2. Chapter 2
2
S oren leaned back in the black leather chair, stretched his long legs out, and crossed his ankles. He was the picture of relaxed cool. But coiling underneath was a thread of danger.
Rowan, his next-in-command, stood against the console by the wall, his watchful eyes on the doorway of the conference room.
The room sat on the top floor of the fifty-story building in downtown Edinburgh. With floor-to-ceiling windows, a large flat screen television on the wall, and expensive furniture, this room was designed to impress and intimidate visitors of this well-known tech startup.
Soren was not easily impressed. He brushed off a piece of invisible lint from the sleeve of his impeccable gray suit. He also didn't like to be kept waiting, and the CEO and COO of this company were five minutes late to a meeting they had requested. Tech startups were not Soren's usual business, so it was partly curiosity that compelled him to accept this meeting.
He counted backwards from sixty in his head. When he reached one, he would walk out.
The CEO and COO rushed in when his count reached ten.
"I'm so sorry." The CEO was flustered as he barreled forward into the room and held out his hand to Soren. "Our last meeting ran long. I'm Iain."
Soren's gray eyes stared at the man for a beat, just long enough that Iain grew even more uncomfortable. He stood up slowly and took his hand. "Soren." The man looked relieved.
"This is Rowan," Soren said, gesturing. Rowan only nodded, his hazel eyes assessing.
Iain motioned to his partner. "And this is Keith, my COO."
Keith reached his hand out to Soren for a shake. "Please, sit."
Soren and Rowan waited until Iain and Keith both sat before they also took their seats across the table. Both owners of the tech startup were wearing polo shirts, which were clearly still too formal for them because they kept pulling at the collars.
Soren stilled his body in the chair. Most people had nervous, restless energy that they needed to dispel by motioning with their hands or bouncing their leg, and it always fascinated him that his stillness made others nervous. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rowan do the same. But Rowan's default state was already as steady as a panther on the hunt.
Soren waited for Iain to speak, which nervous people tended to do: speak first and give away too much information. He was rewarded within seconds when Iain said, "Thanks for taking the time to meet with us. I know I didn't give you much information over the phone." He paused.
Soren nodded, so Iain plowed ahead. He slid a folder to Soren and said, "If you want to take a look at the first page…"
"Give us the high-level summary first," Soren responded without opening the folder.
"Uh, okay." Iain tugged again at his collar and glanced down at the paper in front of him.. "As I briefly mentioned over the phone to your assistant, we've created a new product that we need to get out into the market immediately. Time is a factor." He looked up and glanced at Soren and then Rowan. "We heard that your distribution lines can blanket the UK and Europe, the Middle East, and Africa within days."
Soren studied the two men in front of them. They had heard correctly. The transportation division of the MacGregor portfolio transported products for all of its businesses. And when the product was not legal, it needed to get from door to door as quickly as possible. Over the years, they had significantly brought down their transportation time. Their trucks could now move products all over Europe within hours. "What is this product?"
Keith removed the device from the plastic bag in front of him and handed it to Soren. "It's a cell phone, obviously. It's the latest design. And we need this to get into stores within the next three weeks."
Soren turned the device over in his hands. He recognized the style, reminiscent of a certain name brand consumer device manufacturer. Only this one did not have the fruit logo.
He handed the device to Rowan, whose eyes also flared with recognition, to inspect. "How exactly did you come by this design?" Rowan asked.
Iain and Keith looked at each other. "Let's just say that we have contacts in the industry who helped us with this design," Keith said. Soren's eyes narrowed. "And if you're wondering whether patent lawyers are going to come calling, the design was changed significantly enough to avoid patent infringement."
"But it's close enough," Rowan responded. "You're prepared to fight this in court when the lawyers come?"
"According to our revenue projections, and the cost to fight and win a lawsuit, it would still be worth the effort," Iain said.
"And if you lose?" Rowan asked.
"We won't," Keith said. "We've had half a dozen patent lawyers tell us our design is solid."
Soren and Rowan looked at each other, expressions impassive. The partners seemed very confident.
Soren studied them across the table. "Your company has already gained significant success with its current products. Why take the risk of something like this?"
This wasn't a question they had to answer—in fact, most people in his usual dealings would refuse to answer such a question—but he wanted to know what motivated them. He conducted business with people first and foremost.
Iain tapped his pen on the paper and leaned forward, his eyes bright. "I don't know how much you know about consumer devices, but the market moves at lightning speed. By the time a new product comes out to the mass market, designers are at least two designs ahead. Which means the current design is already obsolete. Trying to compete with a giant is almost impossible. We have no choice but to take big risks. If we don't, we're dead in the water."
Soren could appreciate the thrill of going after high-risk ventures and winning. There were no big rewards without risk.
"What percentage of revenue are you projecting for distribution and transportation costs?" Again, an answer they didn't have to disclose. But when he acted like he deserved to know the answer, people usually gave it to him.
The partners looked at each other. "Fifteen percent."
Soren knew the industry standard was less than ten percent. He gave each of them a hard stare. "We reach areas no one else does. And we can get your products onto shelves within two weeks. Assuming they're ready to go, of course." The traditional distribution lines would take three months to get their products out to market.
Their eyes widened, and Soren could see their mental gears going wild. "So, uh, what is a more reasonable percentage of revenue? Eighteen percent?"
Soren sat quietly and waited.
"Look, twenty percent is as high as we can go," said Iain. "Beyond that, it doesn't make sense."
Soren paused, letting disappointment show on his face. He stood up from his chair, mirrored by Rowan. "Good luck, gentlemen. I hope to see your product in stores by the end of the summer." They walked toward the door.
When they nearly reached the door, Iain blurted out, "Okay, wait, goddammit. We have five million devices ready to ship. If you can get them onto shelves in two weeks, we can pay you this amount." He wrote a number on the back of the folder.
Soren did a quick mental calculation. It would be a good summer for the MacGregors. "Done," he said, reaching out his hand to Iain and then Keith. "I'll have my lawyer send over the contract by the end of today."
He kept his grip on Iain's hand and stared him in the eye. "Another thing. We only do business with people with whom there is mutual respect. And respect includes being on time for meetings. So I wouldn't want something as silly as being late to a meeting to jeopardize this beneficial relationship we're going to have. Wouldn't you agree?"
***
"Good work in there," Soren told Rowan as they walked out of the building to their waiting SUV.
Rowan nodded. "The two of them looked a bit ill when we left," he observed. "But they'll get over it when their products are on shelves in less than two weeks."
Soren chuckled. Rowan was learning.
Soren had hired him a year ago, and he quickly became Soren's go-to man. With golden brown hair and eyes to match, a six-foot-two muscular frame, he would have looked like a model if not for the steel in his eyes and hard set of his jaw. On paper, Rowan's past was murky: raised by a single mother, ran around in the shadowy neighborhoods of Edinburgh, graduated (or possibly not) from high school, and completed a stint in the U.S. working on contract for various corporations, much of the activities borderline illegal.
But Soren's own history, not unlike Rowan's, always made him look beyond the qualifications on paper. And his instinct was right: besides Rowan's top-notch skills in handling weapons and fighting, he knew how to read people and see between the lines, and he had the knack and the guts for the kinds of businesses the MacGregors were involved in. Nothing fazed him. And, most importantly, his desire to rise above his childhood circumstances meant Rowan was loyal, and in return, the MacGregors took care of him and his mother.
"I'll reach out to the lawyer and have him forward the contract," Rowan said.
"Also tell him to convey that the offer is only good for tonight," Soren said. "I don't want them to sleep on it."
Rowan nodded in confirmation.
They arrived back at the MacGregor mansion outside of Edinburgh after dark. Soren went through the side entrance into the office wing, which was separated from the rest of the living areas. Relieved that the wing was empty, he went into his own office, closed the door, and sat down heavily in the slim leather chair behind the glass desk.
He was then able to allow the thought that had been plaguing him for the last two weeks come to the forefront of his mind: Ilaria was coming . He was going to see her again.
A small part of him relished the idea of seeing her again—her beautiful smile, long, dark hair, and general enthusiasm for life.
The rest of him dreaded it, more so as the day of reckoning crept closer. She probably hated him. In fact, he was sure of it. Any self-respecting woman would after the way he treated her. And Ilaria was the most confident, self-assured, self-respecting woman he knew.
Soren leaned forward in his chair and held his head in his hands. Guilt and shame washed over him as the kiss replayed in his mind for the umpteenth time.
He had tried to take it slow, but the instant Ilaria responded, the instant she kissed him back, his restraint tore away from him. It was all he could do not to flatten her against the column, tear off her bikini bottom, and claim her.
While he managed to refrain from doing that, he couldn't stop tasting her lips, her mouth, her tongue. She tasted like fresh spring rain. And while she usually dug in her heels whenever they talked, under his hands, with his lips on her, she was soft, pliable, and willing to give and take as much as he did.
Then a sliver of awareness snuck in, and he noticed he was practically devouring her. He wanted to take until there was nothing left to take from her. And suddenly, an alarm blared in his head, telling him to step away.
Because if he took as much as he wanted from her, he wouldn't be able to prevent giving a part of himself to her. And that terrifying thought cooled his blood faster than if he was dunked in a pool of ice-cold water.
In a flash, everything Soren was aiming for in life sped in front of his eyes. He had too much to lose. When his mother died after his brother Arick was born, he took on the role of surrogate mother for his two younger brothers—one of them just an infant—and his younger sister so his father could go to work. When his father got sick, he, at the age of fifteen, took on the role of both parents. He worked, made sure his siblings ate and did their homework, took care of his father, and barely kept himself in school.
That year was a blur, his most prominent memory being hungry most of the time, opting to feed his family before himself.
After his father died, the uncle he never knew about came knocking at their door. And the truth came pouring out: Soren's grandfather, the former boss of the MacGregor family, had an illegitimate son, Colin, who he refused to recognize. When Galen ascended to the head of the family and reached out to his older brother to make amends, Colin refused his help, monetary or otherwise.
Despite that, Galen kept tabs on the family and came calling after Colin died. He insisted that his nephews and niece come to live with him at the MacGregor mansion.
Even after they were all settled in and never wanted for anything again, Soren still could hardly believe that their fortunes could change so drastically. It could all be taken away in a blink. So he did whatever Galen asked of him because he owed Galen everything. And when Galen told him he was naming Soren to be the heir of the MacGregor family business, solidifying his future even further, he worked even harder, making sure absolutely nothing jeopardized his family's security.
Then he met Ilaria. She was the one and only thing he wanted as much as he wanted a future with the MacGregors and the stability and safety that came with it.
But she was the heir to the Carosi family in Chicago. Her responsibilities were over there; his responsibilities were in Scotland. There could be no future with her.
Back in his office, Soren stood up from his chair with a growl to stalk around the room, as memories of the kiss flooded his mind. Thoughts of conflicting responsibilities hadn't cooled the surging desire to taste her. And taste her, he did. Until the alarm in his head warned him that even a taste was too dangerous. A taste made him want more, and deep down, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop wanting.
So when he pulled himself back, restrained his hands, and saw the desire reflected in her eyes, he did the only thing he knew how to smother that desire. He was cruel. Brutal. He laughed at her. "I was just curious what it'd be like to kiss you," he said. "I'm good now. I've had better."
When pain and confusion overtook the desire in her eyes, his heart broke. And yet he also felt relief; if she hated him, he would never be so tempted to lose control again.
In front of his office window, he stood with his hands on his hips, chest tight, staring out into the dark fog. A bitter laugh escaped him. He had lectured the tech startup owners about mutual respect, but his treatment of Ilaria fell far from his principles. He was a damned hypocrite.
When she landed in Edinburgh tomorrow, he hoped she still hated him. He had a dreaded suspicion that the temptation to taste her again was still present, simmering under his skin, ready to ruin his future.