Mogul (Manhattan #2)(56)

“I mean it.”

“Say it again when you’re not drunk, please.”

“I’m not that out of it.” He eases out of bed and heads off to clean up, then comes back and slides into bed with me. “I’ll say it again when we’re both ready to deal with it.”

“What do you mean?”

He pulls me back to his side and looks down at me with eyes that I can easily get lost in. “Questions, questions, kitten.” He smiles at me, pecks my lips, then licks softly into them. “You’ll see. If all goes well, you’ll see very, very soon. Just don’t quit on this opportunity—promise me you won’t.”

“I…” I’m about to tell him I cannot promise this, but the look in his eyes gives me pause. He’s never looked that determined before. “I promise. But I don’t want—”

“She won’t be a part of it,” he assures me.





Ian



We’ve been waiting for twenty-three minutes and I’m clutching the pen like a man too eager to put his signature on something. Though the truth is, I signed the minute I arrived. Click, click, click.

Mattias Wahlberg clears his throat, his eyes on my pen. I smile at him apologetically and place the pen back on the table. Across from us, Cordelia’s lawyer, Aaron Goldberg, is seated, an odd-looking little man but a good lawyer. I hope he knows there’s no way out of this one except to get this over with.

“Is she always this late?” Wahlberg asks me, tapping his watch and sighing.

I shrug. “There’s no ‘always’ or ‘usual’ when it comes to Cordelia.”

I don’t know why it bothers him; I’m paying him by the hour. Unless he has reservations about today’s proceedings.

“I trust we’re all good for today?” I ask him. “This should be it, right?”

He hesitates and the lawyers exchange glances. Goldberg smooths down the sparse amount of hair on his otherwise bald head and readjusts the handkerchief in his jacket pocket.

“One can never be certain about these things,” Mattias finally says, “but we have a good feeling about today. Assuming she turns up, of course.”

Right. I lean back in my chair and take a deep breath. I need to relax.

The door swings open loudly and the three of us glance at the doorway.

Cordelia saunters into the office, taking her sweet time to close the door behind her. She’s wearing an expensive-looking trouser suit, and I notice diamond earrings twinkling through her lavishly coiffed hair.

She’s always spent an obscene amount of money on her appearance, but I was always genuinely happy to give her everything she ever wanted. Her infidelity, however, is a flaw I refuse to overlook.

She takes a seat at the table, offering no word of apology for being late. I’m tempted to say something, but I know better and keep my mouth shut. I can feel her looking at me and I look back in silence.

“Oh, this is what it has come to, has it?” she huffs. “You can’t even acknowledge me?”

I take a deep breath. I’m going to need all the self-control I can muster for this meeting.

“Thank you for finally joining us, Cordelia,” I say. I give Wahlberg a look and he slides the paperwork across the table toward her and Goldberg.

“Mrs. Ford, everything is as previously agreed, but please take your time to read over it again and then sign… here.” He indicates where to sign, and Cordelia purses her lips in anger.

“Mrs. Ford…” she mutters bitterly as she peruses the papers in front of her. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to being called by my maiden name again soon.”

“It’s one of the conditions for granting you all of the assets that we are,” Wahlberg responds indifferently, handing her a pen. “Mr. Ford would like his name back.”

She takes the pen, frowning, the nib hovering inches from the page. She pauses and asks Goldberg if he’s read it already. Goldberg nods at Cordelia, giving her the go-ahead.

But she puts down the pen and sighs, wiping an imaginary tear from her cheek. She looks up at me, her long lashes fluttering and her bottom lip quivering. Once upon a time I would have felt something. But her act no longer fools me.

She reaches out her hand to touch mine, but I pull away before she can.

“Ian,” she whispers, “please. I know you don’t really want this. We’re good together. We can try again. It’ll be different this time.”

“It’s too late, Cordelia. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

“Maybe,” she retorts, regarding me in speculation. “But that doesn’t mean I have to agree to the divorce.”

My gut tightens in frustration and we glare at each other over the table. I knew deep down that she was going to fight until the end, and I just hope that whatever Wahlberg has up his sleeve will finally convince her.

“I know why you want this so much,” she continues, her eyes narrowed to slits of contempt. “It’s what your dumb little floozy wants, isn’t it?”

At the mention of Sara, I can’t help but feel my patience slip. “Leave her out of this,” I warn.

Wahlberg clears his throat loudly. “Let’s keep this civil,” he says to both of us in his usual monotone voice. I’m breathing deeply through my nose, trying to control my rage.