“Then she really isn’t in any position to negotiate on reparations.”
So they were back to that. “And you are?” She raised a brow. All she had was his word that he was from Solveig.
He acknowledged the dig with a nod, then slid his sleeve back to reveal a communicator. He pressed his thumb against the screen and a holographic recording sprang to life.
Portia activated a receiver on her desk to verify the authenticity of the recording.
“Aleksander Lind,” the computer voice said. An image of him swirled to life. “Authorized negotiator for Solveig Consortium.” The soft computer voice continued speaking, relaying stats and other details intended to confirm his identity.
His image faded away, leaving them alone in the room. Portia glanced at the verification results on her screen. He was authentic.
Her stomach sank. He’d known who she was. He had to have known.
“Satisfied?” His voice was gravelly.
Satisfied? Not remotely.Not while she was waiting for him to throw last night in her face. Still, she couldn’t let any of that show.
“It still doesn’t explain what your bosses think my company owes them.” She leaned back in her chair. “If anything, the Tremaine Corporation should be asking for payment given that we raised her for eighteen years.”
His lip curled and he shot her a disbelieving look. “Raised?Is that what you call your father hiding her away in the corporate orphanage? Which I doubt was a loving home.”
What did she know about a loving home? For all Portia knew, the orphanage had been nirvana compared to the Tremaine household. After Portia’s mother died, their home had been a lot of things—quiet, sad, empty—but definitely not loving. Portia squelched her lingering grief and focused on her opponent.
“The Tremaine Corporation educated Dizzie, clothed her, and fed her. Trained her in a trade. What about that suggests that she was neglected?” Portia didn’t know if she believed the words coming out of her mouth, but her job was to protect the company.
“Interesting,” Aleks murmured. “If Dizzie had been raised by her mother’s family, she would have attended the best schools, been accepted at the top of society. Possibly even been placed in a position of authority like yourself. The two of you might have developed a closer relationship between the two companies, rather than the tense relationship now.”
“Is it tense?” It was an honest question, although Portia wasn’t sure he would take it that way. The Tremaine Corporation did little business with the Solveig Consortium. The smaller company had strong regional ties, but Tremaine had the global footprint. Prior to the bombing, Portia would have said she knew the business inside and out, but the last several months had emphasized how many secrets her father had kept.
“You don’t know?”
“We don’t do very much business with Solveig,” Portia said. “And most of what we do is handled by our overseas office.”
“It’s a good thing, then, that the Consortium is exploring a Seattle expansion. The better for them to get to know Dizzie.” A shark’s smile accompanied his words.
The Solveig Consortium wanted to open an office in her city? Over her dead body. The two companies had never been friendly and whatever goodwill that might have existed between them had died when her father seduced Dizzie’s mother, or whatever the hell had happened between them. Fortunately, the Consortium had never been big enough to truly challenge the Tremaine Corporation.
But if they wanted to set up in Seattle, they were definitely looking to cause trouble. And that she wouldn’t allow.
“I’m confused about what exactly your role in all this is, Mr. Lind. Messenger boy? Advance guard?” Seducer?
A flicker of something she couldn’t decipher passed over his face. “I’m what they need me to be.”
“You’re a fixer,” she said, her voice flat as she considered the ramifications of his presence and of what had happened last night. Had their encounter been a setup? Was she a problem to be fixed? Her stomach churned at the thought.
He winced. “I don’t like that term.”
“Let me guess, you prefer ‘problem solver.’” Her tone was mocking. It didn’t matter what fixers called themselves, they existed in the shadows, usually at the beck and call of the CEO.
“Yes, I solve problems, but not like that.” He clenched his fists and closed his eyes.
Had it been anyone else, she would have said he was in pain. But that was ridiculous. They were just having a conversation.
He opened his eyes and pierced her with that blue-green gaze that had enthralled her last night. Damn him for being so good-looking, so distracting.
“I heard you out, Mr. Lind, but as I said, I don’t control Dizzie’s calendar. I wish your employers the best of luck finding office space in Seattle.”
The corner of his mouth crooked up in a there-and-gone smile. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Tremaine. I appreciate your candor and I’ll pass on your message. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
