The young man flicked up his collar like an 80s American icon, casting off his awful scent. She held her hand against her mouth, pretending to cough.
“I’m Marcus Markov.” He held out his hand with great importance as if he was the Prince of England, and she should bow down in amazement.
She shook his hand. “Hi, my name is Mindy Sanders.”
From there he wedged himself next to her and spilled his life story, the trials and tribulations of a poor little rich boy. After another hour, he finally paused for breath long enough for her to discuss business, the whole reason they were all meeting tonight at this introductory dinner meeting.
“I hear your family is looking to partner with our company for bodyguards and extra security detail.” That seemed like a good start to a business-focused conversation.
Marcus polished off his drink with a flourish. “It’s a hard way to live, you know?” He gave a world weary sigh. “The cameras flashing in your face day and night. Tabloids following you everywhere. But, eh, you get used to it after twenty four years.”
Marcus struck her as a very young twenty four year old. And clearly absorbed with how the bodyguards would help him personally, versus ensuring the safety of the company as a whole. “Have you heard about our new security technology?” she asked.
He rubbed his chin. “Yes, the SOS device. That has me intrigued. I wonder how we can benefit from your technology. I’ve tried to bring Papa into the twenty-first century, but he is set in his ways. He relies on a physical presence for security. I try to explain there’s a whole digital world that can work better than the old methods.”
At least he wasn’t as dumb and useless as he’d first appeared.
“Tell me more about this SOS tracker you have,” he invited.
Mindy launched into an animated portrayal of all the ways the device could increase security on all levels of the Markov’s empire. Riveted, Marcus lingered on her every word. Finally she felt her confidence returning.
“This device, you have it with you? I’d like to see it, test it for myself.”
“Sure,” she said brightly, reaching for her purse. She rummaged and them rampaged through her purse searching for the thumb drive.
Then it struck her. She’d packed the darn thing in her suitcase—her lost suitcase. She froze in mortification. How could she have pulled such a stupid move? God, as if this scenario couldn’t get any worse. Yet it had.
“I’m sorry, I left it in my luggage.”
Marcus’s face fell and he looked almost annoyed. “Well. That’s a shame.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered it brusquely. “Excuse me,” he said to everyone at the table, “I have to take this call.”
He didn’t return. She glanced around and saw that the other men, including Isaac, appeared to be wrapping up for the evening. She’d accomplished nothing. Absolutely nothing. What a supreme failure.
The men made plans to meet again the next night to discuss more information and a possible deal. Isaac seemed pleased as they left the restaurant and entered their chauffeured car. On the way back to the hotel, he brought her up to speed on the discussions he’d had in Russian with the other three Markovs. He’d made very good progress toward the sale.
She sat quietly, nodding at the appropriate moments, congratulating him on how well he’d done. While she inwardly berated herself for adding nothing of value whatsoever.
Depressed, she dodged raindrops into the lobby and they took the elevator to their floor. He paused outside her door. “Everything okay?” he asked with concern in his voice.
“Fine,” she said. “Like I proved earlier, I’m just really tired.”
“Remember, I’m just on the other side of this wall. If you need anything,” he said, pointing at the barrier separating them, “I mean anything, knock. I’ll answer.”
“Thanks.”
After she shut her door, she heard his door close, and she found herself on the other side of the wall from where she wanted to be—next to Isaac. She walked further into her room then realized she hadn’t left the light on or any light on for that matter. The only illumination came from streetlights below, adding a dim gloominess to the space.
Suddenly, a meaty hand clamped over her mouth. She tried to scream but couldn’t. She struggled. A second man approached her with menace. “Tell us where it is.”
Frantic, she shook her head. The muscular jerk holding her hostage wrenched her neck, and she squealed in protest.
The man before her sporting a thin moustache, wearing a crimson beret, sneered at her. “All we want is the device. Give it to us, and we’ll let you go.”