Wren looked offended. “Thank you, but sheisa very good person. She knows that this will benefit patients who have no recourse otherwise.”
“Of course.”
“But you can’t expect her not to want something in return. Her empire didn’t build itself on charity.”
“Despite what the media says? You’re giving me a different picture of Ms. Gillis. I was under the impression that she donates the majority of her income to good causes.”
Wren tsked. “And yet she still has more to give. No one ever does the math. They just see her carefully crafted persona and think she’s a selfless sweetheart with a money tree hidden away somewhere.” Wren narrowed her eyes. “She makes deals, Mr. Weisser. And I broker those deals. I have a tremendous amount of influence over her.”
Understanding dawned on his face. “Ah, I see. You broker your own deals alongside hers, don’t you.”
Got him! Now to reel him in carefully.
Wren crossed one leg over the other and sat back in her chair. She looked past Weisser to watch a plane coming in for a landing against the blue-gray mountains beyond. “I never take more than what I’m owed from her donations, for doing good business. Call it a finder’s fee.” She looked back at him, capturing his gaze. “I’m discreet. I have to be, or I’m out of business as well. But, I look for opportunities where I can make a little more on top of that.”
He blinked slowly, considering. “What is it you want to see that would convince you—I mean, Ms. Gillis—to bestow her donation on us?”
“Numbers.”
“You want a shareholder’s report for our parent company? I can get you that,” he scoffed like she was wasting his time.
Wren smirked as if she were talking to a very dense person. “Let me tell you a story, Mr. Weisser. My uncle ran a dealership in Washington state,” she lied. “He sold cars, both new and used. His salespeople used to practically break down in tears in front of customers during negotiations because my uncle worked on such a thin profit margin that he was practically giving cars away at cost. To get that amazing deal, all a customer had to do was take out their loan through his dealership. Sign on the dotted line and drive off the lot with a car they practically stole.”
Weisser’s growing smirk told her she was speaking his language.
“My uncle wasn’t really selling cars, Mr. Weisser. He was selling high-interest loans. But his customers were so bedazzled by the low prices and the salespeople’s theatrics—sellers who, by the way, did quite well on the back end—that they didn’t stop to check the math or read the fine print.”
The pen clicking sped up, like maybe it was now the button that detonated a nuke and he couldn’t wait for doomsday. “What does this have to do with me, Ms. Greene?”
She swept her arm through the air. “You have a fine hospital here. The personnel, the doctors, the nurses, they’re doing an amazing job saving lives, and from what I hear, they have a good bedside manner to boot. They’re using cutting-edge technology in the cardiac unit. Everything is top-notch. I’d send my parents here. Heck, I’d seek treatment here if I needed it.” She lowered her chin and looked him straight in the eye. “But I’d let myself die before signing a loan with the sharks the hospital’s website sends patients to.”
Wren watched him squeeze the pen and was surprised he didn’t dent the metal. Before he could kick her out of his office—or maybe throw her through one of the windows and watch her plummet to her death—she gave him another devious smile.
“I would, however, love a little piece ofthatpie. I’d even be willing to buy in with my cut from the donation.”
“How much is that?”
“Above board, three percent. Below…another two percent. Which I’d happily turn over, in cash, as a buy-in.”
She watched him do the math. Then she watched him bluff.
“One-point-five million is a substantial amount of money, but it’s short-term. What you’d get in return is long-term, and frankly, a much larger sum. I’m not sure that’s going to work for me.”
Wren nodded as if she fell for the bluff. She ignored the bile in the back of her throat for what she was about to say.
“Barbie would love to come and visit the hospital and hold a press conference. It’s great publicity. She’d get her fans to match contributions. They love that sort of thing. Before you know it, that donation grows all by itself.”
She reached across the desk, wrapped her hand around his, and the clicking pen stopped. “And all it would take is letting me in.”
Weisser’s face went blank as he studied her. “How well do you know Barbie Gillis? How close are the two of you?”
Wren tried not to crumble under his gaze. Was he seeing through her lies and trying to callherbluff?
“She trusts me implicitly. She doesn’t make a business move without talking to me first. If I don’t like it, she doesn’t do it, period.”
“Hmm.” Weisser pulled his hand back and dropped the pen into its holder. “Then I want a meeting with her in person. Before any press conference gets announced.”
“Of course.”
