Evil personified, but still, I give credit where credit is due—he’s fucking breathtaking.
It only serves to make me even angrier.
Striving for that icy calm which anyone who knows me knows is a thin cover over my volcanic temper, I lean back in my chair, spin a pen around my middle finger. Stare him down without speaking for a long, tense thirty seconds. “What are you doing here, Matthais? This is a private business meeting.”
He withdraws his hand from his pocket, goes to the coffee station and pours himself a cup of coffee, leaving it black. The coffee station is on the opposite side of the table as the only open chair, so he has to go back around behind me. On his way past me, he drops in front of me the sheaf of paper he’d been carrying, and then takes the open seat. Leans back casually, sipping his coffee, waiting.
I scan it—it’s a contract.
A sale.
Of Dell’s stake in McKenna Construction…
To Matthais Bristow.
“No.” I toss it back at him. “Whatever game you’re playing, Matty, I’m not interested. Go away. I’m busy with adult stuff.”
He doesn’t visibly react. “I go by Thai, now, actually. And it’s not a game.”
I shake my head. “No. I refuse to countenance this…this…tomfoolery.”
Fuck—I just said tomfoolery. What am I, ninety?
Matthais can’t contain his smirk. “No tomfoolery, Delia. Just plain business. Dell sold to me. It’s legal, legit, and real. Look at the contract—Quentin Albright Quince wrote the contract and notarized it.”
I shake my head. Flip through the contract. I’m no lawyer, but I know my way around contracts. This is legit. The real thing. I’ll have to have…well, normally I’d have Quentin do it, but since he wrote the contract, I’ll have to have someone else look it over for loopholes.
I toss the contract on the table with a huff. Turn my gaze—glare, really—on Matthais. “What do you want?”
He shrugs. “For now, I’ll just listen and learn.”
“No…I mean what do you want to go away? How much will it cost me to get you out of this office and back out of my life?”
He sips his coffee, eyes narrowed, and I can see the wheels turning. “Well, see, the thing is, Delia, I just spent a whole hell of a lot of money buying out your brother. So…I think I’ll see this one through.”
I ignore the stares of the rest of the staff, focus on Matthais. “See this one through. What does that even mean? Why would you buy my brother’s shares? You’re even more of a useless fuckboy tool than he is. This is a real company, doing real business. I doubt you could pour water out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the heel.”
He remains obnoxiously unflustered. “I realize I’ve earned every ounce of vitriol you have for me, Delia, and then some. But as for my qualifications…check your email. I sent you my CV.”
“You have a CV?” I snorted. “Doing lines off of strippers doesn’t count, Matthais.”
His eyes narrow. “Does an economics degree from Yale count? How about an internship at Goldman Sachs? Or maybe an MBA from Wharton School of Business?”
As he’s speaking, I bring up the email on my phone. I force myself to hold a neutral expression as I read, and realize he’s not bluffing. His CV is, legitimately and honestly, impressive.
And he’s not done.
“Or how about sixteen million in investments across six different industries—does that count? Perhaps the fact that I purchased Dell’s entire fifty percent stake in this company with cash? I got into Yale on my own merit. I earned my degrees myself, the hard way. I got the internship myself, by competing for it. And turned down an offer of full-time employment from them, just FYI, because that shit was fuckingboringas hell.” He leans forward, hands flat on the table, gaze fierce, eyes like green fire. “Like it or not, Delia, I’mqualified.”
“This isn’t Goldman Sachs, Matthais. We’re a construction company. We build houses. Do you even know which end of a hammer to hold?”
His lips tighten. “Whatever I don’t know, I can learn.”
“I know you’re not actually stupid, granted…you’re just a colossal asshole. But the greater point here, is…why? Why would you do this?” I struggle to stay calm, when what I want is to kick and scream…and cry.
But I swore, over a decade ago, that I’d never waste another tear on Matthais Bristow.
The room is silent. Matthais doesn’t answer right away, and I can tell he’s legitimately considering the answer.
