Chapter Twenty-Eight
E lise had been skittish around Mathias ever since Marsela’s lackeys had shown up at the warehouse.
He hadn’t bothered with much in the way of an explanation, but she was smart enough to draw her own conclusions.
The last few days, she’d been handling him with a nervous caution, sometimes forgetting long enough to make the occasional witty quip, only to catch herself and throw him a panicked look.
He’d grown tired of her awkwardness, so when she arrived at the office that morning, he beckoned her over to his desk.
“Sit.” Mathias gestured toward the chair across from him. He reached for the bottle of scotch and poured two small glasses.
Elise’s eyes widened as she took a seat. “You’re here before ten, and we’re already drinking. I’m getting fired, aren’t I?”
“The thought of firing you is tempting. I’ve certainly considered it enough.”
“That’s comforting.”
Mathias handed her one of the glasses. “So, ask me.”
Elise gripped the glass, and her mouth gave an anxious quiver. “About what?”
“Don’t play dumb, Dumont. You’ve been tiptoeing around me all week. What do you want to know?”
Elise lifted the liquor to her lips and took a generous sip of courage. “Are you one of those Israeli secret agents?”
“You got me.”
Elise scowled at his mocking tone. “You told me once your father was Italian. Do you have connections to… you know? Do you know anyone…?” She raised her eyebrows in silent implication.
Mathias shrugged. “Everyone knows someone.”
“What about the gun?”
“It’s for protection. We have valuable merchandise stored here.”
“Rayan had one too. And he looked like he knew how to use it.”
Mathias snapped his fingers. “That’s right—he’s with the Mossad.”
Elise narrowed her eyes. “I see what you’re doing. You’re not going to give me anything, are you?”
“If that bothers you, go ahead and walk.”
She appeared startled. “Why would I do that? I mean, it’s not like you’re a bad person.”
“A bad person,” Mathias echoed. “Now that, I can guarantee.”
Elise looked at him for a moment then shook her head. “I don’t believe you. Anyway, that depends, doesn’t it?”
“On what?”
“Your definition.”
Mathias gave a low laugh. “Well, if you’re not going to walk away, I’ll make you a proposal.”
“A proposal?”
“I want you to take over the business.”
“What?” Elise blinked. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not? We’d start you off with a couple shares, and over time, you can buy me out. I’m not precious. You’ll get it for a bargain. And whatever profit you make, it’s yours.”
Elise turned the glass in her hands, chewing on her lower lip. “I don’t know the first thing…”
“You know the market, the product, how to price. While you do lack a basic level of business sense, that can be taught.”
“But negotiating with clients, navigating import laws—I have no idea where to start.”
“So do what I did—hire someone who knows more about it than you do. Then make them do all the legwork.” Mathias leaned back in his chair.
“You told me yourself you liked the freedom of the job, choosing what to buy and who to sell it to. You can specialize or diversify, depending on your interests. The nature of the work was always more appealing to you than it was to me.”
“This is crazy,” Elise whispered. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this. What are you going to do?” Then she flashed him a knowing look. “You’re going to take Heylen up on his offer.”
He’d received a call from Heylen the previous evening.
Everything was set. The board had agreed to Mathias’s terms, and the company’s legal team was drafting up the partnership documents.
Heylen had sounded giddy over the phone, confessing that he’d grown tired of playing it safe and had been looking for the right opportunity to make a bold move.
If only he knew how bold a move he was making.
“Maybe I am.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s right up your league. A pair of cutthroat capitalists.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
Elise laughed. “You would.” She shifted in her seat, and her foot hammered nervously against the floor. Mathias could almost hear the whir of her mind spinning. “Fuck it, I’ll do it,” she announced. “On one condition.”
Mathias cocked an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”
“You said business sense can be taught. I want you to be the one to teach me. I want you to be my mentor.”
Mathias snorted. “I’m not going to hang around here and hold your hand, Dumont.”
“That’s the condition,” she said, raising her glass. “I get to call you when I need help.”
What’s the alternative—stand back and watch her burn everything to the ground? Better to stick around long enough to make sure she has a decent run at it.
“Fine,” he relented. “But I get to decide whether to answer.”
“Deal.” She clinked her glass against his. They threw back the scotch, and Elise broke into a grin. “We have to celebrate. This stuff’s way too strong. I’m going to grab us some bubbles.” She glanced at the clock on the office wall. “And maybe some orange juice.”
She stepped out of the office and disappeared into the warehouse, only to return moments later, the grin gone, and her face stricken.
Mathias stood, immediately on guard. He recalled the black BMW parked outside the warehouse when they’d returned from Cologne.
Surely, the Albanians weren’t stupid enough to come back here.
He’d confirmed with Charles that they’d picked up the shipment, but that hadn’t stopped him from stashing a gun in his desk just in case.
He walked past Elise into the warehouse. Through the small window on the staff door, he could see a dented blue hatchback pulled up out front. Beside it, a man was pacing agitatedly.
The ballsy little fuck. Well, Mathias was nothing if not a man of his word. He returned to the office and found Elise pressed against the far wall, her nails digging into the flesh of her forearm.
“I don’t know how he found me here,” she mumbled frantically. “I’ve been so careful.”
Mathias unlocked the top drawer of his desk and pulled out his gun.
“No, Mathias!” Elise cried in horror.
“I told you if you didn’t sort this, I would.”
Back in the warehouse, Mathias pushed open the staff door and strode out into the parking lot.
Theo stopped pacing and glowered at him. “Where’s Elise?” he called out. “Is she inside?”
Mathias continued toward him.
“You don’t scare me,” Theo taunted, clearly not having clocked the pistol at Mathias’s side. “I know you’re not fucking her. You’re just a—”
Mathias slammed him against the side of the car and shoved the muzzle of the gun hard against his throat. “Go on,” he said, leaning in. “Say it.”
A high-pitched whimper erupted from Theo’s mouth. His eyes opened so wide Mathias could see the whites all around.
“Let’s hear it, you sniveling piece of shit. What were you going to call me?”
Theo shook his head rapidly. “N-Nothing.”
“That’s what I thought.” Mathias increased the pressure so that the metal dug into the man’s skin. Theo began to splutter, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth. “If you come anywhere near her again, I will string you up by your ankles and gut you like a pig. Are we clear?”
Theo nodded.
Mathias released him and raised his gun to fire one shot through the windshield of the man’s car. Theo screamed, his arms flying up to protect his face as the window shattered, splinters of glass tinkling to the ground.
“Now, fuck off. The next shot won’t miss.”
Theo practically tripped over his own feet, trying to get back into the car.
He slammed it into reverse and took off, squealing, across the parking lot toward the street.
Mathias waited until the car had disappeared from view before making his way back to the warehouse.
Elise stood by the staff entrance, watching him.
“Okay, first lesson,” she said when he closed the door behind them. The wobble of fear was gone from her voice, and her eyes were fixed on his, cold as steel. “Teach me how to use that.”
Mathias smirked. She was proving a fast learner. “There’s hope for you yet.”
As Mathias drove through the city toward H?tel de Ville, it was impossible to ignore the collection of tents dotting downtown.
Since the Jungle’s partial closure, small camps had begun to pop up across Calais.
Through the window, his gaze was caught by a woman with a baby strapped to her chest and a child in hand.
Watching her, he felt a glimmer of Rayan’s rage.
While Mathias tended to dismiss the man’s social conscience, he also admired Rayan’s refusal to simply sit back and let the situation play out.
If there were a few strings Mathias could pull to nudge things along, then he was more than willing to do so.
He’d been ambivalent about the opportunity to profit from Marsela’s misguided venture.
A deterrent was necessary to ensure that the Albanians didn’t try anything like that again, but neither the drugs nor the money he stood to make from them held much appeal.
Then, somewhere between returning Farhan to his daughters and Rayan announcing his plan to fund the remainder of the residence build on his own, Mathias had seen it all click into place—a way to help Rayan get what he wanted while allowing Mathias to get rid of his Albanian problem in the process.
And if it meant that the likes of this woman and her two young children ended up with a better deal, well, what did that matter to him?