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Grave gave an annoyed sigh. “This is far below my pay grade…” He walked off to meet her.
I watched Camille open the note and discreetly read it.
Bartholomew seemed too absorbed in the painting to notice. Or he just didn’t care.
Camille took the bait and walked off to the bathroom.
Showtime.
Bartholomew scribbled his bid for one of the paintings before he dropped the paper into the box.
I appeared at his side. “Where are you going to put it?”
He had no reaction at all, like he knew I was there the whole time or he was just that calm and collected. “In my study.”
He ran an all-cash business. What did he need a study for?
“You think I won’t pull out my knife just because this room is full of people?” He lifted his glass and took another drink, sliding his hand into his pocket like he was reaching for his blade. He pivoted his body, looking at me head on. “Because I will.”
“I have something you might want.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up in a slightly amused smile. “You got it bad, huh?”
“You turned down fifty million—so you got it bad too.”
He continued to look amused. “Cauldron, you like games?”
My eyes shifted back and forth between his.
“Because I do. You want to play?”
I suspected I didn’t have a choice.
“Here’s how it goes. Present your business proposition, and if I don’t like it, I cut your throat where you stand. If I do like it, the blade stays in my pocket. But there’s another option.” He held up his glass a little higher. “Walk away now, and we don’t play at all. What do you say?”
After a long standoff, I made my decision. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Ah.” He set the glass on an empty tray of a passing waiter. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Now both hands were in his pockets, one set of fingers no doubt gripping the handle of his concealed blade. “Go ahead.”
“Roan is your distributor to Croatia and Eastern Europe. He’s taking the risk by getting the drugs across the border, but he’s taking a big cut. Based on my information, he’s selling your stuff for three times what you sell it for here.”
I knew I had his attention when he cocked his head slightly, and his eyes narrowed like a sharper lens on a telescope.
“If Roan were removed, you could sell directly. Take over his distribution network and keep all the profits for yourself. Word on the street is you have your eyes set on Italy, so I know you’re looking to expand.”
Bartholomew’s eyes were so sharp, they were like the blade in his pocket. “Business advice? That’s all you have to offer me.”
“I’ll kill him for you.”
He didn’t blink. Didn’t take a breath. “You think I can’t kill a man myself?”
“I’m giving you plausible deniability. If people knew you stabbed your partner in the back, no one would ever want to do business with you. I’ll take care of Roan—and you give me Camille.” I laid it all out on the table. No going back.
Bartholomew stared and stared, as if I hadn’t said a word.
I kept my patience, letting him think this through. Since the knife stayed in his pocket, I assumed my throat was safe for now.
“You kill Roan, and I’ll let you sublease my contract.”
