Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Mr. Corvino, it’s good to finally meet in person. I’m Wallace Wayne, I work with Mark Thurston. I’m helping to close the deal.”
“Mr. Wayne, it’s good to meet you. Where is Mr. Thurston today?”
“Ah, Mark’s busy.” Wayne’s gaze cuts sideways toward the entrance. He clears his throat and adjusts his cuffs. “Shall we sit?”
“We appreciate you meeting with us,” Theodora says, taking charge of the conversation. She talks easily and makes people feel safe around her. I’m content to sit back and observe, but the more I watch, the more uncomfortable I feel.
Wallace Wayne isn’t happy. No, he’s downright twitchy, like he can’t stop looking around. Like he’s afraid of something.
“I don’t want to waste more time,” he says abruptly after sending the waitress away without ordering. “I respect you too much for that, Dora.”
I glance at my lawyer. She leans in closer. “What’s going on, Wally?”
Wally? Dora? Jesus fuck.
“We’ve been getting messages. People have been… very interested in our deal.”
“What people?” I ask sharply, interested now.
Wayne flinches and looks at the table. “I’m not at liberty to say. It’s client privilege.”
“Come on, Wally, don’t play around,” Theodora encourages. “We’re old friends. We went to law school together.”
“Which is the only reason I’m here. Dora, Mark straight up refused to come meet with you two.” He clears his throat. “Look, I have papers for you. The deal’s still going, but there are hiccups… some issues…” He cracks open his briefcase and pushes a folder across to Theodora.
She accepts the stack and glances inside. “Amendment documents?”
“Take your time with those. There’s no rush.”
I want to throttle the slimy fuck. There absolutely is a rush; I want my damn pharma company and I want to start my business. I’m sick of playing games, making offers, bitching and moaning about the details, wrangling every little crossed T and dotted I.
If this were my business, the deal would’ve been done weeks ago. I set terms, I get what I want, and that’s the end of it.
But this is the legit world and I have to play by different rules.
“Wally, this is bizarre.”
“I’m so sorry, Dora.” He gets up, glancing around nervously. “Mr. Corvino, nice to meet you. Please, take care, okay?”
Wallace Wayne hurries out of there, walking so fast he almost bumps into our server bringing coffee for another table.
“What the fuck was that, Dora?”
She grimaces as she skims the docs we were given. “I’m not sure. These aren’t that strange. Standard stuff. Request to push closing back a few weeks… diligence turned up some minor problems and now they want the cash allocation changed… insurance stuff… nothing crazy. I don’t get it.” She snaps the folder closed.
“They’re spooked.” I say it through my teeth. “And we both know why.”
“We don’t, and I don’t want the details.” Theodora rises, adjusting her skirt. “I want it fixed, that’s all.”
I give her a flat stare as I place cash down on the table. “Are you in a position to make demands of me, Dora?”
For a moment, I think she might try to argue. But she flushes and dips her chin. “Sorry, Rafe.”
“Good.” I slide from my seat and stand. “I will look into this. You keep the lawyers happy.”
“That’s my specialty.”
We part ways on the sidewalk. I instruct two of my men to follow her and the other two will stay with me. I get back in the car and have the driver head out toward New Jersey.
It’s an hour to the house, which means I have time to kill, sitting alone in the back seat.
Two problems war for my attention. There’s the deal and this mysterious problem. Someone’s trying to make trouble, and I’d bet both my kidneys that it’s the same person who left that photograph of Hattie and June on my desk.
Which leads into the other issue.
My god damn wife.
I knew she wasn’t happy and I couldn’t blame her. She was essentially kidnapped and blackmailed into marrying me and living on my property. It was only natural that she’d push against the boundaries of her situation.
But it still hurt when she tried to take my daughter away.
Which is strange, if I’m honest. I’ve lived for years knowing about Hattie, but it didn’t kill me not being with her. I did what I could for them from afar, writing checks, moving money through various shell companies, finding creative ways to get that cash to them without being too obvious. All without endangering them—or that’s what I thought.
But now my daughter’s been under my roof for a couple weeks and I can’t imagine her anywhere else.
It’s the small things. Waking up with June at my side. Feeling my wife breathe. Sneaking out to find Hattie waiting at her door, taking her down to the kitchen, making her breakfast. She’s a part of my morning routine now, as reliable as coffee, and much funnier. We talk about ponies, about what shows she watched, the art projects she’s thinking about, whatever she wants. The girl knows how to talk and talk, and I’m good at listening.