Underworld's Underlings

Chapter 3: Get docked

The next day. The day of the interview. Raul woke up late, as opposed to his usual schedule. He was already pissed off at himself for wasting the previous night pondering over that mysterious woman. He couldn't sleep the previous night as her words echoed in his mind. 'An architect.'

A sickening feeling nagged his conscious, making him miserable. When he thought of finding her and considering an offer for her, he realized he never got her name. That made him feel dumb. And furious. He had never been one to let his mouth have a mind on its own. The previous day was an exception.

'So was she. So were her bottomless brown eyes.' His mind screamed at him. He screamed back profanities. But what was the point? He was mindlessly getting ready, seething with fury that he had worn his clothes from the laundry basket before going back up to change.

When he sat down for breakfast, the poor maid received his wrath because she couldn't heat his breakfast quickly enough. Then he felt like an ass because it was his fault he woke up late and messed up everyone's schedules.

Raul has never felt so frazzled. It made him hate that mysterious beauty even more, but not as much as he loathed himself. Deciding to push back the meeting, he called his assistant.

As if he was waiting for the call, his assistant's voice burst through the receiver urgently. "Mr. D'Ambrosio, the Chairman, called to enquire about the deal with Von Bergs. And Mr. Sullivan..."

Raul cut him off, not wanting to deal with it. "Reschedule the meeting with Mr. Sullivan later this week. And I'll speak to Dad. Get the documents ready for the deal. And Francis, the tickets."

"Sure, President", he answered in an astonished tone that Raul was letting him deal with it instead of doing so himself. Francis knew how important the deal with Mr. Sullivan was. He also knows how stubborn Raul was.

The moment he hung up, the guilt came back in full force. Raul slammed the door to his study and plopped down on his chair. He poured himself a glass of water and gulped it down. Once he was assured, he was calm enough to think he ran the previous day's events through his mind.

He was a jerk to her, sure. But she was no less. He had never had a woman talk back to him. Not in that sassy fashion. His view of women has always been screwed. All he knew was they threw themselves at him and he tossed them aside. It was a vicious cycle.

Then he realized he had made her cry. How he concentrated on bickering with her, lost his senses that he actually went ahead and childishly berated her.

'That was pathetic.' He thought before taking a deep breath, hoping to find one point of redemption. But his inner monologue went on. 'You didn't even ask her name. You stomped on her bruised ego.'

He went to stand next to the window, glancing at the fountain. The marble reflected the sunlight in all directions, making it hard to look at. He was squinting but the sound of water was soothing.

But the final blow came when he thought of the worst thing. The thought he tried so hard to keep at bay.

'You rejected all those resumes. Of women, just because.' That stung. Bad.

Yet he forced himself to let it sink. Because he didn't become a successful businessman by avoiding harsh criticism. Even if it were his own. The grandfather clock tolling reminded him he needed to be on his way. Promising himself that he'd look for her at Blues that evening or have Francis find the architect that recently quit, he grabbed his car keys and left the mansion.

Meanwhile, Eleonora was getting ready for the interview. She had made her bob so oily and greasy that it looked unkempt. Making it look wavy and resemble a man was the hard part. But now that she had pulled it off, she put on the suit she had bought. She loved the way she looked and told herself she was quite a sight. In a men's suit and a rugged hairstyle.

She once made the final check. Hair, attire, and cologne, all done. The detailed plans of her project proposal for renovation, check. Even her stubble looked real. Finally, she wore green contacts before looking in the mirror. Unbuttoning the top button on her shirt, she put on the neck bandage to avoid turning and especially avoid speaking.

She wasn't sure her voice would be convincingly male and didn't want to be discovered. But she looked like she could pass for a guy in his early twenties.

Taking her suitcase, she called for a taxi. 'All set', she thought. She recited the fake identity over and over in her head. Alaric Oberti.

With a small but confident smile, she got into the taxi. Her mind fleeted back to the man. The one she was going to deceive. Although she felt bad for him when she remembered her father's words from the previous day, it felt right.

'But dad, why do you think they want the business?', she sulked,

'I think they're expanding into London. Expanding into a chain of hotels', came his somber response. 'Makes sense not to buy but produce.'

'That's outrageous...'

'I'm sorry, honey. I shouldn't be making you do this', Mr. Von Berg said in a tired voice. 'But I love you. Just forgive your old man this once.'

She was furious they were buying out a flourishing business. The one that her family has been doing for a century.

Thinking back on that conversation, she didn't feel that bad. Or that was what she told herself. She turned her torso to the side to watch the vehicles. But her mind was full of that handsome face, his shocked look, those genuine eyes.

The taxi screeched to a halt. Standing in front of the tower, she glared at the letters in black marble shining in the sun. D & A Enterprises.

Mildly shaking her head, she took a deep breath.

"You're doing the right thing, Eleonora."