―Can you handle it or not?‖ Dominic challenged. In another situation, Jake's loss of composure would have been amusing. Why don't you take over the China contract?‖ ―Jake, I need to drop off the radar for about a week. Bill Gates himself had called last week to discuss the ramifications of the negotiations. The creators of financial empires didn't take sudden vacations and they most certainly didn't hide, especially not after having laid the groundwork for the single greatest business venture of the century. Nothing in their shared history had prepared either of them for Dominic's sudden desire to withdraw from the world. He was the fixer and navigated the unexpected with ease. Jake made a sound somewhere between a choke and a cough, then was speechless – a revealing response for a man who handled irate international diplomats without missing a step. What do you want me to tell the Minister?‖
By next week, Corisi Enterprises will be a major global player. The Minister of Commerce is expecting to meet with you tomorrow to cement the details. It was probably too much to hope that Jake‘s uncharacteristic silence signaled an end to a conversation Dominic wished he had avoided. The inane question almost sent Dominic over the edge. The world wasn't the orderly, rational place Jake liked to organize it into. He fought an impulse to toss his phone over the metal railing.
Maybe the forty or so hours without sleep were beginning to catch up with him. Normally, Dominic appreciated his even temper, but today it grated. That was Jake, calm and professional, even in the storm of hostile takeovers. ―Dominic, glad I caught you,‖ Jake Walton said smoothly, as if he hadn't unsuccessfully rung twenty times in the last two days. His second in command would simply call again, killing whatever chance Dominic had of finding a moment of peace inside those brick walls. His phone rang with a tone he couldn‘t ignore. It was nothing like the sprawling mansions he now owned in various countries around the world.īut it was the closest thing he had to a home. If he remembered correctly, its rooms were small and the main staircase had a creak that he never did get around to fixing. There was nothing spectacular about it, outside of its location near the upbeat Newbury Street. Rather than turning it off, he‘d muffled the noise by burying the device deep within a coat pocket maintaining the connection to his life like a distant beacon.ĭespite the oppressive heat, he paused at the bottom stair of his old brownstone. The joy of owning it was dead along with his desire to answer the incessant ring of the cell phone he‘d ignored since yesterday. That old bastard.ĭominic Corisi slammed the door of his black Bugatti Veyron and stepped onto the sun baked Boston sidewalk without giving the million dollar vehicle a backwards glance. Maid for the Billionaire by Ruth Cardelloīy dying now, his father had won again.
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