Page 101 of Believing in a Billionaire
A sigh sounded on the other end. Grant stiffened, wondering if the man was about to make his day.
“There’s no way I can approve that, Grant. You’ll have to look elsewhere.”
Grant’s nostrils flared as he held his temper in check, wanting to hurl the phone across the room. “I will.”
He ended the call, sucking in a deep breath before he tried another. With each declined call and each non-committal response, Grant felt the walls closing in.
He desperately hoped his name still carried enough weight to open a door. But the silence on the other end spoke volumes.
In dark times, it seemed no one was a friend. He exhausted the possibilities, not able to cobble together the funds he needed to clinch his position at Harrington Global.
His mind spun as every door slammed in his face. Mike’s words echoed in his head as he stared at the phone on his desk.
He’d taken shrewd, calculated risks before. They’d helped build his empire. Maybe they could help him secure it. His hand hovered over his phone, the weight of decades at Harrington Global pressing down on him. He could hear echoes of hisfather’s advice, the lessons learned from boardroom battles, and the silent whispers of his own conscience warning him of the invisible line he was about to cross.
He snatched the receiver and dialed Mike’s number. The man answered on the first ring.
“Mike, I’m ready to move forward with your option. Set it up.”
“I’ll make the call,” the man answered before the line clicked.
Grant’s stomach clenched as he set his receiver down, doubts sliding into his mind. Was it a bigger mistake to owe money to the wrong people than to allow his company to slip away?
He slid one hand over a fist, his jaw tightening as he rested his chin against his knuckles. Time slowed as he waited for word on anything.
At least twice, he reached for the phone to call off the risky move, but he didn’t. He was out of options.
The shrill ring of the phone broke the tense silence in the office, startling him and sending a chill down his spine.
He snatched it, slowly raising the receiver to his ear. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“It’s done. The meeting is set. Thirty minutes at The Gilded Truffle.”
Grant replaced the receiver, swallowing hard. The restaurant, a notorious stronghold for illicit activities, made him nervous again. Was this the right move?
He questioned it several more times as he checked his phone for any word from his daughter. He hadn’t received a message from anyone. Another thing that made him nervous.
His mind drifted to the path that had led him here. From his first triumphant deal to the battles fought and won, to the faces of those he had loved and lost along the way. Each decision, each sacrifice, had been a step on the journey to this moment. Was he about to sacrifice too much?
Before he could think about it further, Mike appeared in his doorway. “Mr. Harrington, we should leave for the meeting.”
Grant swallowed hard and nodded as he slid his phone into his pocket and rose. Each step he took seemed to be one closer to his doom. They hit the streets before the sun had risen. The stars still twinkled in the sky above him, and the cool air swept past him in a rush.
Despite the icy chill in the air, it couldn’t stop the sweat from beading on his brow or his hands from turning clammy. The amount of money he needed to borrow was high. Borrowing from these people was risky at best.
The Gilded Truffle loomed before them, its opulent facade a stark contrast to the darkness of the night. Warm lights glowed from inside. Mike rapped his knuckles against the glass doors. A bulky bodyguard unlocked the door and stuck his head out.
“I have Grant Harrington to see Mr. Malone.”
The man pushed the door open more fully, motioning for them to enter. Grant stepped past him into the richly decorated space. Plush velvet seats and low-hanging chandeliers cast shadows that seemed to dance on the walls. Anticipation hung heavy in the air. Voices reached his ears, chattering before laughter followed.
“Right this way,” the bodyguard said as he motioned toward the back. They threaded past the tables to a back booth. A group of burly men stood around one man who ate a steak.
He glanced at Grant as he sliced through the meat, blood oozing onto the plate before. “Grant Harrington. Well, I feel like I’m being visited by royalty.”
He waved his steak knife at the booth across from him. “Sit down.”
The man wiped his lips before he eyed Grant. “Can I get you something?”
