Page 71 of Fifth Avenue Devil

"Maybe," she says softly. "Is that not what you want?”

Her question makes my stomach flip flop. Instead of answering, I kiss her lips, kissing her so thoroughly that we’re both left breathless at the end.

But her question still plays in my mind. What do I want out of this relationship? I don’t know, and that disturbs me.

Twenty-Seven

Nate

The door to the Manhattan bar swings open on silent, subtle hinges. Their qualities a testament to the kind of customers that frequent this place. Power brokers, hedge fund managers, and finance bros alike come to play here.

My gaze sweeps the room. High ceilings crowned with angular light fixtures cast a subdued glow on the patrons. The kind of people who possess the type of wealth that isn’t spoken of aloud. It’s whispered through the cut of their suits and the subtle glint of bespoke accessories. The air smells like aged whiskey. The undercurrent of deals being made swirls through the room.

At the far corner, I find my brother Cash, and our VP Drew, occupying a table that commands a strategic view of the entrance and the rest of the bar.

"There he is," I hear Cash murmur as I approach. The smirk in his voice is unmistakable even before I see it manifested on his face.

I pin Cash with a look as I take a seat. “You’re looking perky. Apparently, at three a.m., you were doing shots off of a model with a bunch of your friends egging you on. I saw you tagged an Instagram post.”

“Social media is designed to make it seem more fun than it was.” Cash motions to his pint of beer and the glass of ice water in front of him. “Besides. I’m hydrating.”

"Seems healthy." I nod curtly at Drew. He acknowledges me with a nod. Then I wave a hand. "Let's cut to the chase.”

Cash leans forward, elbows on the table. The light catches the sharp angles of his face. "Gellar Industries," he starts. He taps the screen of his tablet to bring up a series of graphs and numbers and then props the tablet up so we can see it. "It’s particularly vulnerable to stock manipulation right now. As you see here, the stock is slowly gaining value after word got out that Archer Gellar is ill. I propose buying as much as possible through a dummy corporation and making a short sale. We could make ten or twelve million without breaking a sweat."

He points to a graph. My kneejerk reaction is anger, but I suppress it. Quickly, I lean back, catching a waiter’s eye. I point to the beer Cash is drinking, masking my irritation.

“Hmm.” Drew leans forward, looking at the charts on the tablet. “How would you suggest that we approach the situation? Assuming that Nate gives us the okay to start buying up stock, stealthily.”

“You two can’t pick a company I am not about to merge with?” I ask. There’s no heat to my voice, but my tone is heavily sarcastic.

Drew purses his lips. “You do realize that a short sale would help you, right? You will make money, and Gellar Industries will be incapacitated. Fuck a merger. They’ll sell to you for next to nothing and be glad for the charity.”

“We should do it. And I know how.” Cash's lips spread into a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "Once we buy all the stock, we plant a story with a friendly journalist. Maybe Constance Lee with the Wall Street Times. A strategic leak here, a rumor there. Enough to cause a flutter of doubt among the shareholders."

"Timing is everything," I caution. My mind is alight with visions of stock prices plummeting. I can see Gellar Industries' shares tumbling like a house of cards at the slightest nudge from our invisible hand.

"Of course. We’ll tread carefully. As usual, the FTC is monitoring all trades. And I, for one, wouldn't want to draw unnecessary attention to our short sale." Drew folds his hands and looks somber.

“I’m just not ready to move on Gellar Industries yet,” I say. “Maybe in a few months.”

“Is it the company that you’re protecting?" Cash leans forward, that ever-present smirk etched onto his face. "Or a certain pretty blonde a decade younger than you?"

I can feel the heat simmer beneath my collar. "Careful, Cash." The warning drips from my tongue. "You’re messing with things you don’t understand."

"Are you getting pussy-whipped by Little Miss CEO?" His grin widens. "Never took you for the type to get tangled up in bedsheets when there are boardroom battles to be won."

My hand clenches into a fist, knuckles whitening. "Contrary to what you believe," I say, with lethal calm, "not everything I do revolves around the boardroom. This decision is about power, not passion."

"Sure, Nate," Cash drawls, unimpressed. "Keep telling yourself that.”

I rise, towering over the table, my suit a second skin of authority. I have an idea. "I propose a trade. It’s a strategic pivot to buy myself time."

Cash leans back in his chair, his smile reminding me of a reclining jackal’s. Drew's brow arches, intrigued. "A trade?" Drew asks. “Keep talking.”

"I have a stock tip that's as solid as this table." I drum my fingers on the wood in front of me. "I’ll share. But in exchange, you agree to delay any movement on Gellar Industries for the foreseeable future."

"Nate, are you hedging now?" Cash laughs. "Since when do you need breathing room?"

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