I lean back in my chair, rest my elbows on the arms, and steeple my fingers. If she notices my disapproval, she doesn’t show any signs.
“Mr. DeLuca has requested a lunch meeting, and there’s a table booked at—”
“Rita.”
Despite my tone, she accepts my interruption calmly, tilting her head in polite expectation. “Alex?”
“Did I or did I not instruct you, very clearly, to mark March seventh in my calendar as Victoria’s birthday?”
She blinks twice, expression blank. It’s artfully done. “Not that I can recall. I’ll ensure it’s marked for next year.”
The lie is so smooth it almost has me doubting myself. But I’m certain I did. I wouldn’t have forgotten something like that.
Really?asks the part of me that hasn’t entirely lost its honesty.
Fair, I reply. I don’t shy away from talking to myself; there’s no one else I can trust to tell me like it is.
I let one eyebrow slowly rise, my stare fixed onRita, waiting for her to squirm. But either she’s been my Chief of Staff for too long, or she’s just that good. She doesn’t quail, merely returns my gaze with frank openness, no guilt surfacing, as if she possessed no morality and little emotion.
In that, we’re well matched.
“A lunch meeting?” I say at last, irritated that I’ve had to speak before she did. “Did he say why?”
“He didn’t, but I presume to discuss the Summit Ridge acquisition.” She lays the first of three folders she holds on my desk. “I’ve collated the final drafts and—”
“I’ll look through them, but we covered everything last night.” I pause, considering. “On that note, cancel my five o’clock. I’ll be going homeearly.”
“Yes, Alex.” She allows for a note of surprise, but it’s deliberate and pointed.
Nothing Rita does is an accident. The clothing she chooses, the smiles she offers me, the omission of Vicky’s birthday from my calendar. The choice of red wine at midnight the night before, while we finished work.
The way she leaned in as she toasted our imminent success.
I glance at the time. Twelve minutes before my first meeting of the day. “What else do you have for me?”
“Our next project. We have a choice.” Her eyes glitter as she places the second folder on my desk. “Greenstone. Fourth-generation, family-owned energy business with far too much fat in its operations.” She lays the third folder on top. “PointDynamics. Overleveraged but asset rich.”
I brush aside the top folder and pick up the one beneath.
Rita looks amused. “Point Dynamics is the lower-hanging fruit.”
“Yes, but it’s too boring.” I open the Greenstone folder, scanning the first page. “Besides, family-run organizations…”
“I thought you’d go for that.” She walks around my desk, leaning in to read over my shoulder, one soft, full breast pressed firmly against my arm. “You can never resist making it personal, can you?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Rita,” I murmur, turning the page without acknowledging her proximity. “This is strictly business.”
“Excellent work, Alexander.” DeLuca closes the Summit Ridge file, sliding it back across the table to me before picking up his fork and spiking a spear of asparagus. “There’s no way they can fight that. Now all we need is a signature.”
“They’re coming in at three. It’ll be signed by ten past.”
He gives a low chuckle. “I like the killer instinct in your eyes. You enjoy making them fold, don’t you?”
I reach for my water. It’s not wise to admit to anything with DeLuca; he’s a man who’s made a career of finding pressure points and squeezing.
He lets his amusement show at my non-answer, then sips his red wine. “Your success is inspiring. More deals closed than any other acquisitions specialist. Partner at thirty-two. Most impressively, a one-hundred-percent close rate in the two years since then.” He toys with the stem of his glass, not bothering to hide that he’s studying me. “You don’t like to lose, do you? And it hasn’t escaped our attention how you’ve achieved it.”
I make a conscious effort to keep my expression neutral, wondering how much he knows. Everything’s been so carefully hidden. I cut a piece of my burrata, wiping it through the balsamic glaze. “Strictly legitimately, Marco.”
