This time will be no different than any other client I’ve been hired to work with.
I’ll find the woman who will steal Sterling Beaufort’s heart.
I have no doubt.
2
STERLING
“This isn’t a fucking charity.What the hell do they expect?”
I lean back in my seat and smile at Sullivan’s outburst.
He casts his gaze across the low-lit room to where the pianist, Vincent, is practicing on the stage. He takes in measured breaths, flexing his fingers against the velvet armrests of his chair.
The staff hustle around us. This evening, my club, Seasons, will be crammed like a subway in rush hour with New York’s top everything—lawyers, politicians, doctors, CEOs—all seeking escape.
Fridays are always busy. People work and work, then look back at their week, wondering how they forgot to live, how they forgot to breathe. Then they come here and leave their worries at the door. No one cares who you are or how much money you make here. What mistakes you’ve made. What regrets you have.
Seasons doesn’t ask questions.
“They’ll not expect to continue doing business with you on their proposed new terms, that’s for sure.” I chuckle as I steeple my hands beneath my chin, my attention fixed on my eldest son.
Mal looks between the two of us, his face clouded in concern. Sullivan’s been running Beaufort Diamonds for two years now. He knows exactly what he’s doing. My son doesn’t agree to anything unless he’s certain it’s the best for the business. Mal knows this.
“Go back and tell them my original offer stands. If they even attempt to ask me to increase it again, they can kiss goodbye to their contract. We’ll source someone else.”
Mal’s face turns gray, his eyes meeting mine with uncertainty. He got the same response last time. Why he thought Sullivan might yield if he broached the subject again is beyond me.
But hey, at least it’s amusing watching my son and his uncle butt heads.
I shake my head with a smile.
“Sullivan’s right. I’d do the same thing. You let them think they can negotiate terms with us when there’s a line of people who’ll happily take their place, and before you know it, they’ll be demanding something else. We pay them well for their services, more than they’d get elsewhere. Don’t let them mistake our generosity for weakness. If they want to find a contract with another firm, let them be our guest. They’ll realize what they lost when it’s too late.”
“Fine,” Mal huffs.
He’s been overseeing Africa for us for years, liaising with the company who arrange the diamonds from our mines in Botswana to be certified and shipped to the US. But from time to time, they get greedy.
Mal’s made the mistake of befriending the owner, a guy called Ade, and holidaying at their lodge with his wife, Trudy, and Ade’s wife, Sammy.
Number one rule in business—no one is your friend.
“You’re a couple of assholes,” Mal mutters.
Sullivan’s demeanor softens, and he shoves his uncle playfully in the shoulder.
“Nah,we’rea trio of assholes. But that’s why we’re the most globally recognized jewelry brand who get commissioned to make royalty’s crown jewels. Maybe remind that fucker of that next time you’re snuggled up beside him in the back of his jeep trying to spot warthogs.” Sullivan’s eyes gleam with mirth as Mal shakes his head with a muttered curse.
“He’s got you there.” I smirk.
Mal flips me off.
“We done?” My son’s eyes meet mine.
I nod.
He checks his watch as he stands, buttoning up his suit jacket. “Good. I need to make some calls and pick up Molly. Catch you later, Dad. Always a pleasure, Uncle.” He squeezes Mal’s shoulder, making him chuckle in defeat.
