Chapter 7 #2
Johan lets out a sharp bark of a laugh. “And what’s to say I won’t just leave here and tell him about this meeting?”
“Money and peace. Two things I know you care about.”
No sharp retort to that. I know I’m right.
He holds my eyes. In those long moments, I know he’s weighing potential decisions, making calculations. He’s young, and he’s brilliant.
“I’ll think about it,” he says finally.
It’s not a yes. But I wasn’t expecting a yes.
“Good. I’ll have something more concrete for you soon.” Gabriella’s proposal should be ready before too long.
“Soon,” he echoes. He rises. Johan gives me one more look, as if searching me for a tell that this is all bullshit or some way to pull the wool over his eyes, fleece him, play him for a fool.
But he finds nothing. I meant what I’d said about honesty.
Then he buttons his suit jacket, turns, and leaves.
Bogdan lets out a breath he’d been holding. “Don’t like it. Could be on the phone with Papa right now.”
“Could be. But he’s not.”
“He’s interested. I can tell.”
“Yes.”
“But it could be bait. Lure you in, finish you off. That’d be how Peter would take your empire from you.”
“Also yes.”
We rise. I throw a few hundred on the table, then leave through the main room. Outside, the air is cold and clean. The river catches the bright noon light. Bogdan matches my pace as we head to the car.
“Peter would not be happy about this.”
“Peter doesn’t need to know.”
We reach my sleek, black Maybach. Bogdan opens the back door and I slide in. Moments later, he’s at the wheel, gunning the engine.
“There’s the other part to this,” he says as he eases into traffic. “The girl.”
“What about her?”
“This all depends on her work.”
“I have faith in her.” My eyes drift to the back of Bogdan’s neck, the clean, straight scar at his hairline from a knife attack years ago, one of many scars he’s earned.
I say nothing else. But when Bogdan clears his throat, I understand there’s more to the story. “Go on,” I say.
“She’s been out of the office more than usual recently. Over the last couple of weeks.
“Doing what?”
“Coffee with her friend Angela. Walks by the river. She does a little work, answers calls, sends drafts. Nothing I figured you’d be too worried about. But there’s something else.”
“Tell me.”
“Twice over the last month she’s gone into this building in Lincoln Park.”
“What kind of building?”
“Three stories, a different business on each floor. One is a comic book shop—I doubt she has much interest in that. Top floor is a doctor’s office. Bottom floor is a bar.”
It’s clear to me what he’s getting at. A little flash of anger roils inside me. But I choose to wait to hear Bogdan’s assessment first.
“What, you think she’s going in and getting liquored up on her lunch breaks?”
He shrugs as he pulls a turn. “Hard to say what she’s doing when she goes into that building. But I know she’s under a lot of pressure. Stranger things have happened than a young employee feeling the pressure, wanting something to take the edge off.”
We flow into traffic. The city rolls by in sheets of glass and brick.
“Security around her stays tight.”
“It never loosened. But it could get tighter. If you want, I can send one of my guys to tail her when she goes into that building next. If she’s spending her lunch hour the wrong way, we’ll have proof.”
“Not yet.” Truth is, it sounds a little off.
Bogdan is right—many drinkers first find their solace in alcohol during times of stress.
But it doesn’t hit right. Gabriella, a lush?
“I don’t want anything to rock the boat.
She finds out I’m tailing her that closely, she might decide she doesn’t want to be a part of this operation any longer. ”
“Can’t have that. She’s rare talent.”
“Indeed.”
“Let’s keep an eye on her at work. Make sure there are no other warning signs.”
“Good call. We don’t want to be paranoid, but you know, loose lips sink ships, as they say. And nothing gets lips looser than one too many.”
“She’s not careless,” I say.
“Yet.”
Silence blankets the car. I press my thumb into the palm of my hand until I feel the bone. Old habit. It calms me.
“Johan’s already doing the math,” Bogdan says. “Bet he’s at his office crunching the numbers now, figuring out how much he can make. He’ll sell out his father, if the price is right.”
“Not quite selling out. He’s worked hard, made his own way. If he wants to cut his business loose from a life he never asked for, that’s his prerogative. I’m just here to facilitate it.”
“Like the nice guy you are.”
I chuckle.
We stop at a light. A delivery truck rumbles past. A cyclist curses at a taxi. The city keeps moving.
I pull out my phone. There’s a message from legal, a draft timeline. I answer, Move it up.
Then I switch to Gabriella’s thread. It sits there, aching in this strange way.
I read our last exchange. I think of her standing in the doorway of her apartment in those short-shorts and T-shirt tight enough to see her hard nipples.
I replay the conversation, her telling me it was a mistake, that it will never happen again. My cock stiffens.
I type: Draft progress? I delete it. Need your latest by morning. That gets deleted, too. I decide not to send a text and place my phone face down on my knee.
We pass under a stretch of El track. The metal screams, then fades as the car passes.
“You’ll see her?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“What will you say?”
“I’ll decide then.”
He grunts quietly in a reply that could mean anything.
I close my eyes for two breaths, then open them. The car settles into the lane that will take us back to AngelCorp. There’s too much work to be done—I have to make calls, move dates, pull strings.
And it all has to work perfectly, no matter what.