"And the meetings will be in London." I thrust out my chin.
"No fucking way. Why London?" Arpad growls, " I hate this bloody city."
"I proposed this plan. I get to dictate where the meetings happen." I curl my lips, "And it will be on my home turf. Anyone who doesn’t agree can sod off."
I scan the space. "No? It’s settled then." I thrust my chin forward, "Besides, London is the center of the universe."
The moody, overcast weather the city wears for most of the year suits my temperament fine too.
"Bloody anglophile." Arpad grumbles.
"Filthy Frenchman." I snicker.
"Children, please." Edward walks up to me, grips my shoulder. "For the first time, you’ve had an idea that I am comfortable putting my weight behind. I’ll put half of my investments behind it."
I frown, "In return for?"
"50% of profits."
My jaw drops, "What the—?"
"Kidding." Edward chuckles. "One seventh works for me. Though I won't say no to more, since my share of profits will be donated to the good of my flock."
"You’re in a good mood, Father."
"I feel in fine form." His lips twitch.
"Who have you been taking lessons from?"
The smile switches off. He blinks, "No one."
"So, there is… someone?"
He shakes his finger under my nose, "Now, now. You can’t trip me up. I take my vows seriously."
That much is true. The guilt in his eyes though, had I imagined it? Nah, not likely.
I survey the room, "Don’t go getting your knickers in a twist people. I can assure you that, unlike Father here, I don’t have an altruistic bone in my body. This way, we own these people until the day they die, not to mention ongoing revenue streams.”
"Self-perpetuating assets? Works for me." Arpad stretches, yawns. "We done now?"
"Hold on." Saint prowls over, "How do we choose what to invest in?"
"Prospective applicants present their projects, and—"
"We get them to pitch to us." Arpad lowers his chin.
"That’s good."
"You bet it is." He walks up to us. "It’s a good idea, Sin, for once."
Right.
"The next meeting is in my offices." Saint growls.
Of course, he’d want the last word.
"Sure." I tilt my head.
His eyebrows knit. "If there isn’t anything else…" he stalks to the door.
"I am not done yet."
"FOK Media is taking on an agency to help with the marketing."
"Oh?" Saint swings around. "Who heads the agency? Someone you’re shagging?"
I glower at him.
"Interviewed her earlier. She’ll manage our social media presence, and start seeding PR stories, get the ball rolling."
"Definitely shagging her." Damian scratches his chin.
"Did you think she’d have merits of her own?"
"Does she?" Weston’s mouth quirks.
Not only.
"At least she's not an employee. That's something." Arpad drags his fingers through his hair.
"You have something to say to me, dipshit?"
He holds up his hands, "Hey, I am not the one with a hard on for her."
I frown. How dare he talk about her in that fashion?
He drums his fingers on his chest, "If she's not an employee, at least it doesn't open us up to further legal issues, when you pursue her."
"That is not going to happen." I grind my teeth so hard that pain slices up my jaw.
"So you’re not interested in her?" Saint scratches his chin.
"No."
His eyes gleam. "I can pursue her?"
A growl rips from me. Anger twists my guts. Only when my hands knit in his collar, do I realize I've crossed the floor to him.
He smirks. "Someone's edgy."
I draw my fist back, "Shut the fuck up."
"Wanna try to hit me, Sin?" His tone is pleasant.
It wouldn't be the first time. Fucker knows how to get under my skin good. I smooth my palm down his collar.
"Nope, old chap." I pat his shoulder. "Actually, I do need your help."
"Hmm?" He frowns.
"Summer will be shadowing me for the next seven days to get in-depth information for the social media strategy."
"Oh, yeah?" He snickers. "Is that a euphemism for what you have in mind?"
I ignore it, "She also has a sister."
Saint straightens, "Oh?"
"Who’s unwell, asswipe."
He tilts his head. "And you want me to what? Play nanny?"
Damian pipes up. "Technically that would make him a Manny."
"What?" I shoot him a sideways glance.
He shakes his head. "You should keep up with the trends. Not that this is something new or anything. Oh, wait." He snaps his fingers, "Not that you would be aware of that either, huh?"
"I leave those pursuits up to you, Pretty Boy." I turn to Saint, "Can you send your chauffeur to pick her up and move her to my Hampstead Heath apartment?"
His eyebrows knit, "You're taking care of her family? What next? Pay off her debts."
I narrow my gaze.
"And what will you be doing during this time?" Saint curves his hand, makes a pumping motion.
"None of your goddamn business."
I turn to the man on my right, "Doc?"
Weston straightens.
"The sister also has a heart condition, and considering that's your specialization, will you check her out, find out how bad it is?"
10
"I have a head for business and a body for sin."
— Working Girl. Director: Mike Nichols
Summer
I drag my suitcase toward the imposing door to what has to be the most beautiful three-story house I have ever seen.
The street is off Primrose Hill. Celebrities live here… And of course, the Jerkenstein.
His chauffeur had dropped me off in front of the beautiful wisteria-covered townhouse and I had almost been sorry to see Peter leave.
Not that we had spoken much. I’d been too taken in by the Aston Martin the alphahole had sent to pick me up.
It had smelled of Sinclair. I bring my sleeve up to my nose and sniff. Bergamot and pepper. Correction, I still smell of him.
My stomach flip flops. A hot sensation coils in my chest. I haven’t seen the man and already my palms are damp. From hate. That’s all it is, right? I raise my fist and knock on the door. It swings open. Huh?
I push open the barrier and walk through, into the large foyer. Ahead, a stairway winds its way up.
To my right is an elevator. Huh? Guess when you’re rich you can't be bothered with climbing the stairs?
How much had it cost him to buy the place? Take a number and add at least another seven figures to it. My head whirls. Guess all the money in the world can't buy politeness though, huh?
He is the richest, the snobbiest, the most infuriating man I’ve come across. And I am going to spend the next seven days with him. Hell.