Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“I apologize,” I say. “I’m not accustomed to interviewing men of your caliber.”
That should settle him down, make him think I’m just nervous rather than wildly inept.
“I think you had specific questions in mind when you wrote to me,” he says. “And I would encourage you to ask them. I do have another meeting in seven minutes.”
“Seven minutes! We’re already halfway through!”
“Yes,” he says, allowing himself a small smirk of amusement at my distress.
“There’s never enough time for anything,” I complain. “I could ask you so many questions.”
“Such as?”
“Such as why you’ve never married, why you spend so much time in countries without extradition treaties with the US, whether or not your companies are trading with countries sanctioned by the government, what your favorite color is, whether or not you think it is ethical to be a billionaire, what your favorite meal is, whether or not you’re secretly running a cabal of some sort…”
He answers me rapid-fire, just as I threw the questions at him.
“Never met the right woman, because those countries tend to have very good climates, of course not, red, ethics doesn’t come into it, fish and chips, and no.”
“Fish and chips? I didn’t expect that answer.”
“Battered protein is always a winner,” he says. “Do you ask all your interviewees if they are criminals, and expect them to reveal that?”
“You’d be surprised what people will tell you. Sometimes people confess just because they get asked directly and it’s never happened before.”
“They sound like particularly dense people.”
“Sure. Maybe. I don’t know. I think there’s an urge to be known. It’s a human thing. It’s not as much fun doing intensely fun crime if nobody knows.”
“I am aware that there are a myriad of rumors around me, Miss Crown, but to be questioned so bluntly is a new experience for me.” He glances at his phone again. “Two minutes. I’m afraid I will have to get going.”
Two minutes. Goddamnit. Have I really wasted this opportunity this badly? I thought I was prepared, but the girl with the collar really threw me off, as did his real-life presence. I know he’s not going to tell me a damn thing that would be even slightly incriminating. Marcus could give me polite, clean, charming answers all day long.
But he’s not clean. I know that just by looking at him. I have the benefit of being in his presence, and that means I know him a little more than he wants to be known, and there’s nothing he can do about it.
When I look at him, I get the sense that some if not all of the darker rumors about him are true. Marcus Waterstone can do anything. I can see that truth in his gaze. He’s tolerating my shenanigans because I am the equivalent of a fluffy little bunny who just ran up to his big lion head, directly into his mouth, and now I’m searching his incisors for remnants of grass.
When I think about the darker accusations, that is a concerning revelation. This man has a reputation for dabbling in human trafficking. If that’s true, then I am sitting across from one of the most powerful and dangerous men I’ll ever know.
“Tell you what, Miss Crown,” he says. “Ask me one last question.”
One last question. I could ask him anything, but it has to be something very, very good. Something that will somehow salvage this absolute dumpster fire of a so-called interview.
“Would you take me out for a drink?”
The second I ask the question, I realize how presumptuous it is. I’m not asking him out for a drink. I’m asking him to take me out. On a scale of one to delusional, I am fully delusional right now. People are not going to believe I had the fucking nerve.
His dark eyes sweep up and down my body as he stands up. “Yes. Go and see my secretary. Tell her that you are going to be taken out tonight. Meet me at her desk at seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”
I can’t believe it. I am so proud of myself. I had the nerve to ask him out, and he said yes! I’m going to have another shot at unravelling the rich puzzle that is Marcus Waterstone.
I decide to completely stay away from all of the questions I brought up earlier. Asking him about his potential criminal background isn’t going to get me anywhere. He’s not the sort of man who likes to brag about his evildoings. He’s a more dangerous sort of creature who can keep his secrets to himself.
I don’t bother going home. I don’t have a nicer outfit to put on, not one that will still convey some kind of professionalism. Plus, by the time I get back home, and then come all the way back, that will mean an expensive Uber, or hours on the underground. It’s easier to find a nearby cafe and stress eat the remnants of my paranoia away.