Chapter 3 A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL
Eli’s POV
The receptionist didn’t even glance at me again after she hung up the phone. She simply stood, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor, and said, “Follow me.”
I trailed behind her, my wet shoes squelching with each step, leaving a degrading puddle of water in my wake. I knew I must have been looking ridiculous — drenched to the core, rain plastered to my hair on my forehead, my clothes sticking to my skin uncomfortably. I could not even attempt to explain how embarrassed I was as we went through the immaculate lobby, along a corridor, and to a sparkling elevator.
She swiped a card, and we descended, the air quieter, denser, until I was certain I was being led into the lion's den. Her pace did not slow, and I jogged to fall in behind her, carrying my bag as if she expected me to try to shoplift.
When we arrived at the office, she opened the tall black door without knocking and gestured for me to precede her.
The owner of the giant mahogany desk didn't even glance up at me at first. He was on the phone, his voice firm, abrupt, the kind of voice that didn't allow for interruptions.
I stood there, dripping water onto the expensive-looking carpet, highly aware of how I clearly didn't belong here.
Then he turned to glance at me.
I was taken aback immediately. His eyes, a dark, stormy grey, were beautiful, unreadable, sharp enough to cut through me. His hair was dark and smooth, slicked back just right with just a dash of sheen from what had to have been some expensive gel. Everything about him seemed to scream power — the way he stood, the fact that he didn't even seem to be bothered by anything, like the world itself was just a minor annoyance that he could swat away with a flick of his hand.
Julian Thorne.
A man who had whatever he wanted, whatever he wanted, probably whatever he could even imagine at his fingertips.
For a second, I imagined what would be like — to possess the money that would wipe out my problems overnight. To walk into a hospital and foot the bill for every treatment that my grandfather would ever need. Not to have to slog myself to the end just to scrape by.
When his call was finished, the receptionist coughed and stated, "He needs to see you, sir. Says it's an emergency."
Julian didn't react right away. Then he looked at me again, and something flashed through those black eyes.
"Leave us," he said bluntly.
The woman nodded curtly and stepped back, her door shut as softly as a whisper, but the click unmistakable as a threat.
Julian settled back in his chair, his gaze on me, like a wolf waiting for its unsuspecting victim to make a mistake.
"And what," he muttered slowly, "can I do for someone like you? You do see individuals like yourself don't rush into my office, don't you?"
I swallowed hard and bobbed my head up and down. "Yes, sir. I… I need a really big favor."
His single eyebrow arched up, his expression darkening with amusement. "A favor?" He rocked back in his chair, as if he had nothing better to do than play this little game with me. "What kind of favor would that be?"
I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "I need money, sir."
My voice shook despite my attempts to sound strong. I had to be hard, had to hold my ground, but every second I spent in this office made me smaller.
Julian's mouth curved into a smile less than full — too tight, too bitter. "Money," he whispered. "You want money?"
"Yes, sir," I answered hastily. "That's all I need. I want money."
"How much?" He spoke flatly, on the verge of boredom.
I swallowed. "Fifteen grand, sir."
There was a silence, a split second, before Julian erupted with laughter — not a kind laugh, but fast and biting. He leaped to his feet as if invigorated, the chair scraping back behind him.
"Fifteen grand?" he repeated, his voice now raised, almost incredulous. "You need fifteen grand?"
I nodded slowly, my stomach tightening. "Yes, sir. That would be enough.".
"That's all you need," he said again, almost to himself. And then suddenly his eyes snapped back into recognition of me and I flinched. "Do you have any idea how much fifteen grand is? Do you know how long my people take to earn fifteen grand?"
I shook my head. The point was, I'd never even seen money like that before in my life. All my money went towards bills, rent, food, my grandfather's medication. I didn't know what it was to be able to breathe easy.
Julian regarded me for a moment, then nodded slowly, the smile on his face again, as sharp as a knife. "Okay. I'll do it. But I don't like when people owe me."
Relief hit me so fast I almost stumbled over.
"Your name is?" he asked.
"My name is Eli Winslow, sir." I swallowed hard as I answered. "My grandfather's in the hospital. He has stage three lung cancer and—
Before I could manage to get the words out, he had his hand up, then did something that took my breath — pressed two fingers to my lips, silencing me with a gesture more threatening than intimate.
"I didn't ask for a history, kid." His voice was harsh, unyielding.
I froze, nodding in silence.
You've got until the day after tomorrow to pay me back my money," he told me, returning to his seat as if we'd been discussing the weather.
My eyebrows rose. The day after tomorrow? That was impossible.
"Sir, I—"
"All right." He leaned back, staring at me as if I were a puzzle he hadn't yet decided whether or not to solve, or break down. "A month?
I nearly stumbled with relief, grinning weakly against my will. "Yes, sir. A month would be fine. I'll work my ass off, I promise. I'll pay the money back."
Julian's grin spread, slow and sinister. "Sixteen grand it is."
"What?"
"You heard. Sixteen. Call it interest."
My lips turned into a thin line, but I nodded. I didn't have a choice.
Just send an account, and I'll transfer it to you," he said, extending his hand for a pen.
"Actually, sir," I said quickly, "can I have it in cash?"
He stopped in mid-reach and looked up at me, dark eyes glinting. "You are a very stubborn little animal, aren't you?"
I fought the urge to clenched fists.
Julian pushed open a drawer and began pulling out neat piles of large bills, counting them off slowly, as if savoring the way I couldn't tear my eyes away. He was done and slid the money across the desk with a soft thump.
"There you are," he said. "Have fun."
I reached for the money, my heart pounding.
"And just so you understand," Julian spoke up, his tone now cold, "I can find you anywhere in this city. Don't even get it into your head to run. If you think it's a joke to rob me, go on and disappear with my money. See what the outcome is."
A shiver ran down my spine.
I grabbed the cash, muttered a clattering "Thank you, sir," and beat a near-run from the office, as if the walls themselves were observing me.
The first thing I did was run directly to the hospital.
I sprinted through Sunnyville's double doors, shoes waterlogged for the second time from rain, dripping clothes, but I didn't care. I handed the cash over to billing with shaking hands, tight chest thinking of my grandfather's frail figure upstairs.
Tonight, at least, I had bought him some more time.
But I didn't realize the price I'd just put on my own freedom.