Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,38
face-time and more intel.”
“What? Why?” Dorian flipped through the file, a series of legal briefs outlining the types of information the Armitage mages wanted: SEC filings, P&L statements, trademark and patent filings, interviews of key staff, and the worst part—a bunch of informal meetings and get-to-know-you dinners.
Investigations were standard procedure during mergers and acquisitions for supernatural-owned and human companies alike, all to ensure the deal was aboveboard and the companies were a good match. But this felt downright invasive. Meetings? Dinners?
“Where is all this coming from?” Dorian asked. “I thought we were through the dog-and-pony phase. The fundraiser was supposed to be the last big hurrah.”
Aiden passed him another sheet of paper. “Apparently they’re fielding another bid, and you’ll never guess who’s offering.”
Dorian scanned the text, his blood turning to ice. “House Duchanes? You’ve got to be shitting me. What could those overgrown fraternity boys possibly want with Armitage Holdings?”
“Leverage.”
Dorian dropped the paper and massaged his temples, wishing he had something stronger than coffee. He didn’t think Armitage would back out of their deal now—not with Isabelle’s placement on the line, and the history of friendship he shared with Dorian’s father—but how could he be certain? Who knew what sort of discontent Duchanes had been sowing? Money and power talked—in business and alliances both—but so did gossip.
“What am I supposed to do about this prick?” Dorian asked.
“Invite him to the fundraiser. Show him you’re not intimidated by his antics.”
“I’d rather stuff him into an iron box and drop him at the bottom of the Atlantic.”
“All right, then. I’ll make some calls, see what we might arrange.”
Dorian sighed. The fundraiser was becoming more of a pain in his ass by the minute.
“Look, if you want Duchanes to back off,” Aiden said, helping himself to a sip of Dorian’s coffee, “you need to bring him into the fold. Treat him like family, maybe even offer him a position here, and perhaps he’ll let his guard down a bit.”
“Did you just put your filthy mouth on my favorite mug?”
Aiden raised his pinky alongside the mug, striking a posh pose. “I wouldn’t be stooping to such pedestrian levels if you’d been a proper host and offered me refreshment upon arrival.”
“How about a beating upon arrival?”
“That’s not my kink, Mr. Redthorne,” he said with a wink. “But no judgments.”
Dorian shook his head. He’d never known his friend to be in a sour mood—not even when Dorian was doing his best to push his buttons. But despite Aiden’s cheery disposition and the gorgeous weather outside, a deep sense of foreboding had crept into the day—one Dorian couldn’t seem to shake.
“Talk to me, Dori,” Aiden said, his voice softening. “Something’s got your knickers in a twist.”
“It’s this deal.” He flipped through the folder again. “Setting aside the problem of Renault Duchanes, why is Armitage dicking us around? They’ve seen our numbers. They know we’ve made every acquisition profitable, and with very little staff reduction. The old mage wants to unload his assets, and we’re the best suited to facilitate that. What are they worried about?”
“Come on, mate. Armitage is old money, conservative as hell—especially for a mage. With Duchanes entering the playing field, I’m sure his sons want to make sure he’s getting the best deal—for his business and for their sister, should it come to that.”
It made sense, and Dorian finally nodded, the knot in his chest loosening a bit. “You’re probably right.”
“You’d think after all these centuries, you’d remember it.” Aiden offered another smile, then drained the last of Dorian’s coffee. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any biscuits?”
“Bloody hell.” Dorian rose from the chair to fetch the box of cookies he kept stashed in the file cabinet and passed it over.
“Very kind of you, thanks,” Aiden said. “So… free advice?”
“Remind me again what I’m paying you for, exactly?”
“Play the game, mate. Just until the acquisition goes through and you’ve secured the witch. Then your family will be revitalized, Armitage can retire into the sunset, and you can go back to being that reclusive billionaire vampire jackoff we all know and love.”
“You’re a prince, Aiden. A real fucking prince.”
“My DNA spared me that particular curse.” He pulled a cookie from the box and pointed it at Dorian. “But Dori, you’ve got to make an impression at the fundraiser. A good impression. That’s why you’re hosting it.”
“I don’t like hosting parties.”
“I don’t care what you like. Louse it up, and these guys will walk—straight into the arms of House Duchanes.” He shoved the cookie into his mouth,