Page 39 of My Wild Horse King

“Sean bloody McDermott.” Aleksandr looks ready to punch him.

Kristiana’s smiling.

Sean rolls his eyes. “That’s me. But what areyoudoing here?”

“Daniel Belmont,” Kris says, “is my big brother.”

Sean blinks. “You’re kidding.”

Kristiana shakes her head.

“Well, tell me this, since you owe me. Is he a good investment?”

Kris shrugs. “I mean, I hear there’s a maniac who wants him dead.”

Sean nods slowly. “That’s true for most of the best businessmen in the world.”

“If you’re ready to begin the meeting,” I say, “we can?—”

Sean waves his hand. “I think I have something better. Sisters are always the best judge of character for their brothers.” He narrows his eyes. “You tell me whether I should invest.” He frowns. “Are you investing?”

“Gustav’s a bad brother. He never returns my calls, he never visits, and he doesn’t ever call me. But it’s because he’s always put work first,” Kris says slowly.

That stings a little, but she’s not lying.

She goes on. “If you want to invest in something that has a solid plan, that has been conservative in every aspect, and that’s sure to turn a solid profit, then yes.” Kris nods. “He’s not a bad investment, which is why I’ll definitely invest in it myself.”

Sean stares at her for a moment. Then that moment stretches.

I can’t help glancing at Aleksandr, who looks ready to rearrange Sean’s not-too-bad-looking face. That would be very inconvenient for me.

“I’ve brought some materials you may want to peruse.” I offer Sean a folder, stepping intentionally between Aleksandr and the VP of Operations for one of the fifty largest banks in Europe. “And my sister’s glowing recommendation notwithstanding, I’d be happy to explain anything?—”

Sean takes the folder, and looks me in the eye. “She gave you about the best recommendation you could have gotten.” He nods. “Count us in for the maximum allowable shares at your suggested price.” The corner of his mouth turns up. “And now I should go. I’m afraid if I stick around much longer, Kristiana’s Russian thug will try to rough me up.”

Aleksandr’s face has flushed, and he looks ready to do it.

Sean reaches the door, his lackeys falling in behind him, when he turns around. “You know, it’s a little depressing when you don’t win the girl, but it’s a lot more fun to be the one who’s free to say whatever he wants.”

He ducks out before Aleksandr has a chance to rearrange any of the various parts of his face.

I have a little extra time now, thanks to Kris, to prepare to meet with Ameritrade. In spite of that, the meeting does not go well. They ask about what happened with Black Rock, and they ask a lot of questions about how the company was founded, and why I moved to New York right before college. Frankly, they’re asking questions I didn’t think anyone would even know to ask.

While I should be anticipating what other questions they might come up with, I find myself thinking about that stupid palomino from my dream last night. When I’m not thinking of that, I keep imagining Katerina in the middle of the night, offering to buy some of my company herself.

Once, in college, I had a friend who was desperate to get published. She kept talking about selling her book—she meant to a publisher. But this little boy who overheard us talking told her he would buy her book.

She melted.

That’s how I felt when that little lost Russian woman told me if she had money, she would buy part of my company. I don’t actually need anyone to buy it. My company’s doing great on its own. Most companies go public when they need money to expand, or when their employees need to be able to sell their shares, but for me, it’s all about recognition. It’s about showing my grandfather that I’m competent and capable and that I’ll be the best person to take over when he retires.

When the Ameritrade meeting ends, I’m not sure whether they’ll buy a decent chunk of shares or not. I’m reviewing some things with Jean and the team when someone who had just left comes back in the room. I recognize him, because I could hardly see his face thanks to the tall man in front of him. He was wearing a pinstriped suit and four thousand dollar shoes, so I tried to catch a glimpse, but it never happened.

Jean sees him coming, too. “Welcome back. Did you forget?—”

The man looks up, and I realize that I know him.

It’s my cousin, Prescott Belmont.

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