“Why so formal? It’s just the usual business, my men got a bit too rowdy and disturbed you, Mr. Drake.”
Bridger responded casually, his eyes scanning the room. His gaze settled on the woman on the couch, her face covered by her hands. His pupils contracted slightly.
“Just a friendly reminder, the heat is on outside. Don’t cause any trouble to me.” Bridger replied calmly, signaling to the waiter behind him to bring in a case of liquor.
“Of course, Mr. Drake. With you taking such good care of me and even sending me women, I must show you some respect,” Trevon replied, his tone more subdued.
The woman on the couch tightened her grip over her face. Bridger’s lips curled into a faint smile, “As long as you’re having fun, Trevon.”
As Bridger exited the room, Callie closed her eyes in despair. She hadn’t expected this to be his turf. His look suggested that he had clearly recognized her, but he hadn’t spoken up, likely out of caution regarding Trevon, or perhaps, he simply didn’t want to get involved.
She wondered if mentioning Nelson’s name might compel him to help, but for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Mr. Drake, is something wrong?” the waiter asked, noticing Bridger’s hurried steps.
“Mr. Oconnor is discussing business on the top floor tonight?” Bridger’s tone tightened.
Nelson had arrived not long ago. This crowd loved such venues, and he couldn’t help but partake occasionally.
On the top floor, Vankey’s representatives had nearly all arrived, each executive with a woman in his lap, except for Nelson at the head of the table. He shuffled the cards in his hands, looking remarkably restrained.
Drawing a card, Nelson casually tossed it on the table. “The tension is so high, that call earlier even startled me.”
“Mr. Scott said the same last week at the Southeast Reservoir,” a plump man across from him remarked, throwing down a card. “Mr. Oconnor and Mr. Scott, such synergy.”
“I’m flattered. If I didn’t compete for what Jaquan wants, he wouldn’t be motivated,” Nelson replied smoothly, signaling the waiter to raise the stakes.
“Deshawn Wilcox is nearly done transferring assets. Once complete, he’ll face embezzlement charges. Your plan to acquire Vankey might hit a snag,” the plump man continued.
Nelson remained impassive, as if he had anticipated this. “There are always ways around regulations. Deshawn Wilcox’s simplicity is why Vankey has deteriorated over the years. Dealing with simple minds can be done in many ways. But thank you for the warning.”
“Nelson,” said Rodolfo Deleon, a middle-aged man, speaking bluntly, “I’ve always favored you over Jaquan. If things go through, we’re on the same team. I need to see some returns from Vankey.”
Nelson smirked, about to reply, when the door burst open, and Bridger stormed in, raising his hand to silence the questioning glances. “Sorry.”
He leaned in to whisper in Nelson’s ear, “We have a problem.”
Nelson’s expression changed instantly, recognizing that anything urgent enough to fluster Bridger was significant.
He placed his cards on the table, declaring, “I win.”
Standing up, he strode out of the room amid murmured speculations, “What’s wrong?”
Bridger fixed his gaze on Nelson, enunciating each word clearly, “Callie is on the third floor.”
Nelson’s expression shifted from calm indifference to dangerous intensity. Completely disregarding Bridger’s ignorance, he showed a startling level of concern, “What is she doing here?”