Page 9 of Heartfelt Pain
I keep it neutral with a pair a black flare trouser with a black button-down. I’m not feeling festive, considering the businessmen I’m about to meet with never have a sense of humor.
I pull on a blazer, adjusting my collar and shaking my hair back.
Stilettos go on.
I finally pick up my phone. Thirty texts, half from Isolde and Ben, meaning it’s not as bad as normal. At least, until I check my emails.
I’m proud of myself when I stop by my couch and pick a book off the floor. I drop it into the big leather carryall I use.
Do I think I’ll have time to stop and read some smut today? No, but a girl can hope. Plus, I’d totally make Len’s day if she knew I was carrying around this month’s book club pick. It’s probably the closest I’ll get to actually reading it.
“Good morning,” the doorman says. I make a point tolook up from my phone and smile. There’s no good in being rude to the guy.
The pavement is wet, but the short trip between the building and the waiting car service isn’t bad.
I appreciate the driver’s silence. My foot bobs up and down as I answer texts while listening to the morning radio.
I’m dropped off right in front of Fujimori’s.
I don’t mind walking, I swear. But have you tried walking around this city in high heels?
Sure I could put on a pair of sneakers and switch when I get to my office. But does Ren Callahan seem like the type of person to be caught in sneakers?
Hell no.
Businessmen wear suits. It’s the quickest thing I learned when I started hanging out with the criminal lords.
And I am a fucking great businesswoman.
Four years ago, the Russians took one look at my naive sneaker and T-shirt combo and saw an opportunity to play me. Now, I get why Lev and Boris only ever wear suits. Dima and Isolde, as the gunman, have the privilege of wearing sweatpants.
At first, the thought of taking over Aunt Macy’s operations almost overwhelmed me. And not just for the obvious reasons.
I’d worked retail most of my life. I didn’t know anything about running an actual business.
I’ve found it satisfying, though. I’m tired all the time, but I love it. I love making money. I love living my life on my own terms. I can’t ever see myself going back to a normal nine-to-five.
Me and this shadowy world, I’ve found myself in—I think I’m in it for good.
At least as long as they’ll have me.
Working with certain figures comes with itsrisks.
But Fujimori’s is hallowed ground. You make a hit here, you’ll find no peace.
It’s why all the bodies I keep finding never show up here.
Sometimes people bitch about Fujimori’s rules, but the truth is, the criminal world likes having a neutral ground.
A spot for deals, or messages that could stop potential turf wars. When things need to calm down, this is the spot. It’s a mixture of hardened business transactions and influential negotiations.
I make it a point to always enter through the front. I will never hide from people. If somebody is going to take me out, even if they’re stupid enough to do it at Fujimori’s, they won’t find me cowering. Not anymore.
Jane’s already opened the front door. I don’t see her, though, I know she’s here. She’s the one who turns on the soft music. Abe’s dad doesn’t know how to work the sound system and Abe blasts heavy metal.
Though, in a few minutes Abe’s dad will choose the first song on the jukebox of the day.
My hand lovingly touches the large thing as I walk past. It showed up on New Year’s Eve and I swear it’s the best thing ever.
