44. Epilogue - Ember

44

EPILOGUE - EMBER

THREE MONTHS LATER

" A re you seriously rearranging your duck spreadsheet again?" Kora burst into my office at the Davenport factory without knocking. "Because I have news that's way better than Eleanor's latest ceramic acquisition."

I minimized the spreadsheet guiltily. "It's not just ducks anymore. We're branching into ceramic owls."

"Whatever. You need to see this." She thrust her phone at me, practically vibrating with excitement. The headline made me catch my breath:

NORTHMAN GROUP CEO TERMINATED AMID EMBEZZLEMENT SCANDAL

"Keep reading," Kora urged.

I scanned the article, a slow smile spreading across my face. Cole had apparently been stealing from his own company for years. The board discovered it during an audit prompted by "recent questionable business decisions.” I guessed that was probably his obsession with the Davenport contract.

"There's more," Kora said. "Guess who just hired half his former client relations team?"

"No way."

"Moira said they practically begged to join Foster Real Estate. And by they I also mean me. I’m working for Foster Real Estate now!”

“Oh my God!” I said, jumping up in excitement and hugging her tightly.

Kora pulled back with a smile. “Apparently, your reputation for 'ethical business practices' left quite the impression on Northman Group." She made air quotes around the words, grinning. "Who knew doing the right thing could be profitable?"

I looked around my office—my real office, not a converted janitor's closet—taking in the mix of modern furnishings and historical photographs of the factory workers. Three months of hard work were already showing results. The museum portion would open next month, and we had a waiting list of companies wanting to lease the renovated office spaces. The July heat made the factory's air conditioning feel like heaven as my thoughts swirled around everything that was changing and new.

My phone buzzed with Eleanor's special ringtone: "Duck Tales," because I couldn't resist.

"Eleanor! How's the historical society fundraiser coming along?"

"Oh, splendidly," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "Marcellus has some wonderful ideas for the venue."

I bit back a grin. Eleanor and Davenport's romance had become Manhattan's favorite gossip—two childhood sweethearts reuniting after sixty years. They tried to be subtle about their dates, always disguising them as "business meetings" or "charitable events," but nobody was fooled.

"I'm sure he does," I said. "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with wanting to dance with you again."

"Hush, you." But she sounded pleased. "Will you and that handsome man of yours be attending?"

"Wouldn't miss it. Though speaking of my handsome man, I should head home. He's watching the cats today and I'm a little worried about what I'll find."

After saying goodbye, I gathered my things and headed out. The factory halls echoed with the sounds of construction. Workers were carefully modernizing the space while preserving its character. Several called out greetings as I passed.

I found my apartment door unlocked and pushed it open to find what could only be described as a hostage negotiation in progress.

Orion stood between the kitchen counter and my couch, hands raised placatingly. Goblin occupied the counter, while Catman had claimed the couch. Both cats were engaged in what appeared to be a silent judgment contest.

"Everything okay?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

"They've reached a détente," Orion said seriously. "After Goblin knocked over Catman's food bowl for the third time, they seemed to realize they share a common interest in making our lives difficult."

As if to demonstrate, both cats turned to stare at us with identical expressions of disdain.

"Great," I said. "They're bonding over their mutual disappointment in their humans."

"More like plotting our deaths." But Orion was smiling as he pulled me close. "How was your day?"

"Cole got fired. For embezzling."

"I heard." He kissed my temple. "Karma's a bitch."

"Language, Mr. Foster. What would your employees think?"

"That I've been corrupted by a terrible influence." His hands slid lower. "Speaking of which..."

"The cats are watching," I protested weakly.

"Let them judge." He started walking me backward toward our bedroom. "They're going to anyway."

I caught a glimpse of our cats sharing what could only be described as an eye-roll before Orion kicked the door shut.

Life wasn't perfect. But somehow, amazingly, it was better than anything I could have planned.

Even if our cats thought we were idiots.