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"We'll cover what we would have paid you for 90 days. That will give you time to set something else up," Primo says.
Declan's sly smile sends a shiver down my spine. "No, I don't think that's quite right. I think the figure should be what our actual losses are." Then he utters an astronomical dollar figure. Primo's face turns red with anger, but I step in before he can say anything.
"Declan, there's no rational basis for that sort of number," I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady. "The amounts your family was paid to transport the guns were just a fraction of that."
He argues back. "Your decision has caused us to lose other business, and we've had to adjust our equipment to different sources of income."
I shake my head, frustrated.
"That's not how these sorts of things work," I respond. "Even if we were to cover your losses, we wouldn't be responsible for those consequential losses."
"Again," he smirks, "we're not governed by contract law here. Those were Primo's words, remember?"
I glance at Primo, who clenches his jaw. It's clear this negotiation is going nowhere. "We'll take what you've said under advisement," I tell Declan. "We'll need to get back to you on this."
"Very well," he replies. "But know that the offer to settle is open for seven days."
"Seven days?" I ask, my heart pounding. "And then what happens?"
He grins maliciously. "I think you already know."
As we drive back to the mansion, Primo and I sit in silence, weighed down by the heavy atmosphere. Pulling into the garage, we both exhale deeply.
"What do you think we should do?" Primo asks, concern etched on his face.
"I honestly don't know," I admit. "But it feels like they're doing this to us on purpose. They know we can't—or won't—agree to pay that amount. They're playing some game, and I'm just not sure what their angle is yet."
"Agreed," Primo nods. "We need to find out."
I get out of the car and ask if he's coming in. He shakes his head. "No, I want to get back to Isabella. She's getting more and more pregnant by the day."
"Alright," I say, forcing a small smile. "Take care of her, and I'll see what I can think up as far as the Irish situation goes."
I walk back into the mansion, my thoughts a tangled mess of stress about the Irish and Lulu. As I open my office door, I immediately notice that things seem out of place. A pair of shoes sits atop my desk, and confusion washes over me. I step closer, realizing they're the shoes from my bookcase. How the hell did they get here?
My eyes scan the desk, and I find evidence of Lulu all over the glass surface. Swiping my finger through the hazy, dried-up mixture, I bring it to my nose, then my lips. It smells of her arousal and release. I know her so well now; intimately, I'm sure of it. I almost have to give her credit for this little stunt she pulled. What must she have done on my desk? The thought sends a shiver down my spine.
A part of me wants to drag her by the hair to my office and make her reenact exactly what she did for me, complete with the shoes. And as I think about it, I decide that's exactly what I'll do. My cock twitches at the thought. I need the release, and then I can properly deal with the Irish situation. Clearly, she's leaving a signal that she wants it too.
I make my way over to her room, anticipation and irritation warring within me. Knocking on the door, she opens it, looking like the cat that ate the canary. My hackles rise, and I wonder what else she's done. Stepping inside the room, she backs up as I close the door behind me.
"Alright, Lulu," I say, my voice low and dangerous. "What's going on?"
She meets my gaze unflinchingly and says something I don't expect to hear. "Give me the codes to deactivate the GPS device in my shoulder, or I'm going to show the world what I found on your computer."
My eyes darken. "And, what exactly did you find on my computer?"
"Videos," she says. "Lots and lots of videos. You know, the ones with hookers. And, I'd be more than happy to share them with the world."
"You've miscalculated," I tell her coldly. "I can just keep you locked up here without access to the internet."
"No, you're the one who's miscalculated," she counters, a defiant fire in her eyes. "I've already arranged for it to go live on the internet if I don't get the code from you within the next twenty-four hours."
"Damn it, Lulu!" I grit my teeth, trying to control the anger surging through me. "You have no idea what you're doing."
"Maybe not," she admits, "but I know that I won't be your prisoner forever. Give me the codes, and everything stays between us."
My rage surges like a tidal wave, and I'm on her in an instant. She's pinned against the wall, her petite frame shaking beneath my touch as I breathe down her neck. "You will stop this right now," I growl into her ear. "Take down the videos and stop playing these games."
