Chapter 15 - The Leverage II

Chapter 15: Chapter 15 - The Leverage II

The elevator doors opened onto the same rows of cubicles he’d stormed through yesterday. Same people. Same open-plan glass walls. Same murmuring.

Except this time, the murmuring had a different tone.

"What the fuck is this guy doing up here again?"

"Isn’t that the basement guy?"

"Did you see him pull up? That was his Porsche. I swear to God."

"No way that’s his. He probably stole it."

"Fine suit, though."

"Fine suit, weird face."

Someone snickered.

Jesse kept walking. Yesterday those whispers had felt like needles. Today they felt like background noise, like a radio playing in another room.

Andrew’s secretary looked up from her desk as he approached. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then very deliberately went back to typing.

After yesterday, she wasn’t going to throw herself in front of him again.

Jesse gave her a small nod as he passed. She didn’t nod back, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

He pushed open Andrew’s office door without knocking.

Andrew was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window with his phone pressed to his ear, back turned to the door.

"I don’t care what it costs, just find him—"

He turned, saw Jesse, and stopped.

"I’ll call you back."

He hung up and tossed the phone onto his desk. It skidded across the polished wood and nearly fell off the other side.

For a moment he just stared at Jesse, taking in the suit and the calm expression. Something flickered across his face. Confusion, maybe. Or the first faint itch of unease.

Then the anger won.

"If it weren’t for how useful you are," Andrew said slowly, "I would have fired you already."

He walked around the desk and stopped a few feet from Jesse.

"Ten minutes past eleven. You stroll into work at ten minutes past eleven, after everything I told you yesterday? Have you lost your goddamn mind?"

Jesse glanced at his watch.

11:10.

Ten minutes left.

He chuckled.

"Maybe you should fire me."

Andrew blinked. "Huh?"

"I think you should fire me." Jesse spread his hands. "Go on. Do it right now."

For a second, Andrew looked genuinely thrown. Then he laughed. It was a loud, mocking laugh, the laugh of a man who’d never been told no and didn’t plan to start now.

"So you didn’t fully grasp what I told you yesterday?" He stepped closer. "After you walked in on me fucking your girl?"

"Oh, I grasped it." Jesse didn’t step back. "Especially the part where I’m your slave. And the part where you’ll make sure I never work in this industry again."

He tilted his head.

"But here’s the thing, Andy. I don’t care. You want to know why?"

Andrew folded his arms. The smug smile slid back onto his face like it had never left.

"I don’t know. But I’m sure I’m about to hear it. Slave."

Jesse grinned.

"Well. That rare fabric you need for the fall collection? The Giza 45 everybody keeps talking about?" He paused. "It happens to be in a bit of jeopardy right now. And if I don’t do something about it in the next..."

He looked down at his watch. Took his time about it.

"...five minutes. It’s gone."

[But have you ten minutes?] The system asked.

’I know what I am doing,’ Jesse responded internally.

Andrew’s smile disappeared.

He knew exactly what the Giza 45 was. It was the centerpiece of the fall collection. The fabric that was supposed to make Standard & Silk’s show the talk of New York Fashion Week. There were only a handful of suppliers on the planet who could produce it, and only one of them had ever agreed to sell to Standard & Silk.

And the only reason he’d agreed was Jesse.

Andrew didn’t know Mr. Hassan’s phone number. He didn’t know his assistant’s name, or his grandson’s, or which port the shipments cleared through. He didn’t know any of it, because he’d never had to. Jesse had always handled it.

Jesse watched every one of those realizations land on Andrew’s face, one after the other, like dominoes.

"What the hell are you trying to say, you bastard?" Andrew finally said.

Jesse smiled.

"It’s simple, really. The supplier wants full payment right now, or he sells the whole lot to a buyer in Milan. If I don’t call him and give him what he wants, you can kiss your fabric bye-bye."

Andrew’s face went pale.

Two weeks ago, he stood in front of a room full of fashion journalists and bragged about the Giza 45. He’d called it a once-in-a-decade fabric. He’d promised Vogue an exclusive first look. He’d let the board take credit for it at the shareholders’ meeting.

If the fall collection showed up without it, he wouldn’t just look like an idiot. He’d look like a liar. In front of the entire industry.

"Rudy," Andrew said quickly. "Rudy can handle it. That’s his job now."

"Rudy isn’t answering his phone." Jesse checked his watch again. "You have four minutes."

Andrew grabbed his phone from the desk and jabbed at the screen. He held it to his ear. Waited for twenty seconds.

Jesse could hear the faint, cheerful voicemail greeting from where he stood.

Andrew lowered the phone. His jaw clenched so hard Jesse could see the muscle jump.

When he looked back up, the arrogance was gone. In its place was something Jesse had never seen on Andrew Hyland’s face before.

Desperation.

"What do you want?"

Jesse walked over to the chair in front of Andrew’s desk, pulled it out and sat down like he owned the room. He crossed one leg over the other and smoothed out the crease in his trousers.

"Now we’re talking."

He looked up at Andrew.

"I want the VP position I was promised. Or your fall collection goes to shit."