The Janitor's Billionaire Daughter

Sensing my continued silence, he fought back a wave of impatience.

"Cora, what's wrong?"

"Did you hear something? Is that why you're upset?"

I finally broke my silence.

"What? Are you afraid of what I might have heard?"

Blake's eyes darted around the room, unable to meet my gaze.

"Taking that money from our savings was a temporary thing."

"Cora, I love you. Everything I do is for our future."

"Okay, last night was my fault. Let me make it up to you. Let's go for a walk in Central Park today."

My mother died when I was very young. Whenever I cried for her, my father would take me to Central Park.

He'd tell me that if we just kept walking, we'd eventually find our way to where she was.

For all these years, Central Park had been my sanctuary, the place I went whenever I was heartbroken.

Blake knew this.

But halfway there, his phone rang. "My friend just called," he said, turning to me. "There's a charity auction at Sotheby's. Let's go check it out. If you see anything you like, I'll bid on it for you, as a gift."

As soon as we stepped into the auction house, a thick cloud of perfume assailed us.

And there was Summer.

Blake instinctively dropped my hand and shot his friend a death glare.

Summer, as if declaring her sovereignty, stepped forward and linked her arm through Blake's.

"Blake, who is this?"

"Cora Vance."

He then glanced at me, his expression a little strained.

"This is Summer Prescott. Her father is the Vice President of the Vance Group's North American division."

"She grew up on the Upper East Side. You could probably learn a thing or two from her about fashion and etiquette."

In one simple introduction, he made our relative importance crystal clear.

Summer and I sat on either side of Blake.

At first, he still leaned toward me, pouring my water, whispering details about the items up for auction.

But as Summer chattered away, his attention was slowly, inevitably, pulled in her direction.

It wasn't until I choked on a sip of champagne that he snapped out of it and patted my back.

From the row behind me, I heard the malicious whispers of his friends.

"Some girl from the sticks who can't even handle champagne. How pathetic."

"What are you talking about? She's just pulling a stunt to get his attention. It's sad, really."

"Blake is a Harrison now. Between Summer and Cora, the choice is a no-brainer."

Blake's lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing in my defense.

For the rest of the auction, he discreetly shifted his chair, inch by inch, closer to Summer's.

Just then, the auctioneer unveiled a new painting.

Summer immediately sat bolt upright, her excitement palpable.

"I heard this is a lost Impressionist masterpiece, the only one of its kind."

"Blake, isn't the Vance Group heiress coming back to New York soon to take over the family business?"

"I heard she adores Impressionist art. What if we bought this and gave it to Miss Vance as a welcome gift?"

"She would definitely promote my father, and your family might even land a partnership with the Vance Group."

I glanced at the painting on the stage.

"It's a fake."