denied truths

#2 Agree



"okay Mr viscotti. Introduce yourself.". I say, clasming my hands together on top of the table.
He just looks at me, his eyes narrowed in suspension.
"i haven't received any details of you, I'm afraid." I add, so he can get the hint to that I really don't know nothing about this man.
He unclenches his jaw, but doesn't breaks this steel eye contact.

"my name is Dominic viscotti, I come from Russia and Italy. I'm 24 years old. And I'm the ceo of the Mercedes company I think I said that before, correct?"

I don't reply immediately, I narrow my eyes. No wonder he's Russian, and Italian.

"correct." I answer sternly.

"Я вижу, что ваш русский тоже." I add, a small smirk creeping on my lips.

(Translation: I see that your Russian too.)

He nods his head, then he says.

"yes, I thought your Russian too, but now I know."

I squint my eyes at him for 3 seconds before I back away and lean in My seat crossing my arms.

"okay, now that's out of the way, why would I accept your offer?  To work together?" I ask, tilting my head, does he think  that if he's Russian too ill say yes?

He clears his throat and he spreads some papers on the desk that I'm not looking at.

"ludovica, it's a new generation. It's 2024 and the drivers want something new, something powerful and  breath taking beautiful.". He speaks firmly.

I simy don't remember the part where I gave him the permission to call me by my first name, no. I do not remember.

"who gave you the right to say my first name?" I ask, calmly but oh, I'm frustrated.

"miss volkov, your first name can be used between bussiness partners. You can call me Dominic." he's fucking smirking, in my building, in my room in my company. I'm fighting all it takes to not send a hook to that jaw of his.

"we are not bussiness partners."

"yet." He kisses his teeth, and points at his papers. I shift up and lean to see.. Its engines. And cars.

"the strongest, best engine of maserati is nettuno v6."

"are you here to teach me about my cars?"

"and the best engine of Mercedes is 4.0 L V8. Do have any idea how strong our car would be if those engines would mix, miss Volkov?"

My brows furrow, I look at his papers again and look at the details of his engine, it is strong and durable, and fast. No shit, it's a fucking Mercedes.
He's the ceo of Mercedes he's offering a golden offer and this new era will crack the world in two.  Mercedes and maserati, unexpected but beautiful. And breath taking, as he said. I can only imagine the sound of those engines together. Mercedes is a legend we all know that, when you hear Mercedes you also hear a classy fast beauty. When you hear a maserati you think of an Italian luxury. Those two together?  It will break the Internet.

I get up, and go to the desk where my computers are, I book an appointment, standing.

Tomorrow, mr viscotti, maserati project

I print the business card and as I wait, I turn my head around to face the 6 foot ceo devil who's sitting at the table, looking at me. There's something about his face, that gives me a hunger to argue with him. But I am mature.

"are you alright miss volkov?" he asks, but a small smirk is still there. My face is stoic, skill issue.

The printer prints out my bussiness card and the appointment with him, I take it out and put it on the table I front of him.
He takes it in his hand and stands up and slips the little card in his pocket of his suit. His frame is towering over me. He looks down to me. I'm tall, I'm 5,8 but at this moment I never felt this short, I visually hate him.

"see you tomorrow miss volkok". He takes my hand in his and shakes it, his cologne filling the air around us. Ugh, fucking tom ford tabbaco vanille
Im suprised he isn't wearing dior sauvage, cliché.

I shake his hand back and force a smile on my face. He better recognise my yves Saint Laurent perfume. I drop his hand and he turns and leaves.
I don't move until I hear the beep of his car unlocking.
I sigh and sit down on the chair, my ankles crossed and on the table. I say and stare at thin air, what am I doing?  Was that really the ceo of fucking Mercedes?

His smell, his cologne is still in the air.  I don't hesitate to grab the freshener and spray the room to get rid of that ridiculous good perfume.

Just great.

Russian and fucking italian...