Page 10 of By the Letter

I wasn’t a man who discussed a woman’s appearance with other guys. I found it boring and not worth my time. Ben had a point, though. When I’d heard Frank had married a woman thirty years his junior, I’d pictured someone lavishly attractive. Lips made puffy by a few rounds of filler. Dangerous, eye-catching curves.

There was nothing eye-catching about Shira.

She dressed in monochrome, either black on black or gray on gray, modest to a fault. Her dark hair was always raked away from her face and wrapped in a neat bun at the base of her skull. Her face was the kind of plain that was easy to forget once she was out of sight. The only thing remarkable about her was her eyes, but I wouldn’t say they were beautiful. A shade of green so pale there was something ghostly about them. Still, I’d caught myself staring at them several times. Maybe they were what had turned Frank’s head.

Ignoring Ben, I raised a hand, catching their attention. “Good afternoon, Terry, Shira. Are you headed to lunch?”

Terry laid a hand on Shira’s arm, and they stopped in front of us. Shira’s expression slid back to her normal impassiveness—adirect contrast to Terry’s warm smile. If I thought it would have made a difference, I would have danced a jig just to see Shira react. But I knew better. Since the day we met last month, Shira had blanked me out. I would have thought it was personal, but as far as I could tell, this was how she reacted to everyone. I didn’t know why she insisted on staying on as the CEO if it caused her such abject misery.

“We just returned from my favorite ramen joint. Now we’re on our way to talk to Mike.” Terry looked from me to Ben. “This has to be the twin.”

“Guilty as charged. Ben Wells.” They shook hands, and he directed his focus on Shira. “Nice to meet you too, Shira. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Shira’s eerie eyes flitted over my brother before settling on his shoulder. “It’s nice to meet you, Ben,” she responded, but there was no meaning behind the words. Flat, cold, emotionless—just like her.

I cleared my throat. “You’ll have to email me the name of the ramen place, Terry. Unless it’s a state secret.”

She grinned, her fingers squeezing Shira’s arm. “If you promise not to spread it around.”

I held up a hand. “Scout’s honor. You share the ramen joint, I’ll give you the name of the Greek restaurant where we just had lunch. If you like lamb, theirs is so tender it basically melts in your mouth.”

Shira made a sound somewhere between a cough and a whimper. Then, out of nowhere, she walked off. No word. Not even a salute. The woman just…left.

Ben whipped around to watch her go, and I caught Terry’s concerned gaze following Shira down the hall.

Scrubbing my jaw, I frowned. “Guess she doesn’t like Greek.”

Terry tried to laugh, but there was no amusement behind it. “I don’t think she’s feeling well. I’m going to check on her. Excuse me, gentlemen.”

I’d met a lot of people in my life, both in sports and business, and no one perplexed me the way Shira Goldman did. She’d been married to a man I’d once admired, but I was unable to understand what qualities Frank had seen in her that had made him throw away most of his relationships and give her full control of the company he’d built from the ground up.

“Huh.” Ben rubbed his stomach, swiveling back to me. “That was…off-putting.”

I took him by the shoulder, leading him into my office. It was sparse, but I was only here temporarily, so I hadn’t bothered decorating. The view out the floor-to-ceiling windows was all I needed anyway. Elliot Levy owned this building. All his properties were well positioned and smartly designed, so even the most simple lines were pleasing to the eye.

My brother flung himself into one of two leather chairs facing my desk and let out a sigh. “So, that’s Frank’s young bride?”

I settled in my chair, half facing Ben, half turned toward the window. “That’s her.”

“Hmmm. I expected to meet her and find out Frannie had been exaggerating. Turns out, she’d grossly undersold her wicked stepmother.”

I pressed my fingers together in a bridge. “Don’t let her hear you calling her Frannie.”

He winged a brow. “Is she in the office today?”

“I have no idea. Francesca doesn’t keep me abreast of her schedule, but she’s away more often than she’s here.”

We’d gone to high school with Francesca Goldman. Her father had been friends with ours. We’d never existed in the same social circles, but when Frank died last year, we’d started talking, and she’d spilled every dirty detail about her father’swife, who was nearly the same age as her. I took a lot of what Francesca said with a grain of salt since she thrived on drama, but if even a quarter of what she’d said was true, Shira was an even worse person than I’d already imagined.

Ben chuffed. “I don’t blame Frannie. This place is like a tomb. Maybe you should play some music to pick up the vibe. Bring in some entertainers. Oh—a popcorn machine! Yeah, do that.”

“What kind of entertainers? Were you thinking jugglers or strippers?”

“Neither.” He twirled his hand in front of himself. “I was thinking those party facilitators who come with the DJ at bar mitzvahs.”

I cocked my head, staring at my brother. “Do you even understand what goes on in an office?”

“I do not, and I never want to. Keep that to yourself, Romeo.”

---