Chapter 4 Darius & Oliver

Kate and I had been getting on extremely well. She worked hard, and today I sent her on a tour of the other departments, to introduce herself and I had no doubt that they would like her, it's not often an assistant tells me I have a penis extension. I believe Violet had spread the word to one or two people. She told me off when everything had been explained and I think this was her revenge for the tricks I'd played on her. She was a good friend and there was no way she would let me get above myself.

Now, I had a meeting with someone who I despised. I was not looking forward to it.

As I sat across from Oliver, a simmering resentment bubbled within me. He was the epitome of privilege, always handed everything on a silver platter, while the rest of us toiled and fought for our dreams. It was infuriating to witness him now, as the CEO of his father's company, without having earned it.

We had been childhood acquaintances, although it had been seven long years since I last saw him at his father's funeral. The weight of being a chief executive officer seemed to have done nothing to improve his appearance, business acumen, or even his personality.

That self-entitled little prick was not someone I could easily tolerate, despite our shared history.

Oliver's father was a remarkable man, a stepfather to my dearest friend Sebastian Norton, who stood in stark contrast to his half-brother's character. The reasons behind Oliver's downfall were beyond me. He never had to put in the effort, not even during his university days. Tutors were paid to do his work, and he miraculously managed to scrape through with a second-class degree.

He always ran to his mummy for money, while the rest of us, including our friends Sebastian, Ethan, and myself, worked tirelessly in bars, corner shops, and restaurants. Though I must admit, my exceptional talent for photographic memory made studying easier for me than others.

But I had to set those feelings aside and focus on the matter at hand. Oliver had approached me with a proposal for a substantial loan from my family's private bank, Graves and Son. It was an alluring offer, but I couldn't help but question his underlying motives.

Oliver Croft slouched in the chair across from me, hoping I would blindly sign the loan documents sitting on my desk. My bank, my family's legacy, Graves and Son.

This wasn't your typical high-street bank where you had your wages paid into each month. We were a private institution, one of the few remaining in the world. We conducted prestigious business in the heart of London and beyond. In fact, I had just returned from Beijing, only to find this imbecile had presented to the board with his marketing team. It seemed he had used his connections to pressure a relative on the board into allowing him this opportunity. That was a grave mistake in my book. You never lend money to family, and the board couldn't come to an agreement, so they left the final decision to me.

Incompetent fools.

Here I was, battling jet lag, confronted by a man I despised.

"Come on then, mate, are you going to sign the form or what?" Oliver impatiently demanded.

I continued reading for a moment, then looked up to meet his once spotty, now pudgy face.

"It's not that simple. I need to go through all this once again, and I trust you can comprehend," I replied, not caring if he did. "I just returned from Beijing at one in the morning."

"Oh, come on, Dare. This is just a formality, isn't it?" he sneered.

"This is far from a mere formality." I raised my hand to silence him, but he persisted in speaking over me.

"You wouldn't hesitate if my dad were here asking for money," he snapped.

I placed the papers down and locked eyes with him. "You are not your father, and besides, he would never expect me to hand over such a significant sum without conducting due diligence. Your father would never object to me doing my job, and I still have the final say on whether you receive this loan. The bank will inform you within the week, I promise."

He didn't seem pleased, but I had no intention of lending him money without any certainty of repayment.

Just then, Marsha who worked just down the hallway, knocked and entered my office. She strolled across the plush carpet, still wearing sky-high heels despite being almost eight months pregnant.

"As you requested, the files from Beijing, and your driver is here," she informed me.

"Thank you."

Of course, it was all a fabrication. Marsha was my gatekeeper, keeping my meetings to a strict thirty minutes unless instructed otherwise. I had no idea what files she had brought in this time. It wouldn't surprise me if it turned out to be the menu from the Beijing Diner, the local Chinese takeaway joint.

Oliver couldn't keep his little piggy eyes off her.

"Good lord, Dare, I should get a secretary like her. She's quite something. Beautiful legs, and I bet she's passionate behind closed doors." He wiggled his stubby fingers in the air, sketching an exaggerated curvaceous figure, a wicked grin plastered on his ugly face. The despicable bastard even winked at me.

My temper flared, and I longed to knock him into next week. Enough was enough. I needed to remove this imbecile from my office. Rising to my feet, I gestured towards the door. "I'll let you know in a week or two Oliver."

I walked him out of my office, determined to shield Marsha from his presence. The sooner he was gone, the better. We shook hands, mine warm and dry, his clammy and moist.

Ah, that was interesting. Clammy hands indicated nervousness.

What was he so nervous about? I would give the board a proper dressing-down for allowing this situation to persist and for entertaining this... Neanderthal's visit. Clients who came to Graves were straightforward, with well-prepared plans, and they never had clammy hands.

Once the elevator descended to the ground floor, I made my way to the reception desk.

"Hi, folks. Could you let me in, please? I don't want to touch anything. That man's sweat is still all over my hand."

Birch, the head guard, grimaced and pressed the buzzer to open the office door.

"Just give me a minute," I said, preempting Marsha's attempt to speak. I returned to my office and scrubbed my hands clean.

"Coffee?" she asked as I reentered the outer office.

"Yes, please, although a double vodka might be more appropriate after the debacle with Oliver Croft. If he does come back, which I hope he doesn't, both you and Violet should steer clear of him or have Birch in here with you. The man is a complete misogynist, and he will be furious if he returns."

"It was quite evident when I walked into your office that he had his eyes on me. He looks like a proper clown."

"Yes, he always has. I've known him my whole life. His father was an extraordinary man, but Oliver was just lazy. He wants a life of luxury without lifting a finger for the money. Blame his mother for that. Oliver could do no wrong in her eyes," I explained.

Marsha nodded in agreement. "I have a cousin just like that. She's insufferable."

"Thanks for stepping in today Marsha, Frankly, Maybe you Kellie and now Kate can get the cauldron from our Halloween shindig?" I chuckled. "Perhaps you three can channel the spirits of the Hocus Pocus triplets and cast a spell on Oliver?"

She laughed as I left, gathering a few files and stuffing my laptop into my rucksack. I was ready to skive off this afternoon. The fatigue from my journey from Beijing weighed heavily on me, and I couldn't seem to stop yawning. Sitting at my desk, I cleared away the papers Oliver had expected me to sign. It caused a flicker of unease within me, thinking of the man who had bequeathed me his shares in the company. He would likely be turning in his grave witnessing his petulant son. I would hate to see Croft Homes crumble, but with Oliver, that lazy and worthless son, at the helm, it seemed inevitable. Perhaps I should have a word with the rest of the Croft Homes board, and see if I can gather a majority of votes. Oliver had no idea that I held shares in his company, and they were under a name he didn't know.

The possibilities swirled in my mind as I left, bidding farewell to Marsha, who still wore a mischievous smile on her face. It was time to rejuvenate and strategize, for I had no intention of letting Oliver Croft destroy what had been entrusted to me.