I’m not certain what I expected. Should this room have been painted red? Maybe black silk and leather everywhere? Whips and chains surrounding a four-poster bed? None of that is here. The room looks more like a pleasant reading nook than a chamber of debauchery. It’s all so ordinary. Luxurious, expensive—yes. But ordinary.
“Once you change, the car that brought you here will take you home. It’s waiting for you in the back courtyard,” Maggie chirps as she leads me out of the room and down the hallway.
While we’re heading to the dressing room, her phone rings. After she answers, her cheerful tone fades. Her words come out a little strained. I think the person on the line must be giving her instructions, because her only replies areof course, sirandI understand, sir. She finishes the call just as we reach our destination.
“So?” she asks, her voice upbeat once more. “Did you enjoy your evening?”
I glance at my hands, clutching the silk blindfold. Not sure if Ienjoyed it, but it wasn’t bad. After my initial nerves settled, it got easier to be there. It was even a little cathartic to simply talk about meaningless, random things.
I shrug. “It was fine.”
“Good to hear.” She leans in. “Your guest tonight was very pleased with your company and would like to see you again. Would you like that? You should know, though, he requested exclusivity.”
I tense. “What does that mean?”
“You will not be able to entertain other guests. Only him. For that, he’s offering you a bonus of five thousand dollars for every evening you spend with him. But you must agree to his terms.”
Breath gets caught in my lungs.Five grand?“And… And the only thing he expects from me is…more talk? Nothing else?”
“Nothing else.”
I gulp air. My mind races, calculating what having that kind of money could mean. The medicines I could afford for Mom. The doctor visits I could cover. Maybe I could finally convince her to be placed on the transplant waitlist. I’m still short a couple of million dollars, but it’s a start.
“Yes.”
Maggie grins. “Great! I’ll let him know.” She turns to leave, then stops. “Oh, I almost forgot… Your guest left you a gift. It’s in the car.”
Chapter 9
“We’re talking five hundred people here, Mr. Ruffo,” the head of HR says from the other side of my desk. I can see she’s irritated even though she’s trying to hide it. Must be because I summoned her to the office on a Sunday, likely interrupting her family time, but I don’t really care.
“So?” I continue reviewing the quarterly reports of a company I recently acquired. It’s a headache-inducing task, especially after a meager three hours of sleep. “We have been through this, Lorraine. Most of them are already close to retirement age. And their performance assessments indicate they are unlikely to be of further use to the company.”
“Yes, sir. But, would you consider an alternative, especially with the holidays coming up?” she persists. “It’s highly unlikely that most of these people will be successful in finding another source of employment in this field, given their current age and skill level. Maybe we can invest in upgrading? With adequate training, we could move them into other roles within the firm. I’m certain the majority would appreciate that opportunity rather than—”
“Work with Public Relations,” I interrupt, meeting her gaze, “to convey that this was a difficult but necessary decision. Ruffo Enterprises appreciates their years of dedicated service, and we regret that the timing of it could not be better. That is all, Lorraine.”
As soon as the office door shuts in her wake, my phone pings in my pocket. I pull it out to check the message.
9:13 Unknown:
You built and built, proud of the height
Counted numbers that gleamed so bright
But twigs are stacked where stones should stay
The tower will fall and fade to gray.
I’m still glaring at the stupid verse when the phone lights up with an incoming call. It’s my investment portfolio manager in London. Calling me on the weekend. This can’t be good.
“What is it?” I ask as soon as I hit the green button.
“Mr. Ruffo, good morning! I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday, sir. But um…there’s a developing situation pertaining to Danube Industries. However, I want to assure you that I’m working on resolving the issue as we speak, and—”
“Hutchinson,” I growl. He’s yammering about the Austrian firm I invested over seven million dollars in not even six months ago, but he’s not getting to the fucking point. “What happened?”
“A local Vienna paper published a story online that Danube is preparing to file for bankruptcy. It was an unsubstantiated report, which has already been removed from the paper’s website, and the individual responsible for this transgression has been disciplined. Nevertheless, the story has been noticed by other news sources, and the rumor is spreading on social media. Danube is preparing a statement to deny the allegations and intends to take legal action against theVienna Gazette. However, we anticipate that once the markets open tomorrow morning, the stock value will plummet. At least for a little while. I have no doubts that it will rebound when…”
