7. Ares
Ares
Nathan Craig’s office is an insult to offices. I can’t imagine how he’s survived this long in New York City. A boss should project power and strength. All I see are half-tilted, dusty blinds.
“Never thought to decorate this place?” I ask, glancing around.
“Customers see fancy furniture and think you’re overcharging them,” he says, looking nervous.
Daria made me aware of Nico Scava’s shakedown a few days ago. It’s just a happy coincidence that I’m making Craig this offer in the shadow of the Italian Mafia’s threats.
“Customers want to work with businessmen who care enough about aesthetics to stay in business.” I reach into my briefcase. “Hence the reason I’m here. I have a proposal for you.”
I hand him the proverbial offer he can’t refuse.
Nathan takes the bound presentation I prepared for him, looking skeptical, like he thinks I can’t possibly offer anything that will make his business or life better.
“Do you have a lawyer?” I ask, resisting an eyeroll as he reads.
“I put in a few years toward my JD. I know enough.” He shifts in his ill-fitting navy suit that has seen years of harsh dry-cleaning chemicals.
I grind my molars when he continues to read and doesn’t get past Page 1.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Why don’t you jump to Page 10. I’m offering to buy your business for much more than the book value and keep you on as a managing partner, earning a substantial salary.”
From my suit jacket, I remove an envelope and place it on his desk.
He opens it, and his eyes widen. Finally, a reaction.
The check resting between his fingers could buy him a retirement home on the Amalfi Coast.
He returns to the contract as if there’s a clause to hand over organs. As if I’d want any of his.
“I know who you are, Zervas. You bought the old missions church. You’re spending a fortune to renovate it.” His voice is calm, and there’s even some steel beneath it. Nice. “Does this have anything to do with the Borgias?”
“No. But if Nico Scava has targeted you, I say it’s wise to make a fresh start.”
“Just like that?” Craig asks, lifting his gaze to mine.
“That’s how good business deals work,” I reply, folding my hands loosely behind my back. “When both parties understand the value of the deal.”
Craig leans back slightly in his chair, the rusty metal frame creaking. “And you’re not asking for a review of our books?”
“You know who I am. I’ve seen your books.”
My team reviewed every ledger, every manifest, every discrepancy worth noticing.
Including the money Lourdes is stealing. But I don’t tell Nathan that. He looks ill enough.
Nathan taps the check lightly against the desk. “Why do you want my business?”
“The docks here are no longer secure to my satisfaction,” I say, my tone even and conversational. “I would prefer to use your resources to make new connections out of Port Elizabeth.”
“You want to move my business to Elizabeth, New Jersey?” he crows, as though he hasn’t gotten to that part of the contract.
I knew the damn thing was too wordy. “Correct.”
He considers this with a harsh exhale. “When? How soon do you want an answer?”
“I’d like an answer right now. And you can start moving today.”
“What?”
Raising a hand to calm him down, I came prepared with some visuals to change his mind.
I remove my phone from the inner pocket of my charcoal suit jacket and place it on his desk, turning the screen toward him.
“I’ve already located and secured a newly constructed industrial building a mile from the port.”
I see Nathan’s eyes light up, taking in the glass frontage and reinforced steel trusses.
“The office interior is modern with state-of-the-art infrastructure,” I add. “I have IT specialists standing by, prepared to transfer your network, and I can have a moving truck here tonight.”
Nathan studies the image again, then looks up at me, face flushed. “I have people working for me. I need my staff.”
I hide my smile. He will not be taking his entire staff. Because I know one employee who cannot move.
“And they will continue to work for you,” I reply. “Allowances will be made for relocation. Housing stipends. Send the expense reports to my office. They will be taken care of.”
Nathan is quiet for a long moment, weighing loyalty against opportunity. Perhaps he knows Lourdes’s husband would never let her move.
“There is even a luxury waterfront apartment set aside for your mistress.” I wink at him, appealing to his unrelenting desires as if I approve, which I don’t. “Quite comfortable for afternoon trysts.”
Nathan’s jaw drops open, but he doesn’t argue with me or tell me to fuck off. If I crawled up his ass enough to know all his business dealings, figuring out he was fucking his assistant wasn’t buried like a military secret.
“And you won’t interfere with how I run my business or my team?”
“I’ll interfere only if you give me reason to.”
A corner of his mouth twitches into something resembling a smile. Nathan slowly stands at last, smoothing a palm over the front of his jacket before extending his hand across the desk.
“Then we have a deal, Mr. Zervas.” His grip is weak and his skin dry.
“Good man.” I shake his hand, then remove a card from my breast pocket. “This is your contact at Zervas & Company who will walk you through all the logistics.”
He signs the contract, and I slide it into my briefcase. I won’t miss the five million dollars I’m paying for a company that earns less than three hundred thousand a year. Who knows? Maybe it will make more money in Elizabeth, and I’ll make a profit.
This isn’t about money.
As I pass through the main office, my eyes snag on an empty desk near the windows. I timed my meeting with Craig to happen during Lourdes’s predictable afternoon coffee run.
Outside, I descend the steps and take a breath of the fresh air, glad to be free of lead paint fumes in that dingy office.
My Bentley and my security detail, made up of two black SUVs in their usual formation, idle out front of the office building, ready to motor out of here.
I fold myself into my car, but say, “Wait.”
Then I see her.
Lourdes crosses the street, carefully dodging moving vehicles carrying two designer coffee cups balanced in a cardboard tray. Beneath a gray trench, she wears a pale green blouse tucked into a dark skirt that brushes past her knees.
All the air is knocked from my lungs as I watch her walk. A potent desire charges through my veins. My greedy gaze locks on her champagne-blonde hair pulled back in a low bun that reveals the elegant line of her neck.
A clawing need to be close to her, to smell her, to remind her that I’ve not gone quietly into the shadows, is stifled by the stronger need to wait and strike later when I have everything in place to make her mine.
“Sir,” my driver’s voice pipes up over the chorus of impatient horns targeting our motorcade. “Wall Street will gridlock if we don’t—”
“I’m aware of the traffic,” I snap, low and controlled, though my attention can’t be torn from this woman who holds a key to an unknown door to my soul.
Meetings will wait. Approvals will wait. The world can wait while I get the fix I need.
The blearing sound of the horns captures her attention, and she looks our way. Right at me. But she doesn’t see me.
From behind tinted windows, I say, “Drive.”
I retrieve my phone from my suit jacket again and call my brother Atlas.
He answers on the second ring. “The king graces me with a call.”
“I need a desk installed outside my office,” I say without preamble or that he addresses me as the king.
Atlas pauses. “Why?”
“A new hire will be starting soon,” I tell him. “That’s where she’ll work from.”
“Her? For what? You have six assistants on the seventh floor.” He questions me, like he’s forgotten who he’s talking to.
“I don’t answer to you.” I end the call before he can respond.
The marrow in my bones feels repositioned as a chess piece is now set directly in my path for acquisition.
And whether Lourdes realizes it yet or not, she is the queen who is already in play.