Page 17 of Letters From Victor

Mr. Kowalski swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing above his too-tight collar. “What if…what if we sweeten the pot a bit? Offer some additional incentives to make the deal more attractive?”

Victor’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Go on.”

The developer leaned forward, his voice low as if sharing a secret. “Picture this: not just tract houses and parks and schools, but an integrated commercial center. A drive-in theater, diners, a centralized shopping complex, and more.”

Victor sat back down, and I took my seat beside him and reopened my notebook.

“I know it’s a bit daring, but I really think this is where we’re heading. One-stop shopping. Why travel all over the city when you can get everything in your neighborhood?”

“And commercial properties keep paying out,” Victor added.

“Exactly! Houses pay once, and then they’re done. But businesses…” He waved his hand as he let his sentence trail off.

Victor nodded. “Come back to me with an updated proposal that meets my increased margin, and we’ll talk again.”

The men stood, and Mr. Kowalski rolled up his plans and papers and tucked them under his arm. Victor reached out to shake his hand.

“Mrs. Evans will show you out.” Victor didn’t let go of the man’s hand. “And I trust you will show her every ounce ofrespect she’s entitled to.” His voice was low and dangerous. “I certainly wouldn’t want any more…unpleasantness.”

I rose from my chair, smoothing the front of my tailored dress. “Right this way, Mr. Kowalski,” I said with a polite smile, gesturing toward the door.

He followed me into the hallway, where the scent of lemon polish and cigarette smoke hung in the air. I walked a half-step ahead, the click of my heels punctuating the tense silence.

As we waited for the elevator, Mr. Kowalski shifted his weight from foot to foot, clutching his rolled-up plans to his chest like a shield. He shot me a sidelong glance.

“Your boss is a real shark, isn’t he?” he muttered, dabbing at his forehead with his handkerchief.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I answered demurely, my expression carefully masked.

The elevator doors slid open, and he got in.

I smiled sweetly. “Thank you for your visit.”

The doors slid closed, and I let out a sigh.

“How badly did that one sweat?” Mrs. Miller piped up from behind the reception desk as she checked her pink nail polish for chips.

I walked over to her, the scent of her perfume—something floral and powdery—enveloping me as I approached. She glanced up from her nails, her glassy green eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Oh, he was practically drowning,” I said, leaning against the polished wood of her desk. “I thought I was going to have to mop up after him.”

She let out a tinkling laugh, her pink-painted lips curving into a knowing smile.

I sighed, glancing back toward the conference room. “Are all the meetings so…intense?” I asked.

“These big-shot developers think they can waltz in here and charm their way into a deal.” She shook her head. “But Mr. Cardello is on top for a reason.”

“Yeah, I’m gathering that.”

The telephone rang, and she reached for the receiver, giving me a polite smile and nod.

I tucked my notebook under my arm and returned to my desk. My mind replayed the meeting—the way Victor commanded the room, the sharpness of his gaze, and the subtle danger that laced his every word. There was something thrilling about being in his presence, like standing on the edge of a cliff, the simultaneous pull of fear and exhilaration.

The door to Victor’s office was open, and I peeked my head inside. “Would you like me to type up my notes?”

“Eventually, yes,” he answered, leaning back in his leather chair. “But I’d like to hear your take first.”

“My take?”

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