You’re a brilliant businessman. You will rise from the ashes.”
“As you did.” Aristov flicked him a sideways glance. “My gut tells me this deal is not about Siberius, Harrison. It’s about Anton Markovic and your desire to make him pay. The crowning act of your ascension back to glory.”
Alarm rocketed through him. How could the Russian know? It was impossible. Impossible. But somehow, his mind raggedly conceded, he did.
He kept his face expressionless. “Why would you think this has anything to do with Markovic? That’s ancient history.”
Aristov turned to him, pinning him with the full force of that whiskey-hard gaze. “Because Markovic has become one of the most powerful men in the world. He put your father in his grave...I would want him to suffer.” His lips twisted at the confusion in Harrison’s eyes. “A few questions to a friend in Mergers and Acquisitions at a major investment bank and I had my answers. I know you’ve purchased another key supplier of Markovic’s. I put two and two together.”
A red mist descended over his vision, fury mixing with a fear that froze him solid. Heads would roll if it was discovered a banker had divulged that type of information. But that didn’t matter now... He had a way bigger problem. Leonid and Anton Markovic did business together. If Leonid chose to, he could blow his entire plan out of the water.
Why hadn’t he done so already?
“I can’t stand Markovic.” Leonid answered his unspoken question. “Yes, I do business with him but you can’t always pick your dance partners. My issue,” he drawled, “is not what you choose to do to Markovic. I would take pleasure in watching him fall. It’s Siberius and your ultimate plans for it I care about.”
Relief poured through him, slackening his limbs. He lifted his shoulder in a casual shrug. “It becomes a complementary subsidiary to Taladan that gives Grant International access to the markets we need.”
“Or it becomes extraneous. Superfluous...nonexistent.” Aristov’s gaze narrowed. “The market coverage Siberius brings to the table is not robust beyond the Slavic countries. You may choose to simply fold it into your megalith and it becomes a distant memory.”
He kept his expression neutral as Aristov read the situation with deadly accuracy. “That market,” he offered, “will become crucial in the next decade. We can’t afford not to play in it.”
Leonid trained that highly intelligent gaze of his on him with an intensity that would have broken a lesser man. “We have something in common, Harrison. My father built Siberius. It was the foundation for everything that came after it. I care about the company. Maybe it’s this newfound philosophy of mine clouding my judgment. But I will not sell it to you to have it dismantled in an act of vengeance.”
A wave of conscience enveloped him. He pushed it away. This deal was not about sentimentality. It was about watching Anton Markovic shrivel up and die a slow death. He would not allow it to be sidelined by emotion.
“This deal is not about dismantling Siberius,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s about cutting Markovic off at the knees.” If the board insisted he absorb Siberius and its operations within Taladan and wipe out Leonid’s legacy as it surely would? Beyond his control...
Aristov turned and rested his forearms on the ledge. “I’ve been thinking about what I want to be in my second coming, Grant. For you it will be politics, I think. For me? I’ve been eyeing Manhattan real estate. A couple of penthouses I’ve been looking at have come on the market and they’ve agreed to let me see them next week. Present me with a plan for the future of Siberius. If I like it, I’ll sign it.”
Harrison nodded. It would take some creative positioning but he could make it happen. “I’ll have it ready.”
Leonid inclined his head. His thin mouth curved in an amused smile. “What have you done to Kaminski? He was supposed to be bringing me a Frapin Cuvée.”
“I had Francesca detain him.”
Leonid threw back his head and laughed. “How utterly unfeeling of you, Grant.”
“On whose part?”
“Why, Viktor’s, of course. He is besotted.”
* * *
Harrison entered the ballroom riding a heady victory that had the blood in his veins pumping in a heated rush. His head felt clearer than it had in months, his walk powerful and full of resolve as he strode through the crowd. All of the low-grade, niggling anxieties he’d harbored throughout Aristov’s backpedaling lifted away like dark clouds chased away by clearer skies.
Leonid Aristov had guessed his endgame and was willing to play to make the exceedingly evil Anton Markovic pay. All that was left to do was execute. Every piece, every backdoor would be secured when Aristov signed, and the long wait would be over.
He procured a whiskey at the bar, leaned back against it and drank it down. Congratulations to me.
Which reminded him Francesca was likely still out there sidelining Kaminski. She’d accepted the challenge without hesitation. She had risen to the occasion. If he denied that turned him on he would be a liar. The man in him loved the fact she had the courage to stand up to him, that she wasn’t afraid to tell him he was a fool. But the employer in him took his attraction to his feisty PA off the table.
He tilted the last sip of his drink toward the light and considered its amber depths. Francesca had a unique ability to read people—to draw them to her with her frank, open—charm and somehow he’d known Juliana would be no different. She had saved the day. Been his secret weapon. But he would be equally well advised to caution himself against falling under the spell of Francesca’s seductive charm. It would be all too easy.
He took the last sip of the whiskey, put the glass down and went looking for his PA. Francesca might have taken on her assignment with confidence, but she was a babe in the woods when it came to dealing with men like Kaminski.
He wound his way through the throngs of people on the dance floor. It was hot and sweaty and hard to negotiate. He had just about given up on finding Francesca in the ballroom and was about to search out Juliana when he saw her on the corner of the dance floor with Kaminski.
Kaminski’s hand was wrapped around her incredible body, perilously close to her bottom. Francesca had a smile on her face, but it was a hunted, close-to-the-edge smile that made a switch flick in his head. What had he been thinking?
Five long strides took him to the couple. “May I cut in?”
Kaminski gave him an annoyed look. Harrison stared back at him. Luckily Aristov’s second in command wasn’t a combative personality like his boss and handed Francesca over. “I’ll come find you afterward,” he told her with a lingering look.
No, you won’t, Harrison thought. Francesca nodded to the other man with another of those smiles he knew to be plastic and stepped closer to Harrison. She stood on tiptoe. “I don’t need this drink,” she whispered in his ear.
The husky whisper went up his spine, then straight back down. He took the glass from her fingers, deposited it on a table and took her in his arms. She flowed easily into him without that awkwardness some women possessed, wrapping one hand around his shoulder and lacing the fingers of the other through his. “Thank God,” she
