Page 3 of Fifth Avenue Devil

Archer Gellar just died after losing to me. Someone will be sad about it, I suppose.

But not me. No, I just gained a whole company. Not to mention Archer’s lovely daughter Annalise. I don’t know her well, but from what I remember, she’s a little blonde vixen.

Gellar came into this room probably thinking that he would mop the floor with me. But I swept the decks clean of his rotten garbage.

And now all that’s left is to claim my richly deserved reward.

Two

Annalise

One Month Later

Islip inside my father's office and close the door behind me with a long, silent sigh. While it's quiet and still in here, the hustle and bustle of the office outside doesn't stop until well after dark.

I look at my dad's stuffed padded leather chair and immense, polished-wood desk.

I've been CEO for two whole weeks, yet this is the first time I’ve allowed myself to break the seal of Daddy's office.

I guess a part of me is still hesitating. Wondering if my dad will wake up from his coma tomorrow and expect his office back.

But as the days pass, that becomes increasingly unlikely. And I can't keep up my initial tactic of having a roving hot desk anywhere I please. Lori says that it ruffles the employees’ feathers.

Taking a deep breath, I walk over to the desk and sit down in the chair. Swiveling to face the window, I almost laugh at what I see. Though I'm wearing a knee-length pencil skirt, a white dress blouse, and dark stiletto-heels, I still look like a child sitting in her father's chair. My blonde curls are pinned into a loose knot at my nape.

My makeup is carefully done in shades of pink, purple, and brown. It's a more mature look, meant to age me a little. Gone are the bright pink polka dots and stylish white balloon-leg pants of two weeks ago.

Even though I’ve done everything I could to make it look like I have the authority to sit in this chair, I still look like I am a five-year-old in the middle of a game of pretend. I take a deep breath and try to psych myself up.

I think: I am CEO Annalise now, not to be confused with the boss's daughter that hangs out in the office ordering expensive coffees. I’m in charge, damn it.

"Are you in here?"

I spin, and find my mother poking her head into the office. She doesn't knock or announce herself. When she sees that I am, in fact, in here, she barges all the way in, slamming the door behind her.

God, she's upset again. What is it this time?I wonder.

I slide out of the chair as my mom approaches. She stops when she sees me and her eyes narrow.

"What are you wearing, Annalise?" she tuts in disapproval.

She is dressed, as always, in the mode of Audrey Hepburn à la Breakfast at Tiffany's. Today, it’s a knee-length, black silk dress, bared arms, with diamonds on her wrists and at her earlobes. A sleek, black, quilted Chanel bag is hooked over her arm. I'm sure that if she didn't realize that people would look at her funny, she'd be wearing elbow-length gloves and carrying a long plastic cigarette holder, too.

She pats her hair, which is in the same elegant knot that I wear. I sigh. No matter what I wear, my mother never actually approves of my wardrobe. I’ve tried so hard for years to figure out what Mom is seeing when she criticizes me.

Is it really my haircut or my bland-bordering-on-dowdy dress that’s bothering my mom? Or is it a need to criticize? Either way, I don't know what to say to her question, so I try to change the conversation.

"How's Daddy today?"

My question gives her pause.

"He was taken to the hospital for more scans. I talked to Dr. Stein about the likelihood of your father waking up and running this company. Dr. Stein keeps blathering on about waiting and having patience." Her lips twist with disgust as she looks down at me sitting behind Dad’s desk. "I can't believe that you and your father made this little agreement behind my back."

I shake my head slowly. "I keep telling you, Mom. I had no idea that he named me as his successor. I'm as perplexed as you are."

Mom cocks her hip and looks testy. "You need to be out husband hunting. You were born and raised to find someone from a well-to-do family. The older the generational wealth, the better. This CEO business..." She wrinkles her nose. "It's ridiculous. You should let Donald Young step into the role. That's what vice presidents are for!"

My cheeks burn. "We agreed that I could try this for a bit, Mama."