OLIVER BLACK SWIRLED THE MARTINI glass between his index and middle finger, staring down at the golden glossy tequila, both rich in price and in taste before he took another sip out of it, swallowing the bitter sweet liquid.
Oliver swirled the martini glass between his fingers, the glossy tequila catching the faint city lights. Smooth. Expensive. Precise. He tipped it back, the burn loosening the tension coiled in his chest, and set the glass down with deliberate care.
Feeling soothed he exhaled, alcohol had always managed to ease his worst of moods. He placed the glass carefully upon his desk and spun his chair to the window behind him. Oliver was seated on black leather, made specially for him and in his office too was designed for his taste. Dark as night with the only light that filled being the enormous wall of a window which granted him the best view of New York City.
It stretched beneath him like a chessboard, every light, every building, every street in view. From here, everything was small. Imperfect. Manageable.
He smirked, he loved being on top of everything. Once higher everything else becomes preeminent in an insignificant, small and worthless standard—more room for you to see its flaws. He remembered those words from his father. He hated the man but somewhat took his advice, they had shaped him into this: the face of Blackthorn Enterprises, the man others whispered about in terms of perfection.
He stared at his reflection proudly in the shimmering glass before he poured himself a refill of tequila, positioning himself to the window once again. His eyes skimmed through the tiny passing cars below as well as small businesses and some of the buildings he invested in, tracing the general area. Somewhere down there, rotting between towers, stood the house—a decaying relic, rusted gates, moss-covered roof, peeling paint. A blemish he intended to erase.One that stood exactly where he wanted his next bar.
He picked up his phone and dialed.
"Sterling & Hawke Acquisition Group, this is Carter speaking. How can I help you, sir?"
Oliver leaned back, voice calm, each word measured.
"Carter, I'm not calling to ask for help. I'm calling to ask why nothing has been done."
A pause. A nervous cough. "Mr. Blackthorn… the owners are proving difficult to persuade."
"They are," Oliver agreed softly. "And irrelevant. I issued the directive a month ago. That house should not exist."
"Yes, sir, but—"
"Then remove the obstacles." His tone sharpened, though never rose. "Offer them double. Make their lives inconvenient. I don't care how you do it. I care that the house is gone. By the end of the month."
"Understood, Mr. Blackthorn. I'll—"
He hung up before he could've uttered another word and soon after heard knocking on his door. He switched off the phone and looked ahead, straightening his tie.
"Enter." Was all he said and his secretary entered, her head bowed as always and her hands shaking with rather important documents in them. She was obviously scared of him, never risking to hold any form of eye contact or raising her voice above her usual squeak.
That was one of Oliver's charms. He was a man that made women squirm in the likes of him. And he preferred it that way. Being a man who found himself in multiple relationships, having women come to him was always a pleasure but he never mixed it with business.
"Is it important?" He questioned nonchalantly with a raised brow, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at her, "Aren't I all the way over here, Trisha Payne?"
"Yes sir."
"Then…"
"Sorry sir." She walked hurriedly over to his desk, "Minutes from last week's documentation team."
He took the file and scrolled through it attentively before he closed it. "Is that all?" He stared into her eyes, sensing that there was something more, there was always something more and being Chief Executive he always made it his duty to ask.
"A meeting has been called upon you sir."
"Our treasurer? I already spoke with him."
She shook her head, " No, sir. A woman. She called herself… Samantha."
Oliver sat frozen, his eyebrows arching and his fists clenched tightly in a ball on top of his desk until his fingers cracked. "Samantha…Campbell?"
That is what she called herself sir—"
"What the fuck does she want?"
"I-I don't know sir, she only said she wants to meet with you at the restaurant, one that you will know. She also told me that it wasn't necessary for her to discuss details with me."
"Leave." He told the frightened girl as his tempered rose and immediately once the door was closed behind her he wrapped his fingers around the tequila bottle which he drank empty and threw it aggressively at the door, pieces of glass exploding like fireworks, glittering shards raining over the immaculate floor.
Oliver sat backseat in the parked limousine,. eyes fixed on the restaurant window. Inside, a woman lifted a wine glass to red-painted lips, with long blonde hair that fell straight over her chest. Her cheekbones were hollow and her pale skin highlighted under the restaurant light, her beauty striking, dangerous.
Samantha Campbell.
She looked every bit the part of elegance, but Oliver knew better. Knew the lies that mouth could spin. Knew she was the kind of woman who would slit your throat while you slept and smile while the blood cooled.
"Should I wait nearby and return for you, Mr. Executive?" his driver asked carefully.
"No." He opened the door and locked eyes with his driver in the rearview mirror, "There'll be no need for that. I won't be here long." He paused, lowering his voice to a warning growl. "And, Fredrick—tell no one about this stop."
"Yes, sir."
Oliver stepped out, fury sharpening every stride as he entered the restaurant. Samantha lowered her glass, a broad, pretentious smile spreading across her lips.
She gestured at the chair opposite her.
"Please, sit." She said, and added, "Can I get you something to eat?"