Bold ll

As Elma staggered some light steps backward, her back met with a wall; pretty hard stuff but warm. It felt like a tremor was happening to it because of how she could feel it heaving against her back.

"Do you know so little about work ethics?"

Elma hauled herself away from there, glancing at him with alarmed eyes. That wall was freaking Riccardo!? How long had he been there?

She gulped. Inhaled deeply. And smiled. "Mr. Di Mauro, I didn't know you were right behind me."

"I was. And snooping around when you should be asking me about the scheduled appointment is quite unethical, to say the least." Riccardo wasn't smiling. Elma wished that he would.

"I am sorry, sir."

"Saying 'sorry' isn't going to cut you out of every issue with me, Ms.Gray. Slackness isn't something I could tolerate. If you cannot bear up after a few more corrections, I'm afraid I'll have no more use for you."

His last line wiped out any tinge of cheerfulness Elma still had on her face. She knew he meant business. That too, with the way he had stealthily walked out on her, headed for the doorway.

"Be out in two minutes after changing into something new!"

"Something new?" Elma could not refrain from shouting back. "Why should I have to change into something else?" she asked.

Riccardo halted fast once he heard her stilettos clanging against the tiles as she sprinted to where he was. Actually, he could smell her softness just behind him, though she'd stopped a few paces from him.

"I'd like to know what you consider wrong about this outfit too?"

Her words, turning inside his eardrums, rang as tough and stubborn. If she knew how much of an OCD person he was, then maybe she wouldn't have asked such a thing.

Riccardo exhaled first. Twisting a turn, he smacked his lips lusciously with his tongue. "We just arrived from a trip."

"In a chopper first, then a Royce Rolls, yes we did."

"You think that's the point I'm trying to make?" Pinching his nose bridge, Rochester shook his head and puckered. "You may need to up your hygiene game, Ms. Grey."

"What then?" Elma stopped to sniff herself. "Are you saying I stink?"

"I'm only saying you need a change. Something black and smart will do. You can get a pick from the closet you inspected a minute ago."

"I can?" Elma seemed to ponder meditatively for a bit. "I wanted to ask if you were expecting a female guest sometime later. How was I to know that——"

'…that I could use such expensive clothing.' Elma trailed off the last sentence inside her head.

"Honestly, Elma," Riccardo's volume was thick and demanding attention when he said, "I do not have the time for this."

Watching him walk away, Elma noticed for the first time that his previous maroon-red overall had gotten replaced by a polished metal-black suit. He looked tough and strong. Even his body cologne smelled firm and different, retaining in his wake.

Contrary to all the misgiving that Elma had let seep into her veins, the meeting went smoother than she thought. Mr. Marseillemo, aside from his long, ugly nose that painted his features harder as with his concrete jaws, was a simple man with loads of savage sarcasm up his sleeves. One minute he'd joked about the exquisite board room being too stiff as if mocking his staunch features, the next minute he was teasing Elma for being too attractive to be in such a gathering.

"I'll take that as a compliment, sir," Elma said smartly while tweaking a strand of her hair to the back of her ears. Her eyes were still pretty much glued to the Apple Macbook in her fore, on the delicate glass table. Her fingers were busy now that the austere silence prevailed. Having contributed her quota to why Mr. Marseillemo should invest in a business with the Di Mauro Firm, Elma was quickly swiping through some private research into the effective cost of setting up an oil rig; the estimate, and process, whilst Mr. Riccardo and the much older man riled to no end as they talked and joked about a lot.

"I think I like her," Mr. Marseillemo said abruptly as he extended his hand for a shake with Mr. Di Mauro.

Elma looked up now. If that meant that the deal was done, then she didn't know how else to express her mood of ecstasy.

Riccardo stalled for a minute, reclining deeper in his chair. Only Mr. Marseillemo was standing taller than the three of them with one hand gripping firmly onto his briefcase. His multimillion-dollar frames slid down his nose a little as he said. "Having second thoughts about forming a partnership with me? "

Riccardo, saying nothing, slightly sat out from his chair while lacing his hands over the table.

"I would hate to think your lack of trust is about to ruin a good deal, Riccardo."

"Mr. Di Mauro," Riccardo corrected. "It is Mr. Di Mauro and I'd like to think that I could trust you but your lack of punctuality isn't exactly a good first impression." He grimaced after.

What was this now? Elma thought to herself as she nervously zipped her eyes from one man to the next. A lot of what her boss was saying didn't add up because what the f*ck?

Why had she gone through all that trouble of organising herself into three separate outfits, almost puking in a freaking helicopter and then swallowing all the salient insults that he, Riccardo, had been hurling at her for the last few minutes? Why else had she subjected to all of that if not for this exact moment where, as he had stated before, she hadn't 'screwed him over'?

"I'd like to come in here, Mr. Di Mauro." Elma locked glances directly with Riccardo fighting the urge to look away because that was why he was looking so intently as if to read off her soul.

"What is it you wish to say?" Riccardo said exhaustively.

"Thank you for letting me have the floor," Elma cleared her throat for a split minute and then said, "I beg to differ with your ideology of tying punctuality to a person being trustworthy."

"Is that the nonsense you need to say?"

"No."

"Then get on with it," Riccardo said, slapping his hand into the air.

"When I said 'no', I didn't mean that I wanted to say something different than what I'd said before."

"Ms. Grey…"

"What I did want to do was give you an illustration. And that is me, the person sitting here right now and talking with you."

"Elma, what is the meaning of this?"

"I just really wanted to point out that I'm here in fact because you have a degree of trust in me or I should hope so. Though I was late for my interview twice, you trusted me enough to let me have a third chance. Now, here I am."

"What exactly is your point?" Riccardo said, furiously.

"My point is, we came this far to clinch this deal, it would be unfair to throw it all away simply because you think that a person who goes late for a meeting cannot be trusted, sir."

Riccardo fell quiet after that whereas Mr. Marseillemo had a tightlipped smile boasting on his face. Elma, thinking she had done nothing wrong, decided there was nothing to fear. But it wasn't until Riccardo got up and shook hands officially with the man that her thudding heart slowed down a little.

"My lawyers will get the legal books ready," said Riccardo as he withdrew his hand. "We might need to schedule another such meeting. But this time around, the venue will be different."

"Kansas, you mean?" The man smiled as he dashed Elma another look. "As long as I get to see little miss smart eyes again, I'm all in for the meet."

Riccardo stiffened and said, "And the money. "

"Of course.…"

"I did not appreciate your utter indulgence out there, Ms. Grey," Riccardo said as soon as they'd flown up the elevator to the Penthouse floor. "I'd appreciate it if you gave me a heads-up next time."

A heads-up? Elma thought, no freaking way he was referring to her input that paid off in the end!

"I think Elma is just fine. You can call me just that. But what should I have given you a heads-up about first before saying?" Elma pinned her large, watchful eyes on him.

"You want me to repeat your words back there? The one you brought up justifying your slackness for being late?"

"I never said my lateness was justified, sir. I just—"

"Listen here, Elma Gray. There's something I could never tolerate and that is someone trying to tell me how to run my fucking company!"

"Sir?"

"Hush!" Riccardo, biting down his lips, held his palm tall in her face. "You must never do that to me again. The next time you dump your opinion in between when I'm talking to my client, I'll have a proper resignation letter typed out on your behalf. Am I clear enough about that?"

"You are, sir," Elma whispered, mildly pulling her eyes down to the ground. She would no longer look at him. He was not much fun right now, not like he'd ever been the rest of the outing.

"You, go on in."

"Alone?" Elma's eyes bugged out as she yelped.

"Very much alone, Ms. Grey." Riccardo's voice didn't ring off as a tease. "Or am I supposed to babysit you the rest of the day?"

"Exactly that — I mean, not true. I wanted to ask something."

"Spill it."

"How long are we supposed to stay here for? Apart from Mr. Marseillemo —"

"You finally got his name right."

"Yes, I did. So, are there any more clients we need to meet?"

Elma noticed his eyes paint as mostly bored when he said, "I'll lay more emphasis on that talk when I return from where I need to be right now."

"Right," Elma said, turning away. Shoulders down.

"You could order anything you want if you ever felt hungry, though."

"I could?" Elma's eyes glowered as she turned. She was smiling too.

"Yes, you can. Now, go on in," Riccardo said, briskly waving her off. "I need to watch you shut the door before I go on out. So, please…"

He did not need to finish his line. Elma already slammed the door, lightly, in a dash.