples, I notice that Nate says hello to practically everyone. Mr. Fordham is a social butterfly? That's not something I had on my imaginary bingo card.

"Is there anybody here that you don't know?" I say wryly.

A smile tips Nate's lips up. A rumble from deep in his chest makes me shiver. "Did you really expect that there would be anyone here I wouldn't know? I'm from one of the oldest, and most well-connected families in New York City." He arches a brow. "But I don't expect you to know how that is. To my knowledge, Archer was penniless ten years ago."

I feel my cheeks heat. For a moment, I had almost forgotten that Nate and my dad operated as business rivals for quite a long time. Silly me. "You're not scoring yourself any points by bringing up the fact that my family hasn't been rich for long." I shake my head, my expression pinched.

He lets out a soft laugh and heads toward a row of doors with pink velvet hangings draped on either side of them. "Fair point."

I look at him skeptically. I can’t tell if he is making fun of me or not. If he is, he's hiding his condescension well.

An usher spots Nate and hurries to open one of the doors. "Mr. Fordham, welcome. I wasn't told you would be here tonight," he squeaks.

---