“Fine,” she says quickly. “Consider giving the loan in his honor.”
“I did my duty. I was as nice as you’re going to get from me.” I glare at her and lock my jaw as my own calm demeanor gets tested. “After what you did to me. After kicking me out of my home, my business, and my history… if you think I owe you anything, you’re insane. I think both our fathers are rolling over in their graves right now.”
“Alright”—she swallows hard—“I’m sorry for what I did to you. I didn’t exactly handle everything perfectly. Is that what you want to hear?”
I laugh. “No, an apology is not what I want. I want The Whitney.”
“And I already told you no. It’s mine and will always be mine.”
I release a deep breath, feigning exhaustion even though I’m secretly loving every second of her torture. I have the money. I could easily give it to her, and yet… I’m enjoying making her work for it.
I rub my fingertip along the whiskey glass as if I don’t have a care in the world. “Well then… I guess this meeting is over. The truth of the matter is that I have patience. I’ll just wait for you to lose it and then come in at the final hour and make the hotel mine regardless.”
“Dex, you aren’t being reasonable. If I lose The Whitney…” Her lip trembles and her voice cracks, but she doesn’t break her ice queen exterior. She will never give me the satisfaction of seeing her cry and plead. No, not Katja Belov. “What can I do to convince you to loan me the money? You’re a businessman. I know there must be something that can convince you. A high interest loan, perhaps?”
I pause for a long moment, enjoying how Katja shifts in her seat awaiting an answer.
“How much?” I finally ask, loving how her face lights up as I do.
“I only owe $150K right now, but I need a total of two-hundred fifty thousand to get caught up with bills and to get The Whitney in a position where I can start making money again to pay the future monthly payments that will come due.”
I smile. “So, you want a quarter million dollars from me, and I get what in return?”
“Ten percent interest?”
I laugh loudly. “You’re cute. No.”
“Fine,” she says. “Tell me what you want. What are your terms?”
Here is my chance. I have been waiting for this day ever since she decided to go against everything our fathers created together.
“I want back in at The Whitney.” When she opens her mouth to argue, I quickly add, “Not to own. But to operate business as I did before you reneged on our deal, as my father did before me. I want it back the way it was. You and I both know The Whitney has never made as much money as it did when we were acting as a team. You in the light, and me in the shadows. That’s why you’ve been under water. The Whitney has always relied heavily on the lucrative dark money my side of the business provided.”
She shakes her head, though I can see she is considering the idea.
“If you don’t like that option, then good luck securing the loan some other way.” I push my empty whiskey glass away and begin to get out of the booth.
“Fine,” she quickly blurts out. “Fine.”
I pause, turn to face her and raise an eyebrow. “So, we have a deal?”
“As long as you understand The Whitney is mine,” she says.
“But The Rooftop and the thirteenth floor is mine,” I say with a smirk as I resettle into the booth. “Just like before.”
A dull ache forms in my heart at the memory of my father and me together on the thirteenth floor, or sharing a bottle of scotch together at The Rooftop bar as he schooled me on how to run a criminal meeting ground in plain sight but yet so very hidden away.
“The Rooftop is now a high-class establishment,” she says. “I won’t downgrade it to suit your sordid needs.”
“The Rooftop will be my domain just as the thirteenth floor will be. Nonnegotiable.”
Her lips purse, her eyes narrow, and I can tell she wants to tell me to go fuck myself. But she’s also a smart woman. She knows she not only needs the loan from me, but the income that my darker business will bring to The Whitney. It will keep the hotel far from foreclosure. She’s wise enough to know the minute she kicked me out and severed our business arrangement, that The Whitney suffered. I’m sure she thought her new rich husband could keep her flush—and now she knows how wrong she was.
“You rule The Whitney on the surface as you do so well,” I say. “But I rule The Rooftop, the thirteenth floor, and beneath the surface as I did so well. Those are the terms. Period, end of discussion.”
“And if I say yes, then you loan me the money?”
I nod. “And I’ll be moving back in tonight. With Z.”