King of Greed: Chapter 10

F ate smacked me in the face with a giant red sign.

Retail space for lease.

The sign was plastered over the window of a tiny storefront in NoMad, tucked between a cafe and a nail salon.

I’d passed plenty of for lease signs on my way back from another day of unsuccessful apartment hunting, but for some reason, this one screamed at me. Maybe it was the quiet street, the giant windows, and the exposed brick walls I spied inside. Or maybe it was my frustration over the standstill in divorce proceedings and desire to do something. To find a piece of myself that didn’t revolve around my marriage.

Whatever it was, it compelled me to call the number on the sign and leave a voicemail requesting more information.

Dominic could stall all he wanted, but I wasn’t putting my life on hold for him anymore. Cole could deal with the divorce while I started building a new life—one where I had control over my own finances and future.

“I’m free any day,” I said after I left the requisite contact information.

Does that make me sound too desperate? Normal people didn’t sit around all day waiting for a phone call, right? “Any day between nine and five,” I added hastily. Much better. “I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Thank you.”

I hung up, my palms clammy.

This was it. My first step toward independence. Well, besides moving out, which didn’t fully count because I didn’t have my own place yet and most of my belongings were still at the penthouse. I couldn’t bring myself to return to Hudson Yards and pack up yet.

The early October air cooled some of my nerves as I cut across the street toward Sloane’s apartment. I’d started Floria Designs two years ago on a whim, and it’d blossomed into a small yet thriving business. It wasn’t raking in millions or anything, but it earned a solid profit and I enjoyed the work. However, now that I was stepping out on my own, it was time to take it to the next level.

I wanted to take control and create my own future; I didn’t want to be someone who put herself last.

My phone rang when I entered the lobby of Sloane’s building. My heart skipped a beat, but instead of the Realtor calling me back, the name was a familiar one.

“You never call, you never text. It’s like I don’t exist anymore,”

Marcelo said when I picked up. His teasing tone brought a smile to my lips.

“What happened to sibling loyalty?”

“I’m not the one setting impossible culinary standards for the rich and famous,” I said. “How can anyone eat another steak after they’ve tasted yours?”

“Ah, flattery. It’ll work on me every time.” My brother laughed. He was two years my junior and already one of the most celebrated chefs in São Paulo’s dining scene. We chatted for a few minutes about work and his need for a vacation before he asked, “When are you visiting again? I haven’t seen you and Dom in ages.”

My smile faded. I hadn’t told my family about my separation yet. One, it was hard enough to track down my mother on a regular day. Two, I only saw them once or twice a year. They had no idea I was unhappy in my marriage, and I couldn’t summon the energy to detail the reasons behind the separation yet.

“Ále?” Marcelo prompted when I remained silent. “You okay?”

“Yes, I—” My response abruptly cut off when the elevator doors slid open.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.

“I have to call you back,” I said, not taking my eyes off the spectacle waiting for me outside the apartment. “I’m fine, but something…something came up.”

Correction: a hundred somethings, judging by the number of bouquets littering the hallway. Pink roses for affection, white lilies for forgiveness, golden trumps for strength and triumph over obstacles. I tried to ignore the meaning behind each bouquet as I focused on the garden that had exploded inside the building. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who they were from.

I’m going to kill Dominic.

“Hi. Alessandra Davenport?” The delivery boy handed me a pen and clipboard. “Can you sign, please? We have more downstairs but, well, we can’t fit them all in the hall.”

I didn’t touch the pen. “How did you get up here?”

Sloane was in Europe dealing with Xavier Castillo, one of her most difficult clients, and building security wouldn’t let any deliveries in without informing the recipient first.

The delivery boy shrugged. “A…” He checked his phone. “Mr. Dominic Davenport called and arranged it. He said he knows the building owner?”

I was going to have a serious talk with the head of security after this.

“Thank you, but I don’t want the flowers,” I said. “Can you please bring them back to the store? I don’t want them to go to waste.”

Panic filled the boy’s face. He exchanged glances with the other employees from the flower shop, all of whom wore similar stricken expressions.

“Our boss said we have to make this delivery. He’s going to check for your signature when we get back.”

I suppressed a groan.

The boy couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen. He was probably doing this as a side gig, and it wasn’t his fault Dominic was so…so insufferable. If he thought inundating me with flowers was going to make me back down from the divorce, he didn’t know me at all.

And isn’t that the problem to begin with?

“How about this?” I took the clipboard. “I’ll sign, but you take the flowers to the nearest hospital instead. Your boss doesn’t have to know I didn’t keep them.”

It took some cajoling, but the boy eventually relented and agreed to my plan. On his way out, however, he handed me the note that accompanied the flowers and left before I could protest.

I entered the apartment, my eyes locked on Dominic’s messy, familiar scrawl.

I’m sorry I missed our anniversary dinner and so many more dinners before that. Flowers alone won’t make up for it, but give me a chance to make amends in person and I will. A thousandfold.

His handwriting became near illegible toward the end, but I understood him. I always did.

A tiny drop of wetness smudged the ink. My heart threatened to smash free from my chest as Dominic’s words dragged me back in time.

One day, I’ll buy you a thousand real roses. I promise. I won’t forget. I promise.

We’ll work this out. I promise.

So many promises. He’d only kept a fraction of them, but I fell for them every time.

Not this time.

I ignored the ache in my chest as I set my jaw, crumpled the note, and tossed it in the trash. After a quick shower, I flung open my closet doors and searched for an appropriate fuck you outfit.

I’d stayed home too many nights waiting for Dominic when I should’ve been out living life, and it was time to make up for lost time.

Starting with tonight.

“You’re beautiful.”

I turned my head, examining the speaker through the buzz of three gin and tonics and one apple martini. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties. Floppy hair, designer suit, and the preppy, clean-cut look of a fresh Ivy League grad turned investment banker.

Dominic would chew him up and spit him out for breakfast.

Stop thinking about Dominic.

“Thank you,” I said with a small smile. His pickup line wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was better than previous compliments on my “great tits” and offers to show me a “night I’d never forget.”

“I’m Drew.” He held out his hand.

“Alessandra.”

I wasn’t interested in him romantically or sexually. I was still married, and despite my frustration over Dominic’s stonewalling, I wasn’t a cheater.

But Drew seemed nice enough, and I was getting tired of drinking by myself. The whole point of going out was to meet new people.

Baby steps.

“So, Drew, what do you do?” I defaulted to basic small talk. As expected, my new barmate launched into an energetic spiel about the bank he worked for while I sipped my drink and tried to remember how to be a normal, single person on the dating scene again. I wasn’t single yet, but I should start practicing, right?

Luckily, Drew possessed the enthusiasm of a newborn pup and carried the conversation on his own. Every now and then, he remembered to ask me a question about myself, and he scooted closer with every answer until his knee touched mine.

“That’s great,” he said after I gave him a brief overview of what I did for Floria Designs. “So, uh, are you free this weekend? I have tickets to the Yankees game. Box seats.” A hint of braggadocio entered his tone.

No, thanks. I’d never understood the fascination with baseball.

I couldn’t even see the ball half the time.

I opened my mouth, but an icy voice sliced between us before I could respond.

“She’s not.” A hand rested on my lower back, followed by the brush of a soft wool suit and the scent of a familiar cologne. “My wife and I have plans.”

My entire body stiffened while Drew scrambled off his stool, his face red and his eyes starstruck. “Mr. Davenport! Wow, I am a huge fan. I’m Drew Ledgeholm. We learned about you in my finance class…”

I stifled a groan. Of course he recognized Dominic on sight. Everyone loved a rags-to-riches story, and Dominic was basically a legend to every bright-eyed Wall Street newcomer.

He seemed less than impressed by Drew’s fanboying. In fact, he looked like he was ready to tear the other man into pieces with his bare hands.

Drew must’ve realized it too because his voice eventually petered out. I pinpointed the moment Dominic’s revelation about me being his wife sank in. His face paled, and panic crept into his expression as his eyes darted between us.

“She’s your wife? I didn’t know…I mean, she’s not wearing…” Three pairs of eyes honed in on my bare ring finger. Dominic’s expression darkened, and the temperature dropped another dozen degrees.

“Now you do.” If his voice had been cold before, it was positively arctic now. “I believe you have somewhere else to be. Don’t you, Drew?” The calm acknowledgment of his name came off more menacing than any direct thread could.

Drew didn’t bother answering. He fled, leaving me with one pissed-off husband and the embers of anger glowing in my stomach.

I shrugged off Dominic’s hand and spun to face him. “Seriously? What is wrong with you? You scared that poor boy half to death!”

“That poor boy was hitting on my wife.” Dominic’s eyes blazed. “What did you expect me to do? Pat him on the back?”

“He didn’t know I was married.” I shook my head. “What are you doing here anyway? Don’t tell me you’re stalking me.” I wouldn’t put it past him.

He would go to any length to win.

A touch of visible amusement cooled his anger. “The bar is down the street from my office, amor. I had a client meeting here.”

“Oh.” Right. I’d picked the bar out of a list of “best happy hour spots in the city” and completely forgot it was so close to Dominic’s workplace.

His expression softened. “Ask me again on another day, and my answer might be different. I would stalk you if it meant you’d talk to me again.”

“How romantic.”

“I’m past romantic, Alessandra. I’m desperate.”

I ruthlessly tamped down the sympathy unfurling behind my ribs. So what if he sounded miserable? He brought it on himself.

Still, I diverted my attention to the exit sign above his shoulder so I didn’t have to meet his eyes.

I should leave. Every second I spent in his company was another opportunity for him to break down my walls, and I didn’t fully trust myself with him yet, especially not when I had so many drinks in my system.

“Did you get my flowers?” Dominic didn’t try to touch me again, but his gaze might as well have been a caress. It lingered on my face, tracing the lines of my jaw and cheekbones before kissing my mouth with its warmth.

“Yes.” I notched my chin up even as my skin tingled with awareness. I shouldn’t have had that martini. Alcohol always lowered my inhibitions, which was not a good thing when Dominic was in the vicinity. “I donated them to the nearest children’s hospital.”

If he was upset about me donating thousands of dollars’ worth of florals, he didn’t show it. “I’m sure they appreciated it.”

A smile ghosted his mouth when I sighed, and I caught the tiniest glimpse of the man he used to be—the one who carried me uphill in the pouring rain because my heel broke, who kissed me good night every night no matter how late he came home, and who attempted to bake one of the elaborate cakes I’d saved on Pinterest for my birthday. His cake had come out decidedly un-Pinterest-like, but I’d loved it anyway. It was the thought that counted.

A stab of sentimentality drained the fight out of me. I sighed again, already exhausted from keeping myself together in his presence.

“Sign the papers, Dom.”