The Businessman

Chapter 5

Another attempt at his company, it was happening on a weekly basis, now. They had reinforced security, implemented the top of the line security cameras, heat detection and all other sort of extreme measures he could remember to protect MALIK TECH. Alastair had assured him whoever made the attempt had been unable to get inside the building, but that was little comfort – they would try again, some other time, and one day they would succeed. Hell, they had shot him, hadn't they?!

"I think we should upgrade your private security" The serious Cyrus grunted, as they met at Isaac's suite.

"I actually agree." Alastair nodded, watching Isaac pace around the room "They've shot you, and you were incredibly lucky. You might not be this lucky next time."

"I'm not going to give in to terrorists" Isaac grunted.

"Allah..." Cyrus rolled his dark eyes "Look, they're just trying to shake the waters, we know that; however, they're getting crafty. You're in Europe now, but what'll happen when you go back to LA? They already know where you live, Isaac."

"They would never get into my house" Isaac snorted.

"You thought they would never get ten feet away from you." Alastair reminded him, gesturing at his limping leg "Look at that piece of work."

The three men stared at one another for a good few seconds. Alastair vaguely thought about the expression 'measuring cocks'. Isaac rubbed his face and sighed.

"Can we discuss this after the European tour?"

"I would prefer to do it now... But sure" Cyrus sighed, shrugging "if that's what you think is right."

"Tomorrow is our last day in Paris, and I want things to go smoothly. We leave for Amsterdam bright and early on Saturday" Isaac declared, terminating the meeting.

Alastair and Cyrus eyed each other, concerned, as Isaac limped to his bathroom.

"We need to convince him to take this more seriously" Cyrus advised.

"I've tried." Alastair sighed "I think he thinks he is invincible in a way."

"They've threatened to kill him." Cyrus grunted "This is more than just far wing extremists; it's not just dumb rednecks anymore – this is a terrorist organisation."

"I know that." Alastair tensed "What would you have me do: tie him to a pole in the middle of the fucking ocean?!"

"You might actually have given me an idea" Cyrus rubbed his chin.

"No, not a boat" Alastair snorted.

"C'mon!" Cyrus whined "Tell me it wouldn't be the perfect hideout?!"

Isaac heard his friends and consultants leave the room and sighed. Yes, he knew whatever organisation behind the attacks and threats carried hate towards everything he represented. He knew not unlike other influential figures from minorities, his fate could be fatal and the stuff of a Hollywood movie. Still, he wouldn't back down, he'd worked too hard and for far too long to run with his tail between his legs. He needed to get smarter, that's what he needed to do.

He lay in bed, fully naked as he usually did, and heard the outside traffic noise and people's voices. Paris was the city that never slept, much alike any other metropolis he'd been at. It always treated him well: good food, good wine, good women. Women were scarce this time he visited. He blamed his leg, it made him look sick and weak, and that is why they didn't chase him as usual.

He snorted at his own stupidity. Of course that wasn't the issue, the issue was five feet three and sleeping across the door. She was a bigger enigma than the one he thought he had solved. There were layers of her, and the more he peeled, the more there was there, and the more he wanted to discover. Not unlike any addiction, he mussed, not unlike his mother and her obsession. Made sense for him to have the same kind of mental issue she had had. The difference between them? Isaac wasn't a young teenage girl in love – neither did he need anyone to support him in any way.