I lean forward and drop my voice.
“I thought your time was valuable, Miz Ghita? As much as I respect yours, you should take into account that I find mine just as valuable and would rather not waste it.” I raise back up, pressing my back against the chair. “Now if we could get on with important matters—I need to make a purchase before the week is over.”
“That may not be possible, even if I approve you.”
“It will need to be,” I say right away as if there will be no argument. “If not…” And then I turn on the other side of Niklas Augustin, the man who doesn’t have time for bullshit, and most of all, who isn’t at all desperate and will gladly go elsewhere—I rise into a stand, preparing to leave and take my millions of dollars with me.
Izabel and Nora stand seconds after; Nora keeps her head low and her hands folded delicately down in front of her; Izabel, able to show a little more personality, looks Miz Ghita in the eyes, but appears demure, submissive, just the same. Miz Ghita notices this right away, but doesn’t ask about it yet. The money I’m about to take with me is the more important matter.
“Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Augustin?” She holds out her ring-decorated hand, gesturing toward my chair. “I’m sure we can make arrangements to hasten your purchase—if, of course, I can approve you.”
I stand next to the table for a moment longer, pretending to debate the offer, and then gradually take my seat again. Izabel and Nora, as always, follow suit. I notice when Izabel sits down, Miz Ghita’s gaze lingers on her for a moment.
She looks back at me.
“I understand you’re not here for our services,” Miz Ghita says, “that you’re looking to purchase outright. We don’t normally do that, Mr. Augustin.”
She’s lying, but that’s OK.
I nod. “I am aware; but just the same, an outright purchase is what I need. I’m certain you can make an exception.”
She nods, not as if to agree that she can, but that she will consider it. It’s true—the cyprians owned by Francesca Moretti are not usually sold outright to buyers; only their services are on the market. But the Moretti family is also in the sex slave trade—I’ve heard the stories; back when I worked as a buyer on a mission for The Order. Masters. Sellers. Buyers. Living, breathing merchandise. But I’m not looking for a girl on the market—I’m looking for a cyprian who would not be considered marketable anymore. That is our mission: find Olivia Bram, purchase her and send her back to the United States, and then apprehend Francesca Moretti for Olivia Bram’s father to deal with her in his own way.
“Perhaps,” Miz Ghita says, “but that would require a meeting with Madam Francesca herself”—she grins suddenly, as if the likelihood of that not happening somehow pleases her—“and to get a meeting with the Madam is not an easy thing to do.”
“I can assure you,” I say with confidence, “that I can provide whatever the Madam needs, to gain her audience.”
Miz Ghita gestures the waiter over.
“I’ll have water,” she tells him, and then he turns to me.
“I’ll have the same.”
The waiter goes off to fulfill the request right away. Miz Ghita turns back to me, obviously feeling that she’s regained the control—Miz Ghita is a woman who doesn’t like to lose, and the moment I called her out by standing from the table, intending to leave, she was forced to drop her power over me down a notch just to make me stay. It pissed her off. Now she feels like she’s getting back at me for it by knowing there’s no way Francesca Moretti will agree to a meeting with me.
Only I can bet my left nut that she will.
“I will need to know,” Miz Ghita says, “what you intend to do with the merchandise before I can go any further. And you must know that we spend a great deal of money to prepare them, so your purchase offer must be double what was put into the merchandise, otherwise we cannot make a profit.”
“Money is in no way an obstacle,” I say matter-of-factly. “And what does it matter what I plan to do with the merchandise?”