Adjusting his tie, he stands aside at the door of his office. “Through here.”
I leave the monstrosity of a reception hall that looks more like an ethnic art gallery and enter the double monstrosity of his office.
“Have a seat,” he says, closing the door.
I shove my hands into my pockets and walk to the windows. The vista is something else. From here, he has a bird’s eye view of the mine dumps in the south.
The clinking of glass sounds from the corner. I turn away from the view. He’s pouring amber liquor from a decanter into two glasses. I’m more of a rum or beer man, but I accept the drink he hands me.
Watching me from over the rim of his glass, he asks after taking a sip, “How’s life back in the city?”
“Well.”
Surprisingly, so. After years of laying low in the rural areas of Lesotho and Zim, I didn’t expect to find city life exciting, but I like the inexhaustible energy of Johannesburg.
“How’s the job?” he asks, taking a seat behind his desk.
“Good.”
“Any news from Ian?” he asks, not quite masking the bitterness in his tone. He never forgave us for abandoning him and Zoe.
I shrug. “Not much. He mentioned wanting to take Cas to Europe when the dust has settled.”
He raises a brow. “Europe?”
“Paris. I suppose they’ll visit Zoe and Maxime.”
He considers that for a moment.
“How’s Zoe?” I ask.
“Happy. Big, she says.” His lips quirk. “The baby is due any day.”
I sip my drink. It’s scotch. I don’t have to be a connoisseur to know it’s expensive shit. “Boy or girl?”
“They prefer not to know.”
I nod. “I’ll wait before buying a gift then.”
He hesitates, his fingers tightening marginally on his glass before saying, “Lina wants to invite you for lunch.”
I take it my brother isn’t one hundred percent happy about that. Not that I blame him. I’m not the kind of uncle you want around your children.
“That’s kind of her,” I say, not committing to yes or no.
Taking a small, blue box from his drawer, he pushes it over the desk. I down my drink and leave the glass on the corner before lifting the lid. The diamond stud earrings are small, like I requested. I’ve never seen Violet wear anything other than small, colored glass earrings. She doesn’t fancy bulky jewelry or flashy gemstones.
He watches me with cunning attention as he asks, “Who are they for?”
I rub a thumb over the sharp edges of the stones. “A woman.”
“No shit,” he says, his tone humorless.
I asked him for the diamonds even before Elliot’s idiotic move forced Violet to notice my existence. Way back then, I’d already made up my mind.
He picks up a pair of dark-rimmed glasses and pushes them onto his face. After scanning over the print of a document in front of him, he gives it to me. I take it wordlessly. It’s a contract.
“No thanks,” I say, dropping it on his desk.
“We can talk about the terms.”
“I’m not going to work for you.”
Interlacing his fingers, he leans back and crosses his hands over his stomach. “Why not?”
I consider how much to tell him. He may be my brother, but I don’t lay my desires at anyone’s feet. Desire doesn’t make you weak. It’s a powerful driving force and a good tool for ambition. In another man’s hands, however, the knowledge of one’s desires can quickly turn into a weapon.
Finally, I settle for, “Gus Starley is a good mentor.”
His mouth lifts in one corner. “Like the father we never had?”
Damian has always been quick and clever with his assumptions. “Something like that.”
“Gus Starley is a dangerous man.” He regards me levelly. “I’d watch my back if I were you.”
Taking the box, I slip it into my jacket pocket.
“What are your plans?” he asks as I’m about to turn. “For the long term.”
“A partnership. Then expansion. Improvements. I have some ideas.”
“In Gus Starley’s software company?”
I ignore his incredulous tone. “Yes.”
“Why will Starley give you a partnership?”
“Because I just finished the first phase of the most brilliant piece of software ever written.”
“Sounds interesting.” He takes back his drink, his ring clinking against the glass. “Congratulations. May I ask what it is?”
I was going to tell Ian the good news first, but Ian already knows what I’ve been working on. “It’s a dating app.”
His expression is amused. “I assume this app does more than connect single people.”
“It phishes personal information and banking details in the background.”
“That’s a major source of sensitive data. I gather the only reason you’re not a partner yet is because you haven’t announced your great creation.”
Widening my stance, I cross my arms. “I want to run a few tests before I introduce the app, but it’ll work like a charm.”
He removes his glasses. “If you ever decide to consider another buyer—”
“You’ll be the first to know.”