Page 64 of The Contract

I sign a page and flip to another, skimming again. “Have we heard from a real estate developer, name of Evers?”

Richard consults his tablet. “No. Do I need to reach out?”

“No. It’s fine.”

I lost that one when I went after Tristan at the charity dinner. And I don’t have Noah’s company to offer as an alternative anymore anyway.

Did I really fucking cut Noah out?

My heart starts pounding.

Yes.

No.

I don’t fucking know. I can’t think about it right now. I almost turn my phone back on but stop myself.

He had no fucking business trying to tell me how to handle Tristan. Tristan is mine. No one gets to be involved in our shit. It’s hard enough to figure out without a bunch of assholes asking me questions.

I don’t want to hear how Inever do thator how it’snot gonna work. Fucking Rafael.

Why the hell did he have to put that in my head? What’s not gonna work? What is this?

Are you coming home?

Are you ok?

Are you safe?

Yeah. I’ve been avoiding him too.

When did he start … caring? Is that what his texts meant? Do I want that?

“I don’t fucking know,” I mutter.

“Um, which section?” Richard asks.

“Huh?”

“You’re looking at the Milano factory report?”

“Oh. Never mind. I see it.”

I keep reviewing until Richard’s tablet chimes. He sucks in a breath. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Three second warning, your—”

My office door flies open and my father walks in. So much for my three second warning.

“I’ve tolerated this long enough,” he says.

Richard scurries out without being told. He snaps the door shut.

My father looks business-perfect in his three-piece gray suit as he comes to stand in the middle of my office, old-fashioned amid the sleek modernity. He’s got the same Ivy League haircut he’s had all my life, though the black is now peppered with gray. He’s classy and handsome and a powerful man in the city, but all I can see is those cold dark eyes. Even now, when he’s angry, they’re cold.

I doubt that mine are, even though I remain seated in my executive chair.

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