“No, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Very well, goodnight then, Mademoiselle Alexander.”
“Good night.”
I set the phone down and stare at the wall in surprise. So it seems I’m not evicted or fired. And Magnus is actually putting me to work.
Chapter Forty-Seven Magnus
Sloane is escorted in just before I go for the kill.
In épée fencing, the point of my weapon can touch any part of the body to score a point, but what fun is going for the leg or arm when I can aim straight for the heart? The practical applications of fencing outside of the pentathlon are minute, but so long as they exist, I’ll practice them.
It certainly helped when it came to Heinz Boettcher, even though that involved nothing more than a hunting knife. But against a skilled and equally murderous opponent, every ounce of advantage was useful.
With an end to today’s training—I do this twice a week, early in the morning instead of going for my run—my opponent is the first to pull off his mask.
“You’re becoming predictable, always aiming for the vital parts. You do realize this is a sport, not training for battle?”
I pull off my mask and grin. “Everything in life is a battle, André.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Well, you’re still set for the next pentathlon. Until next class.”
My trainer and I shake hands, and I turn my attention to Sloane as he leaves.
She stares at me, namely the sword still in my hand. Even with the blunted tip, I’m sure the thin blade does nothing to soften her image of me.
This is exactly why I had her come her this morning instead of meet me in my office. In training for pentathlons, I’m just as ruthless and determined as every other area in my life. When I go for something, I’m all in.
And I want Sloane.
Last night I didn’t sleep a wink, which makes my fencing performance just now even more impressive. My mind was in turmoil over that damn conversation outside of the White Party. I keep telling myself Sloane just doesn’t understand why I do what I do for my sister, but some of what she said has sunk in too far to let go of.
It isn’t just the issues with my sister that bother me, it’s that Sloane was so willing to walk away. I knew the second I saw her turn around and leave that I had no damn intention of letting her slip away that easily.
She’s mine.
“You requested my presence this morning?” She says.
“You’re early,” I reply.
“I like to be prompt. That usually means leaving earlier than necessary, and thus arriving early as well.”
I’m surprised to see she’s actually wearing a suit, with a matching dark gray jacket and pencil skirt and a white blouse underneath. She even has a sort of briefcase with her.
Considering the time of day, she couldn’t have had a chance to shop for professional clothes, which means she must have brought this suit with her when she came to Monte Carlo. I smile to myself. I love a woman who comes prepared.
“I see you packed for almost every occasion.”
“I assumed most of this trip would be taking care of business,” she says with a straight face.
“Well, let’s get to that business, shall we? I’ll have you escorted to my home office while I get changed.”
“Very well,” she says curtly and politely before spinning on her heels.
After taking a quick shower and changing, I head to my office and find Sloane sitting primly in her seat, almost like a secretary from a film set in the fifties or sixties.
“I thought I would introduce you to the Magnus Empire by actually utilizing your services as an attorney. After all, I do have you here to myself for at least another month.”
She pauses, staring at me for just a moment before responding. “That you do.”
I stare back at her long and hard, so she doesn’t misinterpret the message I was imparting. The slight narrowing of her gaze tells me she gets it.
“Neville told me this had something to do with the Holt Cloth & Fabric case? As an attorney, I’m usually given some preliminary information before an official case is opened.”
“Do you mean to tell me you didn’t at least Google the company before arriving today?”
She gives me a sardonic glare as though the question is stupid. “Of course I did. I was simply referring to the information so readily imparted by the ever-helpful Neville who gave me nothing more than a company name.”
I lean back in my chair to consider her. “Perhaps I didn’t want to taint your understanding of it. What did your research last night tell you?”
“I don’t think you quite understand how the attorney-client relationship works. The client is supposed to tell the attorney what their goal is, and the attorney works with that to find the best solution.”
I laugh softly and lean in, resting my elbows on my desk and clasping my hands together. “Tell me what you learned about the company.”
She stares at me for a moment, as though wondering if there’s a catch. When she’s met with only one raised eyebrow on my part, urging her to speak, she does.
“The name is what first caught my attention.”
“Is that so?”
“Holt, as in Edwan Holt, the Bad Luck Chuck from the casino the other night? Interesting coincidence.”
“I don’t deal in coincidences. I waited for him to come into his inheritance, then I struck. My plan was for him to lose, so I brought in one of the top poker players in the world to go against him. Then I played on his superstitions. Having to look at the grandson of the man he framed for a theft that led to his eventual ruin was just the icing on the cake. Though I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t get some satisfaction from it.”
“So now he’s selling the company?”
“For substantially less than what it’s worth. Just enough to cover all of his debts, not just mine.
