Another day,another fucking meeting. I’d spent the night alone, and I fucking hated it. I couldn’t bring anyone to my apartment because I couldn’t risk my father suspecting I was anything but genuine in my desire to please him. Even if he now knew it was the threat of hurting Eva that had turned me into such a fucking bootlicker.
As it ever was.
I straightened my tie and turned on the charm before striding into the small conference room. My father hadn’t arrived yet, but two men in suits—Richard Samson and another I didn’t know—were pouring themselves drinks and talking jovially in that way bland middle-aged men with all the time and money in the world do.
Samson poured another glass for me—two cubes of ice and two fingers of really fucking expensive bourbon.
A woman sat near the end of the table—she was stunning, with deep brown skin, long braids, and an attitude that saiddon’t fuck with me.
I ignored Samson and his offer of a drink and walked up to her, offering my hand. “Cole Carter.”
“Olivia Gaines,” she said, standing to shake it firmly. “I’m here to represent Benedict Ford.”
I cocked my head. Gaines’ firm worked with the Italian-American mafia here in Yorkfield. Benedict Ford was a real estate magnate but primarily in DC and south. What the fuck was this meeting about? The materials my father’s assistant had sent to read ahead listed mostly my father’s personal real estate holdings, with only a few Carter Industry buildings. I’d spent all night studying them then forwarded them to Eva for further analysis. She’d been mystified too.
“It’s a pleasure,” I said with my most charming smile. “I’m here primarily as an observer. Think of me as an intern.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “A very influential intern, perhaps.”
I was saved from responding by my father’s entrance. The energy in the room shifted instantly—backs straightened, voices lowered as he commanded the space. Samson and the other man, who I shortly learned was an attorney at Carter Industries, stood.
“Shall we?” my father said, gesturing to Olivia, who pulled out a stack of papers.
“Ten million,” she said frankly, “for three distressed downtown buildings. You’re not going to find a better deal than that.”
“That’s pennies compared to what they’re worth,” my father’s lawyer responded. “Ford can do better than that.”
“He can’t,” she responded flatly. “The real estate market is depressed right now, and the titles aren’t as clear as you seem to think they are. One of them has been in dispute with Nikolai Berezin for years now.”
I kept my face calm and cool as I took notes by hand.
“Another one of the neighbors is an Irish club that hosts illegal fights and is mis-zoned,” she continued. “I understand you’re trying to get troublesome buildings out of your personal portfolio, but Ford isn’t interested in properties that are going to tangle him up with the mob.”
“More than he already is, you mean,” I interrupted. “His wife, Piper, does business with Igor Lebedev, Dmitri Lebedev’s brother, doesn’t he? And doesn’t she deal with Ginevra Russo, who’s tied to the Italian mafia here?”
Olivia’s eyebrow hit her hairline, and then she smiled. “Ford’s not involved in organized crime, and he keeps his buildings clean.”
My father looked at me, appraising, and the faint note of respect in his gaze lodged in my chest.
“My son has a point,” my father said with a smile. I clenched my fingers around my pen to stop myself from rubbing my chest where the warmth of his approval spread against my will. “Fifteen million.”
“Twelve,” Olivia responded instantly. “And we want a performance holdback—25% until the city tax reassessment is completed, to apply against any unexpected tax bills.”
“Absolutely not,” my father said. “Ford can transfer the money into my account. These buildings are a steal.”
“Are they?” Olivia asked. “Because you seem determined to get them off your books as quickly as possible.”
“Ten million in cash, two million as the performance holdback,” my father offered grudgingly.
What the fuck did he need ten million in cash for?
“Assuming the rent rolls are accurate, we should be able to conclude the sale in a week. I’ll rely on you to, ah,pressurethe city to approve the sale expeditiously,” Gaines continued.
Gaines stood and picked up the briefcase that had beensitting at her feet. She hadn’t referenced the paperwork in front of her once. Neither had anyone else in the meeting, except for me.
“Cole, would you walk Ms. Gaines out?” my father asked.
I gathered my notebook then opened the door for the attorney. Her heels thudded on the carpet until we reached the elevator. “I can make my way from here,” she said quietly.
