Risky as hell, but doable.
I leaned back. “They want this structured under us?”
“No,” Remy said, smirking. “They want it structured underyou.”
I lifted a brow. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“They’re offering a9 percent take on every transaction.”
I let that sink in. Nine percent on millions meantmillions.
Remy continued. “They’re willing to push a few of their assets under our umbrella. A hedge fund in the Caymans, an investment portfolio that’s already been vetted by our people. All clean.”
I didn’t say anything. It soundedtoo good. Which meant there was something else.
“What’s the catch?” I asked.
Remy’s jaw flexed. “They want a long-term contract. Five years.”
I laughed. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“Marco—”
“No.” I slid the folder back across the desk. “I don’t get into bed with people I can’t control.”
Remy sighed. “They’re going to take this deal to someone else if we don’t.”
“Good.”
“Max wants to consider it.”
“Of course he does,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. “Max loves long-term leverage.”
“This is good business, Grey.”
“This isa liability,” I countered.
“That’s why we needyouhandling it. You’re the only one who can pull this off.”
“Let me think about it.”
Remy watched me for a moment and then stood. “Marco,” he began. “Come by for a drink sometime. Maybe we can chat about everything else.”
I looked at him. “No. You can go now.”
He left hesitantly, and I stared at the file. It would be a stupid choice to make, but still, I couldn’t help but find it tempting. It had been a while since I’d felt a risk. Since I’d felt that adrenaline. I used to get it in the field. I was drawn to it.
Pretty sure that was what had made me feel drawn to Valentina too. The risk. The reckless feeling of pushing boundaries I knew I shouldn’t cross. The kind that left me replaying the moment in my head even though I knew better.
God, I’d kissed her. Actually kissed her. Pressed her into the bed, felt her breath hitch, felt the way her fingers had curled desperately into my shirt. And I knew exactly where it would have gone—exactly how far I’d have let myself take it—if Max hadn’t interrupted us. If my phone hadn’t rung. If reality hadn’t stepped in and forced me to regain control.
But he did, and it had. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling.
I should’ve regretted it. Should’ve been thankful Max had called when he did, before I made an even bigger mess of things.
But regret wasn’t what I felt at all.
Instead I felt restless.
