#takes a bow
Ollie followed Sandy wordlessly, as he really had nothing to say that wouldn’t start something he was prepared to deal with in public. The muscles in his shoulders tensed the closer they got to Sandy’s office, knowing what was ahead. Knowing that he might be able to get his answers—or at least some resolution.“Not a social call,” he replied, surprised at the ease with which the words came out. Maybe he still had some semblance of his characteristic ability to hide his emotions left after all. Then again, maybe not. It all depended on how this meeting with Sandy went.
But he had a feeling it wouldn’t go over very well.
“Just business.” He neared Sandy’s desk and turned around, regarding the pimp, who was still by the door, with a calm gaze.
“I hear yours is going well. Nice place you’ve got, the Siren. And your girls seem to be doing just fine,” he continued, purposely avoiding the subject. He wanted to build up to it, see if he could find any recognition in Sandy’s eyes before he got to the meat of the problem that had brought him into Sandy’s domain.
”I was actually thinkin’ we could coexist pretty effectively, maybe even mutually benefit from our two businesses. I was kind of looking forward to it, seeing as you’re an extremely reasonable person with reasonable business practices.” He laughed. “That what I thought, anyway.”
His agitation was starting to show a little, the muscles in his jaw becoming more clenched as he spoke on. “Tell me, Sandy, was it—was it part of some kind of master plan or was it more of an accident? Inquiring minds want to know.”
Ollie was posturing, and Sandy didn’t have the time. Whether he was attempting to lure him into a false sense of security or something else, he couldn’t be sure. But either way, Sandy wasn’t impressed with the tactic.
He took a seat in his chair, looking nonplussed as Ollie spoke. If the man meant to spark some sort of emotion from him, it wasn’t likely to work. He had no attachments to Francesca Lombardi or him. The stunt at the Valentine’s Day ball had been nothing more than that – a stunt. But if Mr. Oxford wanted to believe it was something more than that, so be it. It wasn’t his problem if the idiot allowed himself to get bent out of shape over nothing.
When Ollie asked his question, Sandy didn’t really know how to answer. The man had given little allusion to what aspect of that incident he was referring to.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be blunt, Mr. Oxford,” he said, looking completely unfazed by Ollie’s cracking facade. “Because I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
