Mogul
Page 41
She’s drumming her long, manicured talons on the table, looking smug, but I know her better than that and I can tell she’s nervous.
“Technically, it’s not your credit card, is it?” Wahlberg cuts in, matter-of-factly. “But that’s irrelevant at this point.”
She raises her eyebrow at me and her voice softens. “Ian, we could forget about all this silliness and go back to how we used to be. Summers in Europe, winters in the Caribbean. You can’t deny what great times we had.”
I shake my head. I have no idea what to say. She just doesn’t get it. We’re past the point of no return. There’s no going back.
Wahlberg retrieves a large brown envelope from his briefcase and hands it to her without a word. We watch her closely as she opens it.
She pulls out the typewritten, signed note inside, then flicks through the pages, her eyes growing wide with horror. Barry provided us with tapes and images of their affair. And it’s all in there.
“How did you…?” she starts, but her voice trails off and I can’t help but feel disgusted.
I hadn’t been keen on getting the written testimony from Barry, my accountant, but Wahlberg convinced me it was necessary. By the look on her face, he may have been right.
She’s glowering at my lawyer, and at me, her face flushed with anger. He goes to take the envelope back from her, but she grabs it from him and starts ripping it to pieces in her fury.
“There’s an additional note in the settlement,” he tells her, pointing to a short paragraph at the bottom of the paperwork. “All copies of Barry’s testimony will be destroyed, along with the video and photographs. As long as you sign.”
“Was this your idea?” she practically spits at me. “I can’t believe it’s come to this, Ian. Really?”
Her eyes are pure thunder as she realizes her circumstances, and even I’m surprised at Wahlberg’s rather bullish methods. But I’m beyond playing nice. I’ve tried that for the last year and it hasn’t gotten us anywhere.
Cordelia glances at Goldberg, who pushes the pen back in her direction, knowing there’s no way out of this.
She picks up the pen. I can hardly breathe as, at last, I watch her sign the goddamn divorce papers with an angry squiggle that almost tears the pages.
I wait for a final outburst from her, some spiteful insult or threat. But she composes herself remarkably quickly, dabbing at her damp cheeks with a tissue. Wahlberg takes out another set of papers. “The paperwork for the purchase of the business, as discussed.”
“You’re really putting what you have left into this?” Cordelia shoots me a shocked glance.
“It’s only money. I started with less than what I have now. I’ll make do.”
“I’m jealous.”
“I know. And I don’t care.”
She signs those papers as well and picks up her handbag, stuffed with shreds of the torn papers and envelope, and storms out of the office, slamming the door as she leaves.
Wahlberg looks at me, a satisfied smile on his face. Even Goldberg looks relieved.
I shake Wahlberg’s hand, thanking him, before I shake Goldberg’s hand and part ways.
And then I breathe. Long and deep, all the stress and anxiety and angst from the last year vanishing. I’m finally taking a good, clean breath again. Finally, free.
I expected to feel weightless. Like celebrating. And yes, there’s relief, a shit ton of it. But a part of me mourns what went down in there. It mourns the girl my ex-wife used to be, the guy I used to be. Because the people who signed the marriage contract years ago were so damn different than the ones who are stepping out of this building.
I tell myself I’m not going to let myself grow apart from the woman I love again. I tell myself I’m going to hang on tight to her and never let go. Because one thing I learned from my marriage is that, even though you think love is enough to feed on, enough to hold a marriage together, it’s not. Communication, understanding, patience, loyalty—that’s the stuff that makes it last.
I regret that I didn’t know this before I let my work consume me, and I let my wife’s ambition consume her.
As I flag down the first cab I see, I smell that familiar perfume once more and turn to face Cordelia. She waited for me. Fuck. It’s typical that she can’t resist a final word, but nothing she says makes any difference now.
“So, you’re going to go and play house with your new little strumpet?” she demands angrily.
“I might, if you hadn’t tainted the word house for me.”
“Fuck you, Ian.”
“Back at you, Cordelia.”
“She doesn’t know what she’s getting into. You’re emotionally unavailable. Even to me, and I’ve known you for years. All you want is to work.”
“Maybe. Because I actually cared about your happiness and your safety. But that’s long gone.”
I open the cab door for her and watch my ex-wife reluctantly board, shooting me a snotty glance that I can’t care less about.
“Goodbye, Cordelia.”
BROADWAY
Sara
I’m dreading the appearance of the blonde bitch Ian married, but she’s nowhere in sight as I change into my dancing shoes and stretch out next to my new colleagues on the stage. We’re all waiting to be told what to do.
Everyone is shuffling around, commenting on how excited they are to have landed their respective roles. The sound of doors shutting causes me to raise my eyes to the far end of the auditorium. A tall, dark-haired man in a business suit is walking down the auditorium room steps.
My Suit is here?
I can’t help but stand a little straighter, in an effort to hide the way my heart just went crazy in my chest.
Ian is here…
On his way forward, the directors greet him.
I arch my brows, confused.
“From the top,” Ian calls as he glances up at us, taking a seat that one of the directors vacates for him.
I blink and shoot him a what are you doing? look, but run to take my place at the front of the dancers.
We take it from the top and perform the variation we practiced during audition. When the music stops, Ian whispers to one of the directors. “Take five,” that director calls.
I climb down from the platform and approach while Ian comes to his feet in one fluid motion, the gleam of pride in his eyes making my thighs feel watery.
“Why are they following your orders?” I whisper-ask, coming to stand next to him.
He casually tugs on my ponytail. “I had to make some arrangements to be sure Cordelia was out of the picture—for good. Out of my life, and yours.”
“What?” I swallow, trying to register what he’s saying. I’m about to ask him to clarify, because this cannot mean what I’m thinking it means.
My delicious Workaholic has enough work on his plate with his own documentary and film production company. He couldn’t possibly have bought a Broadway one to boot. Could he have?
I’m shocked—shocked enough that my question comes out as a mere breath. “What did your ex want in exchange for selling you her production company?”
“Not much,” Ian says calmly, laughing silently at my complete astonishment. “She wanted me to let her keep my name.”
“You can’t!” I cry.
He raises one brow, tugging my ponytail one more time before letting it fall behind me.
I can’t help my stupid reaction. I’m so completely taken by this guy. Body, heart, soul. Even my mind he hijacks all the time. It’s inconvenient and impractical. But I’m in love. For the first time in my life. I love everything about this guy, even his name. His name that I one day want to be mine.
“Technically, it’s not your credit card, is it?” Wahlberg cuts in, matter-of-factly. “But that’s irrelevant at this point.”
She raises her eyebrow at me and her voice softens. “Ian, we could forget about all this silliness and go back to how we used to be. Summers in Europe, winters in the Caribbean. You can’t deny what great times we had.”
I shake my head. I have no idea what to say. She just doesn’t get it. We’re past the point of no return. There’s no going back.
Wahlberg retrieves a large brown envelope from his briefcase and hands it to her without a word. We watch her closely as she opens it.
She pulls out the typewritten, signed note inside, then flicks through the pages, her eyes growing wide with horror. Barry provided us with tapes and images of their affair. And it’s all in there.
“How did you…?” she starts, but her voice trails off and I can’t help but feel disgusted.
I hadn’t been keen on getting the written testimony from Barry, my accountant, but Wahlberg convinced me it was necessary. By the look on her face, he may have been right.
She’s glowering at my lawyer, and at me, her face flushed with anger. He goes to take the envelope back from her, but she grabs it from him and starts ripping it to pieces in her fury.
“There’s an additional note in the settlement,” he tells her, pointing to a short paragraph at the bottom of the paperwork. “All copies of Barry’s testimony will be destroyed, along with the video and photographs. As long as you sign.”
“Was this your idea?” she practically spits at me. “I can’t believe it’s come to this, Ian. Really?”
Her eyes are pure thunder as she realizes her circumstances, and even I’m surprised at Wahlberg’s rather bullish methods. But I’m beyond playing nice. I’ve tried that for the last year and it hasn’t gotten us anywhere.
Cordelia glances at Goldberg, who pushes the pen back in her direction, knowing there’s no way out of this.
She picks up the pen. I can hardly breathe as, at last, I watch her sign the goddamn divorce papers with an angry squiggle that almost tears the pages.
I wait for a final outburst from her, some spiteful insult or threat. But she composes herself remarkably quickly, dabbing at her damp cheeks with a tissue. Wahlberg takes out another set of papers. “The paperwork for the purchase of the business, as discussed.”
“You’re really putting what you have left into this?” Cordelia shoots me a shocked glance.
“It’s only money. I started with less than what I have now. I’ll make do.”
“I’m jealous.”
“I know. And I don’t care.”
She signs those papers as well and picks up her handbag, stuffed with shreds of the torn papers and envelope, and storms out of the office, slamming the door as she leaves.
Wahlberg looks at me, a satisfied smile on his face. Even Goldberg looks relieved.
I shake Wahlberg’s hand, thanking him, before I shake Goldberg’s hand and part ways.
And then I breathe. Long and deep, all the stress and anxiety and angst from the last year vanishing. I’m finally taking a good, clean breath again. Finally, free.
I expected to feel weightless. Like celebrating. And yes, there’s relief, a shit ton of it. But a part of me mourns what went down in there. It mourns the girl my ex-wife used to be, the guy I used to be. Because the people who signed the marriage contract years ago were so damn different than the ones who are stepping out of this building.
I tell myself I’m not going to let myself grow apart from the woman I love again. I tell myself I’m going to hang on tight to her and never let go. Because one thing I learned from my marriage is that, even though you think love is enough to feed on, enough to hold a marriage together, it’s not. Communication, understanding, patience, loyalty—that’s the stuff that makes it last.
I regret that I didn’t know this before I let my work consume me, and I let my wife’s ambition consume her.
As I flag down the first cab I see, I smell that familiar perfume once more and turn to face Cordelia. She waited for me. Fuck. It’s typical that she can’t resist a final word, but nothing she says makes any difference now.
“So, you’re going to go and play house with your new little strumpet?” she demands angrily.
“I might, if you hadn’t tainted the word house for me.”
“Fuck you, Ian.”
“Back at you, Cordelia.”
“She doesn’t know what she’s getting into. You’re emotionally unavailable. Even to me, and I’ve known you for years. All you want is to work.”
“Maybe. Because I actually cared about your happiness and your safety. But that’s long gone.”
I open the cab door for her and watch my ex-wife reluctantly board, shooting me a snotty glance that I can’t care less about.
“Goodbye, Cordelia.”
BROADWAY
Sara
I’m dreading the appearance of the blonde bitch Ian married, but she’s nowhere in sight as I change into my dancing shoes and stretch out next to my new colleagues on the stage. We’re all waiting to be told what to do.
Everyone is shuffling around, commenting on how excited they are to have landed their respective roles. The sound of doors shutting causes me to raise my eyes to the far end of the auditorium. A tall, dark-haired man in a business suit is walking down the auditorium room steps.
My Suit is here?
I can’t help but stand a little straighter, in an effort to hide the way my heart just went crazy in my chest.
Ian is here…
On his way forward, the directors greet him.
I arch my brows, confused.
“From the top,” Ian calls as he glances up at us, taking a seat that one of the directors vacates for him.
I blink and shoot him a what are you doing? look, but run to take my place at the front of the dancers.
We take it from the top and perform the variation we practiced during audition. When the music stops, Ian whispers to one of the directors. “Take five,” that director calls.
I climb down from the platform and approach while Ian comes to his feet in one fluid motion, the gleam of pride in his eyes making my thighs feel watery.
“Why are they following your orders?” I whisper-ask, coming to stand next to him.
He casually tugs on my ponytail. “I had to make some arrangements to be sure Cordelia was out of the picture—for good. Out of my life, and yours.”
“What?” I swallow, trying to register what he’s saying. I’m about to ask him to clarify, because this cannot mean what I’m thinking it means.
My delicious Workaholic has enough work on his plate with his own documentary and film production company. He couldn’t possibly have bought a Broadway one to boot. Could he have?
I’m shocked—shocked enough that my question comes out as a mere breath. “What did your ex want in exchange for selling you her production company?”
“Not much,” Ian says calmly, laughing silently at my complete astonishment. “She wanted me to let her keep my name.”
“You can’t!” I cry.
He raises one brow, tugging my ponytail one more time before letting it fall behind me.
I can’t help my stupid reaction. I’m so completely taken by this guy. Body, heart, soul. Even my mind he hijacks all the time. It’s inconvenient and impractical. But I’m in love. For the first time in my life. I love everything about this guy, even his name. His name that I one day want to be mine.
