Nikolai
I'm halfway through signing off on a stack of contracts when my phone buzzes.
"Sir, it's about the Vassel Group," one of my managers says, voice trembling slightly. "We're supposed to finalize the acquisition today, but there's… a problem."
I lean back in my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Then handle it. That's why I pay you. Don't call me about problems you should be able to fix."
Silence crackles at the other end. I hung up the call.
Not even two minutes later, the phone rings again.
This time, I hear it before the idiot even speaks—shouting. A man yelling. A woman's voice raised, sharp and furious. The kind of chaos I dislike.
"Sir—"
I hiss out a breath, jaw tightening. "Pathetic. You can't even control a room." I shove my chair back, already standing. "Stay put. I'm coming."
The line goes dead as I stride out of my office. My assistant nearly jumps out of her seat.
"Dig into Vassel Group," I snap without slowing down. "Everything. Debt reports, shareholder names, family ties. I want it on my desk in an hour."
"Yes, sir."
The elevator doors slide shut behind me, and I catch my reflection in the polished steel. Cold eyes, sharp suit, controlled fury simmering beneath the surface.
They think they can shout, argue, delay my deal?
By the time I walk into their building, they'll learn exactly who they're dealing with.
I push through the revolving doors and head straight for the curb. My driver scrambles to open the door, but I wave him off.
"I'll take it from here."
The car roars to life beneath my hands, and I cut through traffic like a maniac. The city blurs past, nothing but glass, steel and noise, but my mind stays sharp.
By the time I skid to a stop outside Vassel Group's building, my blood is humming. I kill the engine, step out, and stride into the lobby without a glance at the gawking receptionist.
I pull out my phone, hit dial. "Meet me in the lobby. Now."
"Yes, sir."
Seconds later, my man appears—face flushed, tie loose. Amateur. The second he spots me, he rushes forward, talking fast.
"There's been pushback. They're claiming undervaluation, demanding we revisit the numbers—"
I cut him off with a look that shuts him up cold. "I sent you because you're supposed to close, not whine."
He swallows hard, nodding. "Yes, sir."
I don't wait for more excuses. I head straight for the conference room, push the doors open without knocking.
The noise dies instantly. Every head swivels toward me.
Good.
The man at the head of the table—a heavyset bastard in his sixties, rings glittering on his fingers—rises quickly, mask of a smile plastered on his face. "Mr. Ivanov. An honor."
I shake his hand firmly, deliberately, letting him feel the steel in my grip. His smile flickers.
"Please, sit," he says, gesturing to the chair opposite him at the other end of the table.
I take it, smooth and unhurried, my gaze slicing across the room as I settle in. Half the people here won't even make eye contact. Weak.
"Let's not waste time," the man begins. "The offer on the table doesn't reflect the current market. We believe an adjustment is necessary."
"Adjustment," I repeat, voice flat. "Meaning you want more money."
He clears his throat. "A fairer number, yes. Considering Vassel Group's assets, we believe—"
"No." The word cuts like a blade. "You agreed to a number. I'm not in the habit of renegotiating because someone gets greedy at the eleventh hour."
A murmur ripples through the room. He shifts in his chair, but I don't give him space to recover.
"It's that," I continue, tone colder than ice, "or nothing."
His jaw tightens. "Then give me some time to think."
I glance at my watch. 10:15.
"You have until this time tomorrow," I say evenly. "Not a second later. Any later, and the deal is off."
The silence that follows is heavy. I can see the calculation in his eyes, the way his fingers drum the table, but I don't waver.
I never do.
I push back my chair, ready to leave. The room is already mine; they know it, I know it. The deal will go through tomorrow, or it won't go through at all.
But then a voice cuts through the silence.
"Papa," a woman says sharply, "don't tell me you're actually considering this deal. It's vague at best, insulting at worst."
The old man stiffens, color rising in his face. "Aria—enough."
Aria.
I pause, one hand on the back of my chair..
"This company is worth far more than what he's trying to buy it for," she presses, ignoring her father's warning. "And you're just going to hand it over?"
The murmurs start again, louder this time. I turn slowly, deliberately, my gaze sweeping across the table until it lands on her.
And for the first time since I walked into this room, I feel my stride falter—only slightly.
She's beautiful. Infuriatingly so. Sharp eyes, chin tilted like she's ready to take on the devil himself.
But beauty doesn't excuse stupidity.
"If you have something to say," I say coldly, my face a mask of stone, "say it to my face, miss."
Her gaze locks onto mine, steady, unflinching. "Miss Vassel," she replies evenly. Not timid. Not apologetic. Her voice cuts through the air with surprising strength.
She leans forward, tone razor-sharp. "And I'll say it to your face—I think this offer is beneath us. You're undercutting Vassel Group, and you know it. If you really want to buy this company, you could do better than this. Much better. Otherwise, this entire deal is nothing short of an insult."
The audacity.
I let the silence hang a second longer than necessary, my gaze narrowing on hers. I expect her to flinch. To falter.
She doesn't.
My mouth curves into something humorless. "I must've spoken Greek the first time," I say dryly. "Take it or leave it. There is no 'better.'"
She inhales, ready to fire back—
But my phone buzzes.
I glance at the screen. The ID flashing across it makes me straighten. This call isn't one I can ignore.
I stand, sliding my phone into my hand. With a flick of my fingers, I wave her off as if she's nothing more than a buzzing fly.
"Mr. Vassel," I say curtly, eyes leaving her like she no longer exists, "I'll expect your decision tomorrow."
Her father rises quickly, eager to smooth over the tension. "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Ivanov."
"Mm." I give a curt nod. No more, no less.
And then I'm gone, my man falling into step beside me as I stride out of the conference room.
Only when the doors close behind me do I swipe the call and press the phone to my ear.
"Yes, Elijah" I say flatly