The Other Side of Greed (The Seven Sins #5) - Lily Zante Page 0,2
owners are a different breed.”
Emma chortles. “You can say that again.”
I give her a not-you-too look before flicking through the pages. She has thoughtfully put bright blue and green stickers on the pages I need to look at. I continue signing as if I don’t have a care in the world.
Because I don’t.
Worrying is Neville’s problem. Not mine.
I’ve learned from my father, and he is the best. All business deals, all the projects, deals and proposals he was involved in, he’s always managed to come out on top. It has benefited him in some way. That’s how he operates, and that’s what he’s taught me. He created opportunities and made boatloads of cash by taking buildings, then breaking them up, and selling them for parts. I watched and learned from him as he took land, bulldozed the crap out of it, and built something better and more upmarket in its place.
Newer and better. Upscale buildings, exclusive enclaves. That’s what we build and we’ve never not been able to do as we please.
“I’ve told him,” I hear Emma say to Neville as I skimmed the fine print. “He doesn’t take her seriously.”
“You don’t need to worry,” I tell Emma.
“Share it with me, your proposed plan, and then we’ll see how much we need to worry.” Neville is about to set his briefcase on the floor when I shake my head.
“I don’t have time.”
“He has an appointment.” I can’t figure out if Emma’s tone is sarcastic or if she’s being serious.
I tilt my head and look from one to the other. These people should know me better than that. I always get what I want, and I always win. “If my plan doesn’t work, burning the place down will ensure Lewis and her crew leave.”
Neville nods his head as if he approves. “That’s something we could revert to as a last resort.”
“I was joking, Neville.” I may be a lot of things, but criminal isn’t one of them. Though, technically, what I’m about to do to Kyra Lewis might be deemed as such to some.
Emma snorts loud enough for me to hear as Neville disappears. “I shouldn’t have to listen to this,” she mutters, giving me a disapproving glare. “I swear, it’s like working for the mafia sometimes.”
“Surely I’m more palatable?” I suggest, winking at her.
“Did you sign them all?” She ignores my remark and shuffles through the pile of papers I’ve left on my desk.
“I signed everywhere you indicated.”
She nods appreciatively, clutching the papers to her chest. “Date night with Jessica?”
My jaw tightens. “Not quite.” Looking at paintings that make no sense, sipping champagne and picking at canapes isn’t what I would call date night. I’m not the type of guy who wastes time and money chasing skirt, but Jessica Montrose is a worthy endeavour. These things take time and there is no rush.
Emma clutches the sheaf of papers to her chest. “Just an appointment, then.” There is a glint of amusement in her eyes. For a PA, she’s upfront, and takes risks in the way she addresses me. She says things that many wouldn’t dare. She would be my social conscience if I possessed such a thing.
I open my mouth to put her in her place but I raise my eyebrow instead. She’s only a couple of years older than me, but behaves as if she’s thirty-four going on seventy.
But she’s not far from wrong. These sterile-as-a-science-lab encounters I have with Jessica are closer to an appointment than anything else. The pursuit of this socialite is slow, and not exactly fun. It often seems like work.
Kyra Lewis and Greenways? Now, that to me seems like fun. Emma moves towards the door. “Have you had a chance to read the notes I collated for you on Kyra Lewis?”
“I skimmed through them.” I know enough about the woman to go ahead with my plans.
“If anyone is going to stand in your way, it’s her, and, to be clear, I disapprove of your plan.”
“You don’t know my plan.”
“I know you, Brandon. Enjoy your evening.” She saunters away before I can say a word. I replay her cautionary advice to me. No one stands in my way. Because I’m fucking invincible.
“We have more pasta. Just give me a moment, okay?” The woman smiles at me. There is embarrassment in those eyes. I see this same look every time I hand out hot food, drinks and napkins to the people standing quietly and politely in line. We’ve run out of pasta, but Fredrich