At first, a confused frown creased her brow. Then it disappeared as she recalled the conversation. “I said that, but before we decided to get a divorce.”
“Before you decided you wanted to divorce me. You made an offer and I accepted. Three years. Now I want what you promised.”
“No way.” She shook her head.
“No?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“No,” she said adamantly.
He shrugged and walked back around his desk. He sank into the seat. “How’s Roland these days?” he asked. She didn’t respond, eyeing him with suspicion. As well she should. “Don’t pretend you haven’t seen him. I know all about your little meeting.”
“Are you spying on me?” she demanded.
“I’m spying on him.”
“What for?”
“I have my reasons.” He chose not to elaborate. He didn’t want to tip his hand, but Roland DuBois would pay for what he had done.
“What are you up to?” she asked.
“You’re not getting a divorce, Dani,” he replied, dodging the question. “You might as well accept it.”
“Then I’ll keep fighting you.”
“I look forward to it.”
She swallowed. “You can’t keep this up forever.”
“No?” He allowed a small smile to lift the corner of his mouth. “Who do you think will run out of money first?”
She shook her head in disbelief. He could only imagine the names she called him in her head. “You…” At a loss for words, she swung around and marched toward the door.
“Have a nice day,” Cyrus couldn’t resist calling out to her.
Daniella paused and sent one last scorching look over her shoulder at him before yanking open the door. Had she emitted a little more force, she would have torn it in half. She swept through like a tornado and slammed the door shut.
Alone now, Cyrus lifted his right thumb to his nose and inhaled the scent of her perfume. The light, sweet fragrance of pomegranate greeted his nostrils. She’d always dotted perfume behind her ears and freshened the scent throughout the day. Clearly she continued to do the same.
He went around the desk and picked up the blue pen she’d discarded to the floor and put everything back into place on the wooden surface. Then he walked over to the huge windows and looked down at the bustling city.
He shouldn’t feel so good about their confrontation, but her anger, her passion, her fight excited him. His blood was pumping and his pulse worked overtime. Damn, he missed her. Seeing her, touching her, had brought it home. From the moment he’d met her, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind, and he’d decided right away she would become his wife. He’d even told her so, but she’d laughed at his forwardness.
Women weren’t the only ones who made life plans. Years ago a health scare had forced him to think about his own mortality. It had reminded him of the fleeting nature of life and his father’s last days after his accident. Cyrus Senior had been a big man with a big voice. He’d dominated any room he entered and ran his company with an iron fist, but the last time Cyrus had seen him, the vibrancy had left his body and he lay dying in a hospital bed.
Cyrus’s mother had been asleep on the sofa in the private room, a blanket thrown over her legs as she slept. She hadn’t left her husband’s side since he’d entered the hospital.
His father had lain there, wasting away, a shadow of his former self. He’d looked at Cyrus from the hospital bed, his voice raspy as he drew his last breaths and delivered his final instructions.
With all the money they had, they hadn’t been able to save him. The internal injuries had been too severe, and in the end, after numerous surgeries, his heart had finally given way under the strain. Would his father have lived if he’d exercised more and eaten better? If he’d taken better care of himself, could he have withstood the trauma?