The Mafia's Undoing Chapter 5: Professional Persistence

The coffee in my own cup was cold an hour before, but I had clung to it as if it were the one thing keeping grounded in reality. It had been three days since I’d left Apex, and I was still unable to shake the mory of Tony Marvin’s question of how badly I wanted it.

The bastard.

"You’re rechecking your phone," Susan noted from across my kitchen table, her bright red curls sparkling from the sunlight streaming through my apartnt window. "That phone’s not going to suddenly ring with an apology from Mr. Tall, Dark, and Arrogant."

"I don’t want an apology." I put the mug on the counter a little too forcefully. "I want a professional business relationship."

"True. I’d have Ryan Gosling co to my door with a bouquet of roses and a proposal of marriage." Susan snatched a piece of toast from my plate. "Face facts, Kat. The man insulted you in the worst possible way. Move on!"

If only it were so easy.

My problem was that, despite how outrageous his proposition was, I couldn’t help thinking of Anthony Marvin. Not the fifty-million dollars alone--although Elliot’s college tuition made it difficult to ignore--but the look he’d given . Like I was a puzzle to be solved rather than just another female swooning at his feet.

"I’ve written him three emails," I confessed, opening up my laptop. "Polite questions about setting a follow-up appointnt to talk about reputable banking services."

"And"

"Silence."

Susan made a noise that was half laugh and half snort. "Shocking. It’s almost like telling a powerful man to go to hell has consequences."

My phone vibrated with a ssage from Elliot:

Picking up a few extra shifts at the campus bookstore. Every little helps, right?

Guilt was churning in my stomach. My thoughtful brother was already overworking himself to the point of fatigue to contribute to the costs, and I couldn’t take on the single account to pay off all of us due to pride.

"Perhaps I should have-"

"Don’t." Susan’s voice cut through my self-doubt like a blade. "Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You did the right thing walking away from that sleaze."

"But what if-"

"Katherine Marie Blaire." Susan stood and ca around the table to hold my shoulders. "Now you hear loud and clear. You do not owe it to anyone to resolve every trouble at your own expense. You have already given enough."

She was right. I’d lost the dating, the parties, and half of my twenties to building a career and being supportive of Elliot. I’d also redefined my life to be responsible, reliable, and professional.

And so why couldn’t I stop thinking about the look on Tony’s eyes when he’d asked?

My laptop rang with a new email, and my heart leaped before it was too late. But it wasn’t from Marvin Industries – it was from Richard Blackwood, and the subject heading made my blood run cold: "Status Update Required."

Katherine – Need an imdiate status report of Marvin’s account. 9 AM board eting tomorrow.

Don’t disappoint .

– RB

"Shit." I ran my hands through my hair, feeling the familiar tightness start to build up behind my eyes. "I’m short of ti."

"What’s the worst that can happen?" Susan asked, peering down my back. "You don’t get a promotion? There’ll be others."

"You don’t get it." I slamd the laptop shut too hard. "There’s more to it than the promotion. Richard was blunt – if I’m unable to produce Marvin, the job goes to Davidson. And if Davidson gets promoted above ..."

I didn’t have to finish. Susan was well-versed in office politics just as I was. Marcus Davidson had it in for from the first day I’d walked in, and he wasn’t above using my "failure" with high-profile clients to doubt my credibility on smaller accounts.

"There’s a better way to go about this," I muttered, going to the window, which overlooked the street I’d lived on. "A way I never thought of."

"Or," Susan spoke slowly, "you need to accept that there are things not worth the price."

However, as I spoke, I was already searching for information on Marvin Industries that I could find online. If I couldn’t contact Tony directly, I’d likely find an alternative point of entry. A business contact, a subsidiary company, soone who can procure an introduction without having to compromise who I am.

My phone rang, and a strange number appeared on the screen. My heart skipped a beat – ridiculous, since Tony Marvin would never bother calling directly, and if he did, why on earth should I want him to?

"Katherine Blaire"

"Hello, Miss Blaire, I am Sarah Mitchell from Marvin Industries."

I was stunned. Susan’s eyes widened as if looking at my face.

"Ms. Mitchell. Thank you for calling."

"Mr. Marvin asked to contact you concerning your persistent interest in a business relationship."

Hope flared in my chest. Perhaps he’d thought better of it. Maybe he’d recognized that his suggestion had been unseemly and wished to begin again on a professional basis.

"I’d like to hear a lot about Premier Financial’s services from Mr. Marvin," I stated, pulling out a pen to jot down notes.

"Fine. Mr. Marvin would like to invite you to lunch tomorrow at Le Bernardin. One o’clock."

Le Bernardin. One of the most expensive restaurants in the city, the place where multi-million-dollar transactions had once been concluded over a glass of wine whose cost was probably greater than the majority of people’s rents.

"That sounds perfect," I managed.

"Wonderful. Oh, and Miss Blaire"

"Yes?"

"Mr. Marvin wanted to tell you he was impressed with your... bluntness. He’s looking forward to continuing the conversation."

The call ended, and I sat there staring at the phone in a haze of excitent and fear.

"Well?" Susan asked.

"Lunch eting tomorrow at Le Bernardin"

"That’s terrific!" Susan’s eyes sparkled. "I told you professional persistence would pay off. "

But there was sothing in Sarah’s tone when she’d ntioned my "bluntness" that made my stomach feel queasy. The way that she’d paused before the word, as if saying one thing and a thousand things.

What if there was nothing of a business nature to be talked about at all? What if Tony Marvin wished to make the sa proposal again, but in a less harsh environnt? And what terrified the most was the traitorous part of my brain that whispered: What if this ti, you say yes?