Devil's Contract

“She’s poking around.” He leans back in his chair and runs his tattooed hand through his hair. “The question is how much do you want her to know about what we do on this floor and the rooftop.”

“She doesn’t need to know anything. She has her responsibilities and we have ours.”

Z chuckles. “Well, I think you need to inform her of that then. Because she’s been up my ass all weekend. I preferred her when she was locking herself in her penthouse mourning her husband and how he fucked with her life.”

“I’ll take care of her,” I say as I release a deep sigh. “Where are we on the secured network? Mr. White is in room 1312 and refuses to use The Whitney’s WiFi that’s available to all the guests. I can’t say I blame him. We need to make that happen pronto.”

Z’s jaw locks. “Katja got in the way of that too. But don’t worry, I think it’ll be solved by the end of the day.” His eyes narrow at the papers I’m sorting, and he lets out a breath. “I know how badly you want things the way they once were. But your father and Katja’s father had a business deal that was unbreakable. My father was a loyal friend and business associate. The trio were dynamic in how they did things. Katja, you, and me, are not that trio. I don’t think we ever will be. And since I’m your friend, I’m gonna be frank. What’s protecting us from repeating history and being kicked out and put right back on our asses? It’s clear Katja doesn’t want us here.”

“She wants my money,” I snap.

“Yeah… well, what happens when she starts making her own money again? She’ll only be down on her luck for a short time, and you know it. We’re helping her get The Whitney back on its feet, and knowing Katja… we’ll be back in the slums running biz out of a low rent motel again.”

Growing rage, caused by the visual of his words, sizzles through my veins. “That won’t ever happen again. I’ll make sure of it.”

I look down at my watch, annoyed that Katja is ten minutes late. She’s never late, so I know she’s doing this on purpose. Her display of disrespect, and her trying to show me that her time is more valuable than mine is causing my blood to boil. But I also refuse to give her the satisfaction of knowing she has the power to cause such a reaction in me.

“We’re out of Montblanc pens,” I say, trying to stay on task. “I sent them all out in the initial invite wave.”

Having possession of one of the most expensive pens in the world was the only way to gain access to the thirteenth floor and the rooftop. No pen, no admittance. It was also our internal way within The Whitney to distinguish Katja’s guests from my guests.

“We went straight to the supplier,” Z answers. “I can’t find any more to purchase in regular stores any longer.”

“We need them now.”

“Yeah, well…” Z glares at me, and I can see I’m pushing him too far.

“I’ll add it to my list,” I offer, not intending to piss him off.

I’m just so focused on the now, and if I’m being honest with myself, the situation with Katja is throwing me off. I can’t get the woman out of my head. I can’t get the way her ass looked—bare and punished—from my every waking second. I also can’t help fantasizing what it’d be like to do more.

So much more.

But, I’m a wise man. I know I’m fucking up by caring. I’m fucking up by letting even the tiniest bit of emotion get involved. I have to remember that this woman fucked up my entire life. And regardless of our past, regardless of how I once cared deeply for her and would have given my life in exchange for hers… she’s not that same woman. I need to listen to Z’s warnings and take his irritation and concern seriously. The man isn’t good at what he does by being careless. He’s smart, aware, and has a finger on the pulse of every situation. He’s not letting feelings control him, and I need to take a note from his book.

I look into his eyes and nod. “I’ll take care of the pens, and I’ll take care of Katja.”

“I hope you do,” Z says as he tilts his head toward the window of the room that shows the hallway. Katja is making her way toward us. “I’ll leave the two of you alone. I have enough shit to do to keep me busy for a lifetime.”

Katja opens the door as Z is leaving. “Hello, Simon,” she says. I know she’s aware of how much Z hates the use of his real name, and I also know she loves pushing his buttons when she can.

“I need to go deal with the crappy Internet here,” he says, not acknowledging how she got under his skin.

“He seems pissy.” She takes the seat across from me, crossing her arms, stiffening her spine, and tightening her lips in a straight line as if readying herself for war.

“Overworked,” I state simply. “You’re late.”

“No,” she says calmly. “I came when it suited me. I got your email—or should I say dictate—on when you expected me to be here for our meeting. Let me remind you that I’m not a staff member. I don’t work for you, and I most certainly won’t be dictated to.”

My eyes lock with hers, challenging her to say more, but also silently warning her to stop with the attitude. “There’s a lot of work to be done around here. I know you’ve been distracted lately and not working for a while… possibly even years by the look of things.”

“I haven’t been distracted,” she snaps, leaning forward, not breaking the stare we hold in the slightest. “Yes, Tristan made financial mistakes. Yes, I foolishly allowed it. But don’t for a second accuse me of not having a work ethic. I have worked my ass off running this hotel while you were drinking in the pub next to your pit of a place. So don’t you dare—”

“What? Don’t I dare help you? Don’t I dare bail your ass out? Because that is exactly what I’ve been doing.” I take a deep calming breath. “Are you even aware that you lost our seafood distributor? Your lack of payment got us canceled. I can’t serve my Russian guests lobster tonight unless I want to go to the damn grocery store down the street and buy it myself.”

“It’s temporary—”

“You keep making excuses. I’ll keep fixing and actually running The Whitney the way it deserves to be run.” I redirect my attention to a manila folder that holds the information on new windows for the thirteenth floor and move it across the table to her. “We need to discuss the windows.”