Ivan 2 (Her Russian Protector #9) - Roxie Rivera Page 0,56
is that?” I dared to ask, wondering if he was about to come right out with his white pride speech.
“People with shared values,” he said, skirting the real issue. “We love God, our country, our families, and our communities. We work hard. We contribute to society. We’re the very best this nation has to offer.” Clearly trying to test me, he asked, “You believe in those things, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. Although we aren’t religious.”
“Maybe you haven’t found the right church yet.”
“No, that’s not the problem.” Before he could try to rope me into a theological discussion, I left the wall of photos and returned to the development model. Hoping to turn his attention to the project in front of us, I traced a blank area in his development plan between two larger buildings. It confirmed what I had suspected. He needed our property to ensure his development had uninterrupted flow. “This is our property right here. One of them,” I amended. “One we might be willing to sell.”
“If?” he probed.
“If the price is right, of course. And I do mean right,” I added with a pointed look. “It’s clear this an important piece of land in your proposed development. We won’t be letting it go for anything less than market.”
“I might be able to offer you something else in exchange for a lower sale price,” he suggested. “Maybe a piece of the equity partnership?”
“That might be something that interests Ivan,” I replied. Even though it was a tempting offer and one that would increase our net worth substantially, Ivan had been very clear that he had absolutely no intention of doing any sort of business with Mueller. I was to come here, make nice, and then regretfully decline the offer to do business.
Mueller smiled as if he had already won. “I’m sure we can work something out to your satisfaction.”
I plucked a business card from my purse and handed it to him. “Send me some numbers, and we’ll talk.”
“I look forward to negotiating with you.”
“We’ll see.” I took one of the glossy brochures from the end of the table and tucked it into my purse on the way out the door. Kir stood as soon as he saw me, and we headed straight for the elevator, neither of us looking back.
As the elevator descended, I couldn’t shake the weird feeling of being alone with a man who seemed so boringly normal but who held such hateful, evil ideas. How many other people did I cross paths with every single day who believed the same vile things?
“So,” Kir said after we were safely inside my SUV, “was it like the Berghof in there?”
I shot him a strange look. “You sure know a lot about Nazis.”
“History Channel,” he explained. “I have trouble sleeping, and that’s usually the only interesting shit on television. It’s all World War II, ancient aliens and conspiracy theories.”
“Well, sorry to let you down, but his office was exactly what you would expect from any CEO. Black leather. Lots of metal. Blond wood tones. Bland as hell.”
“Huh,” Kir remarked, seemingly stumped. “I guess I thought he would be more...” He trailed off as he searched for the right word. “Villainous.”
I huffed with amusement. “You mean, like, Dr. Evil? A lair or something?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Okay, Kir, I hope that if Ivan asks you to work as my babysitter again you accept because the conversations we’ve had today have been an absolute treat.” All day he had surprised me with witty observations and funny stories. “Tell me about these ancient aliens...”
Kir enthusiastically launched into a lecture about the Book of Genesis, the Book of Ezekiel and Urim and Thummim. He had circumstantial evidence to back up his wild theories, things like the Nazca Lines and pictograms in the Urals. By the time we arrived at the Warehouse, I was honestly starting to doubt the accepted history of the pyramids.
“I’ll send you some links,” he promised. “Get ready to fall down the alien rabbit hole,” he called out before getting into his truck and heading home.
Amused by his slightly unhinged theories but also the tiniest bit anxious that aliens really did walk among us, I entered the Warehouse and removed my sunglasses. The afternoon training blocks were well underway, and the sounds of men grappling, coaches barking orders, and the aggressive music Ivan preferred after lunch echoed off the high ceilings.
Ivan was easy to find. His deep voice carried over the others as he clapped his hands and called a