Page 17 of Devil In A Suit

"Not sweetheart," I correct. "We're in the office and we talked about this. You have to stop seeing me as your daughter."

"You have no idea how impossible that is, but okay, Miss Fitzpatrick.”

I give him a look, and he smiles.

"What about the videos?" I ask.

"Instead of spending so much time on them perhaps it’s time for you to go along with the other more experienced salespeople. You need more hours under your belt of closing sales. You've done a good job so far but experience in sales is matchless, and you're getting very little of that if you're focusing mostly on media."

"Media is crucial too, Dad. Otherwise, we can never really grow. Plus, I think it is high time we stopped pretending that I can ever be an accomplished salesperson. Let me do the media for you and let Sasha and the others do the selling, okay?”

He raises his hands. “Sure, honey. No pressure. Just do your best, okay? Doesn't matter what happens, we'll be okay. Let’s talk about it this evening when we go out to celebrate.”

I stare at him unhappily. By not telling the truth I’m just leading him on. Giving him false hope. I feel almost on the verge of tears. "The deal isn't done yet. There's nothing to celebrate. And to be really honest, Dad, I am pretty sure there’s no deal to be had there. It’s a lost cause."

He studies me, the hope replaced by doom, then smiles a forlorn twist of his lips. "You're right. It’s always a bad idea to count your chickens before they are laid, but let’s not lose all hope."

For the rest of the morning, I avoid everyone and pretend to be too busy editing a video to be able to stop and talk. At lunchtime, I go for a walk alone. As I become one with the bustling crowd of people around me, it is impossible to believe that this morning a Russian billionaire had made sleeping with me a condition before he would spend a hundred and twenty million on a house.

But it happened.

An hour later without having had anything to eat, I go back to my desk. There is a black box tied up with a broad cream ribbon. Even the box looks expensive. There is no card attached, but I know instantly it is from him.

“A courier dropped it off,” someone says.

My hands are shaking as I tug at the silky ribbon. I open the box and deep in tissue my hand encloses around something hard and cold. Grasping the thing gently, I pull my hand out and look at it.

A swan. A beautiful exquisitely blown glass swan.

“Wow, that’s gorgeous. Who sent that?” Tessa asks.

“An old friend,” I say and put the swan back into the box. When Tessa turns away I throw the box into the bin next to my desk. Then I pick up my bags and run to the subway as fast as I can. I need to get home for some peace and quiet and, of course,the only sounding board I trust not to be biased in helping me try to figure this out.

I am two stops away from home when I get off the train and hop on one going in the opposite direction back to the office. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bear the thought of the cleaners throwing away that beautiful work of art.

That swan is mine.

Chapter Twelve

IVAN

“We're joining with European Allies to find and seize their yachts, their luxury apartments, their private jets. We're coming for your ill-begotten gains.”

U.S. PresidentJoe Biden, 2022

I walk into the exclusive Crocodile Club right on time, 10.pm. sharp. It definitely was a genius idea to meet at the club, because the Southern District Attorney wasn't exactly reluctant to meet when he heard where it was to be held. You have to be a billionaire to be a member and this will probably be his only chance to see the interior of the Crocodile Club.

My conversation with him is important. It won’t decide whether I lose all my assets and end up behind bars, but I’m hoping it will shed some light on why I’m being investigated.

"Good evening, Mr. Ivanovich," one of the provocatively dressed hostesses, slinks over to me with a smile. “Your guest has not arrived yet. Would you like me to take you directly to your private room or would you prefer a drink at the bar first?”

“Private room,” I say.

“This way please.” She walks ahead of me. Her outfit has the high neckline of a Chinese Cheongsam, but suddenly stops halfway down her round ass. It is pure bait and while I appreciate the lure, I know I have it bad for Lara because I am not the least moved by the sight. Not even a twinge.

Turns out Lara’s rejection of my advances only makes me want her more. I’m not really surprised by that. Nothing gives me a raging hard-on like a difficult challenge, but what does surprise me is to learn the lengths I will go to, to get what I want. Lara has just brought out the monster that has been living quietly inside me. For the moment it seems as if there are no lengths I will not go to have her. Perhaps, if I had not held her in my arms and felt her heart flutter like a caught bird. Perhaps, if her eyes had betrayed her…

Under the chandelier the crystal glasses and gold cutlery on the table glitter and shine. The hostess pours me a glass of my usual Scotch and slinks out. The good thing about this club is the way the staff are discouraged from engaging the clientele in banal conversation. I look at my watch. I have read Greta’s file on David Madley. He is young, ambitious, hardworking, and unfortunately too idealistic. Probably why he hasn’t been selected by the right money connections yet. He is also always on time. The fact that he is three minutes late sends a very clear message that I am more than able to interpret.

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