Taste of unwavering Faith

Chapter Eight

Adam

"

Alright, Mr. Eduardo, it’s a pleasure doing business with you.” I gripped the old man’s hand, a professional smile pinned to my face. The moment he left, that smile faded, dissolving into the cold indifference that matched the atmosphere of the office.

“Isn’t that a bit rude? Faking a smile like that with the man?” Elmo’s voice broke through my thoughts, dripping with his usual irreverence. He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the armrest as if he had all the time in the world.

I ignored him, focusing instead on the stack of documents scattered across my desk. I needed to get through these if I had any hope of making it to the dinner on time. But with Elmo hanging around, my patience was wearing thin.

“What do you want, Elmo?” I asked, regretting the question as soon as the words left my mouth.

“What do you think? Just sign the papers, and I’ll get out of your way.” He tossed the contract onto my desk, a casual, almost flippant motion that belied the significance of the ask. It was the same song and dance, him needing money, and me footing the bill.

I glanced at him, then back at the papers. I leaned back, weighing the options, mentally calculating the risks. How much could I afford to give him this time? And how long until this whole thing went sideways?

“I know you think I’m an irresponsible madman—”

“If you’re mad, you’re already irresponsible,” I cut in sharply. He didn’t react, simply shrugged and continued.

“But this is the last time, on God,” he insisted, his eyes pleading with a sincerity that was almost convincing.

“Fine,” I conceded, knowing full well it wouldn’t be the last time. But I needed him on my side. “You’ll give me updates weekly, and I’ll put up five million.”

“Yeah, I can work with five. But this stays between us until I’m ready to talk.” His tone was casual, but I could see the tension in his eyes. He was desperate, but not careless—at least, not when it came to his secrets.

“Are you going to that dinner with Aliya?” he asked suddenly, trying to sound nonchalant. But I knew Elmo; he was fishing for something, anything, when it came to her. Ever since their first meeting, her name had been slipping into our conversations more frequently than I liked.

“Yeah, why?” I looked up from the papers, trying to keep my tone neutral. I hadn’t told Aliya about the dinner yet. With her, it was always better to handle things last minute; otherwise, she’d turn it into an unnecessary ordeal. Not that she didn’t already have her suspicions—I’d seen the footage of her supposed “sick day.” She wasn’t exactly subtle.

Elmo leaned lazily against the glass wall, his gaze drifting to the street below, likely watching some girl wander past. “Then why’s she here?”

“Who?”

“Aliya. Your wife.” He smirked, clearly amused by the surprise on my face. I shot up from my chair, marching towards the door, but instead of heading for the elevator, I paused, deciding on the balcony. Maybe she’d gone to meet with one of my clients, or worse—she could be here to pull some kind of stunt.

“Yes, I’m here for the sketching; that’s solely mine,” Aliya’s voice floated up from below. Sketching? Of all things, she had come to meddle in my work with her ridiculous ideas. I pulled out my phone and dialed the receptionist.

“Hello, sir,” she answered promptly.

“Send her up.” I hung up, not waiting for a reply, and watched as Aliya bounced up the stairs with a careless energy that grated on my nerves. She had this uncanny way of making everything seem unserious, as if life were some sort of game. How on earth is this woman my wife? I braced myself, knowing full well that she’d bring chaos wherever she went.