The Arrangement

Chapter 24: Declan POV

I fastened my tie and gave my hair one last comb through. Today was the day. Just yesterday, my father had dropped major news on me that Arthur Winslow wanted to invest in our company, and it was up to me to convince him. I looked at my watch. It was 9:45 am and I had to meet him at 10:30 am.

I found my suit jacket hung up in the hotel room- well, suite- closet and pulled my arms through it. Just as I did so, I heard a loud knock at my door. I went to look through the peephole to see who it was. I saw Anna in the most gorgeous red dress. I opened the door and she immediately threw herself into my arms.

"You got this," she told me, her voice muffled due to her face being buried in my shoulder.

"I know. It's just I wish he would choose somebody else for once. Why is it always me on these make or break missions for the company?" I asked.

She pulled back to look me in the eye. "Because we all trust you. You'll do the right thing for the company and us. We can't trust the other executives like that." I knew it was true, but I was still sick and tired of doing my father's bidding.

Her hands rested on my shoulders. "Don't underestimate him. He is a very hard one to convince."

"I won't," I promised.

I inhaled deeply, then decided to change the conversation. My nerves were bad enough. "Why are you dressed up so fancy?" I asked her.

She smiled. "I have a date," she responded. "His name is Callum. We're going to have brunch and mimosas."

"Wow, Anna that's great. You two have fun." I was happy for her. "And have one for me," I added with a wink.

She laughed. "Of course."

At that moment, a tall, well-built gentleman showed up. He was dressed in a suit, too. It must've been Callum. He had wavy, brown hair and hazel eyes. He had a brooding appearance.

He shook my hand and introduced himself. "The name's Callum. We were just on our way to the fancy hotel brunch we've heard so much about, but your sister wanted to stop by and offer words of encouragement first."

I nodded. "Thank you."

"Well, we should get going if we want to get a spot," she told Callum. Then, she turned to me and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "You'll do great!" With that, they both hustled down the hallway.

I really hope so, I thought to myself.

*****
The cab pulled up to Arthur Winslow's townhouse in the heart of the city, and let me out. I handed the driver some cash along with a quick thank you, then he took off in the other direction. I slung my briefcase over my shoulder. The traffic noise drowned out everything else. Horns beeped, irate drivers yelled, and cabs whizzed by.

The building itself was breathtaking, and very similar to the one my father lived in. It was a large, reddish-brown building squished in between two more townhouse buildings. His door was on the left. It had planters in the windowsill filled with an array of bright, colorful flowers.

I slowly made my way up the short staircase and rang the doorbell. Nobody answered. I rang again. Still no answer. I was about to ring for the third time when the door swung open.

"Third time's the charm," I muttered under my breath.

Arthur Winslow must have heard because he said, "yes, indeed, it is." My cheeks turned red. How embarrassing!

I cleared my throat. "So, Mr. Winslow, allow me to introduce myself. My name is-"

He waved his hand dismissively to cut me off. "I know who you are, Declan Scott. Son of Bruce Scott."

I just nodded. "Then, you must know why I'm here," I said.

Mr. Winslow just smiled, light dancing in his baby blue eyes. "Precisely. Come on in and let us discuss."

He led the way through the front door. There was a long hallway that gave way to an enormous living room right in front of us. We made our way to the end of the hallway and into the living room. A fireplace was mounted in the wall, its flames flickering and crackling. All white couches were arranged around the room. "Here, sit," he told me, gesturing to one of the loveseats.

I sat down, as I heard him yell out, "Bonnie, some champagne for Mr. Scott."

He turned to me and asked, "I hope you're okay with champagne this early."

I grinned. "Nothing I haven't had before."

"Perfect." He took the two glasses from who I presumed was the maid and handed me one. I sipped on the bubbly, tangy drink.

He sat down on the loveseat across from me, with only a small, modern coffee table in between us.

Mr. Winslow cleared his throat. "We both know why you're here. But my money is valuable, Mr. Scott, and I need you to assure me that it won't be going to waste if I invest in your company."

I pulled out some financial reports from my briefcase. "If you look here, Mr. Winslow," I said pointing at one of the documents, "last year alone the company brought in over 3.2 billion dollars. We have plans for expansion of the company in other countries, including South Korea and China. We cannot accomplish this without our very generous investors."

"I see. And I support your vision. I just need to make sure that my return on investment will be worthwhile. How can you guarantee me that, Mr. Scott?"

And for the next hour I spent convincing him that he would reap a great sum of money if he chose to invest now. I showed him charts and reports I had brought with me. I couldn't tell if he seemed impressed or disappointed. He had a good poker face.

At the end, he stood up and clapped his hands together once. "That will do it, Mr. Scott! I have a meeting in the office in twenty minutes, but thank you for your time."

I stood up and shook his hand. "Thank you for having me," I replied back. I waited to see if he would say anymore. "So, would you consider investing in us, Mr. Winslow? Your money will not go to waste. That much I can guarantee."

His eyes flickered with amusement. "I thought it was obvious!" he exclaimed. It really wasn't. "Of course, I would love to invest, and you tell Bruce I give him my best."