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“Scotch for me. He’s fine,” Massimo says as he sinks lazily into a chair.
It’s nine in the morning.
Gabriel clears his throat, looking completely nonplussed like the pro he is. He touches a button on the intercom. “Megan, would you please have the bottle of the Dalmore 62 from my office brought in, and four glasses?”
Massimo smirks a snake-like smile as Gabriel, Taylor, and I take seats across from him, facing the door.
“Mr. Carveli,” Taylor smiles. “Why don’t we begin with what Crown and Black can do for you and your organization?—”
“I’m prepared to commit fifty million dollars a year in billable hours to your firm.”
Holy. Fuck.
The room goes silent as Massimo’s words hang in the air. That sort of money would make Massimo the single biggest client we have, by about double.
Gabriel clears his throat. “Well, that’s wonderful to hear, Mr. Carveli.”
He pauses as the door opens, and Megan bustles in with a tray of crystal glasses and the ludicrously expensive scotch from Gabriel’s office. When she leaves again, Gabriel opens the bottle and pours a glass for Massimo.
“Now, why don’t you tell us specifically what we can do for?—”
“Stop talking.”
My brows shoot up at Massimo’s interruption. Gabriel frowns.
“Pardon me?”
“Stop. Talking,” Massimo grunts. He wafts the glass of scotch under his nose as he sits back and grins at us venomously. “Let’s be quite clear on something, Mr. Black. You and your partners won’t be working with me. You’ll be working for me. Are we clear on that?”
I feel my hands curl to fists under the table again. Gabriel’s jaw tightens a little, but he nods politely.
“Of course, Mr. Carveli. Now, as I was?—”
“And before you start plying me with expensive scotch and knockout redheads with great tits,” Massimo snickers, nodding his chin at Taylor.
Fuckhead.
“You should know,” he continues, “that my business comes with a…condition.”
Fuck. I hate fucking games, and I already hate this fucking guy. The combination is making me come close to boiling over.
“I’m sure you’re a busy man, Massimo,” I growl, purposely skipping the “Mr. Carveli” shit because fuck this guy. “So why don’t we just put the cards on the table, shall we?”
His blue eyes swivel to mine, and he wags a finger at me.
“Oh, I like this one. You’re my kind of lawyer, Alistair. Completely devoid of bullshit.”
He sighs as his gaze takes in all three of us.
“My condition is this: I have someone—a lawyer—and I’d like you to hire them.”
What?
“Excuse me?” Gabriel frowns.
Massimo shrugs, sipping his scotch. “If you want my business, you’ll hire this lawyer. This is non-negotiable.”
“We have a very precise and thorough hiring process, Mr. Carveli,” Taylor ventures. “But I’m sure we can get your friend into the queue and have them in for a round of interviews.”
