Which is exactly why my parents need to be careful.
He hands me a business card.
Wesley Dawson
CEO, Dawson Equity Partners
Not that I needed the introduction. The moment my mother mentioned his name, I did my homework. No glaring red flags, at least not the kind the internet will tell you about.
Then again, if you searched Aleksei Marinov, nothing would come up about the fact that he once bit a man’s neck, tore out a chunk of flesh, and calmly watched him bleed out. Apparently there was a witness. Sadly, I was not invited to that particular performance by the murder machine himself.
“Pleasure’s mine.” I sink onto the sofa between my parents, keeping my expression neutral as Wesley takes the armchair across from us.
“So…” I lace my fingers together on my knees. “What makes Dawson Equity interested in a modest vineyard in New Jersey?”
His smile deepens. “Vision. Potential.” He gestures with an elegant flick of his hand. “And a genuine belief that this place could be something much bigger. I’m not just here to keep your doors open. I want to take this global.”
I arch a brow. “And what’s the catch?”
He chuckles. “Smartandbeautiful. I like that.”
I meet his gaze with a flat stare. My mother discreetly squeezes my finger. Her silent way of sayingbe nice.
Wesley leans forward and unclips his black leather briefcase, which is probably worth more than my car, then opens a folder and hands it to me.
“I know you’re an attorney,” he says, all business now. “I’d love for you to read this over today. Tomorrow night, perhaps we can meet to discuss your thoughts.”
“Meet where?” I’m already not liking the direction this is going.
“A club. It’s where I usually conduct business.” The glint in his smile sharpens just enough to set off a quiet alarm in my gut.
Who the hell negotiates contracts at a club?
Oh, right. Rich people. And predators. Sometimes they’re the same thing.
“And…” he adds, like he’s doing me a favor. “You may want to dress up a bit. I’ll pick you up at nine, if that works for you.”
Nine? What the fuck? That’s late.
Beside me, my father shifts. He hates him. I can sense it radiating off him. But he won’t say anything. Not in front of my mother.
I should say no. Tell Wesley we can meet here, or schedule something during daylight hours like normal people. But I’m curious now. I want to see him in a different setting. How he carries himself. Who he talks to.
It’s research. A different kind.
“That’ll work,” I say.
Dad clears his throat, but I ignore it. I give Wesley my number and watch as he saves it and sends me a quick text so that I can give him my address.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Clark.” He rises and shakes both their hands, then turns to me. “And I look forward to seeing you again.”
The second the door shuts, the tension snaps like a rubber band.
“I don’t like him,” my dad mutters, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “And I really don’t like the way he was looking at you.”
My mother tsks, waving him off. “You’re overreacting, Tony. Maybe he’s single.”
I groan internally.Here we go.
