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“Quite a home you have here, Mr. Fillmore,” she said as she shook her head in agreement.
“Quite an entrance you made, Miss Emilia,” I responded as I offered her a seat.
“Are you an art collector, Mr. Fillmore?” she asked as she put down her Hermes Birkin bag on the couch and sat with her knees crossed. I noticed her attention was drawn towards my mother’s larger-than-life portrait that hung on the wall right in front of her.
“No, I’m not an art collector, but I recently grew an interest in art,” I answered her curiosity.
“Well, that explains all this,” she said as she motioned her left hand around the walls heavily covered in paintings and drawings of different sizes.
“So, what is Alessandro’s daughter doing in my humble home?” I cut short her small talk.
All my life, I have always been a candid man. I got that from my father. Most people confused it for arrogance. Sometimes I thought that was the reason I was still unmarried. I thought most women confused my candidness for arrogance. But I wouldn’t be where I was now if not for my candidness. At least that’s the excuse I gave myself for practically not having a social life.
I was a 41-year-old self-made billionaire with no social life. Quite sad even for me.
“I’m here to talk business on behalf of my father,” she answered unwavered, unbothered by my direct nature.
“You don’t strike me as a woman who’d do anyone’s bidding,” I said to her as I walked towards the minibar to fix myself a drink.
I loved putting people off their game. It made them vulnerable, which suited my understanding of their intentions. It’s a trait I picked up over the years. I loved to apply it whenever I did business deals.
“You come as advertised, Mr. Fillmore, full of mind games, riddles,” she said as she joined me at the minibar.
“Whisky?”
“Gin, please.”
“Emilia,” I smirked and handed her a glass of gin.
She was a good-looking woman. She had physical attributes that most men would crave and an attitude to match. But Elijah Fillmore was no ordinary man. I wasn’t really attracted to just physical attributes. Intellect drew me to people, and Emilia didn’t strike me as an intellect. Coming from a wealthy family had taken its toll on her. Arrogance and pride came attached to most women living in her world. By ‘her world’, I meant growing up in riches, getting spoilt for choices.
There was no way I was doing business with the Maximo family. I prioritized passion over money. Probably that’s why I never accepted investors since I started my business nine years ago. It’s always about the money with most investors, and that often puts me off.
“So, you conduct business meetings in private residences?” I asked sarcastically as I made my way back to the living area, then took my seat.
“I heard you prefer business meetings to be scheduled prior,” she answered in quick response. She poured herself some more gin and took her seat opposite mine, so we faced each other.
“That is correct, Miss Emilia, my private residence is private,”
“I don’t really like playing by the rules, Mr. Fillmore. I hope you don’t mind.”
“You came here for business, so you said, fire away,”
“My father wants to invest in your business, Mr. Fillmore.”
“So, I figured,” I responded affirmatively.
“He wants to invest a sum of nine-million in your cryptocurrency firm. If you were to agree, then he’d have his lawyer and yours draft a deal pending your signature and his.”
“And he sent you because?”
“Because he thought it would be a good idea.”
Annoyed by this nonsense, I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry you had to drive all the way here, Miss Emilia, but I’m not taking on investors at this time.”
“Is that how you address all your lady friends, Mr. Fillmore?”
I swear I didn’t know what she meant. The question caught me off-guard. Lady friends? I wondered. I didn’t have any lady friends that I entertained, let alone in my home. I came close to dating a woman once in my life, but things didn’t work out between us. We ended up going our separate ways.
I ended up growing an interest in fucking girls I met online. At least I didn’t have to deal with any attachment afterward.
Lady friends? Where the fuck did she get that notion? What gave the impression I had lady friends?
“I believe this meeting is concluded, Miss Emilia,”
“I told my dad coming here would be a waste of time. I was right. He should have listened to me,” she said as she got on her feet, ready to exit my house.
“That he should have done,” I responded in agreement as I rose to my feet, ready to walk her out of the house.
“You can do with a better catalog, Mr. Fillmore, for the art, I mean,” she said as she waved her hand almost in a dismissive way. She was right, I had been planning to revamp my art collection, but I was yet to find an artist that impressed me. Maybe it was time the house needed a woman’s touch. Maybe.
