Mara does not hide her relief when she leaves. A few moments later, Sarah enters as if she owns the place. Shewears confidence like stolen jewelry: too bright, too loud, poorly fitted. Her eyes sweep my office with naked calculation. It’s all about what she can take, never once having the thought to work hard for what she wants.
Her expression, of course, is dark and non-friendly, giving off fake confidence like she thinks it would be intimidating. She needs to learn to study her victims, instead of using bravado and screeching being her only weapon. Knowledge is a key weapon and so is timing before you strike.
“So,” she says. “This is where you work.”
“I own it,” I reply, which she already knows.
She lifts her chin. “Of course you do.”
She sits opposite me without invitation, crossing her legs.
Her gaze flicks to the door, the walls, the security panel. I’m not sure this is what she was expecting, but her upturned nose is an interesting reaction from someone who has nothing. Well, she has one million dollars that she appears to be spending on herself, judging by the designer boots and long coat she is wearing. You can cover shit in diamonds, but it’s still shit to the core.
“You look disappointed,” I say.
“I expected… more,” she lies, with no idea who she is speaking to.
“So, how much?” I ask, and she laughs softly.
“You’re direct.”
“I’m intelligent and you’re as easy to read as a label on a ketchup bottle.”
She leans forward.
“Clever, but let’s not waste time with insults, Ethan. You have something of mine,” she says.
“Do I?”
“You have my husband.”
“No,” I correct. “That person no longer exists.” Her mouth tightens with frustration.
“I have evidence,” she snaps. “The contract. The money. The arrangement.”
She reaches into her bag, but doesn’t pull anything out. Is she for real? I’m offended to be insulted by such mediocre blackmail.
“I could post it,” she continues. “Online. Send it to the press. Tell them you bought a man. Kidnapped him.”
I tilt my head slightly, imagining all the ways I could end her life. Would I do it fast or slow? Slit her throat? Strangle her? Or manufacture the perfect “accident”.
“You misunderstand your position in this game,” I warn. “You’re threateningme,” I say calmly. “With information I already control.”
“You think you do.”
“I know I do.”
“Reputations are fragile,” she scoffs, with no idea of the real world, and even less of an idea of the monied world.
“So are liars,” I retort, and her eyes sharpen. She really is a slippery snake.
“I want payment,” she says. “For my silence.”
“Of course you do.”
“Enough to start over, a million is worth nothingthese days for what I want,” she says as she flicks her hair over her shoulder.
I smile, but not with kindness as I stand and circle the desk, stopping in front of her. Towering above her with the threat of attack. She swallows hard, unable to hide her misjudgement of this situation. She’s way over her head and that thought may finally be clicking in that pea sized brain of hers.
