Deals and Desires

Mendes sat in his office, a room dimly lit by the fading afternoon sun, which filtered through heavy blinds, casting streaks of orange and gold across the walls. His fingers drummed anxiously on the mahogany desk as he stared at the phone. He had been reluctant to make these calls, but desperate times called for desperate measures. The weight of their debt—a staggering 500 million dollars—was crushing, and there were few people in the world who had the power or resources to help him dig out of this mess. Oscar Bloom and Akbar Ouli were two such people.

He took a deep breath and dialed the first number. Oscar Bloom, a Norwegian billionaire and politician, had always been a shrewd businessman. Mendes had known him for years, but their relationship was more transactional than personal. Still, Oscar had a soft spot for Mendes, given their history of successful deals in the past. The phone rang twice before a calm, calculated voice answered.

"Mendes," Oscar said smoothly, his tone professional, yet familiar. "What can I do for you?"

Mendes leaned back in his chair, forcing his voice to remain steady. "Oscar, we've run into some… complications." He paused, unsure of how much to reveal just yet. "The investors are circling, and we're short. I need help. A way out."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. Mendes knew Oscar was weighing his options, calculating the risks, and assessing whether helping him was worth the trouble.

"How much?" Oscar finally asked.

"Five hundred million," Mendes replied, his voice tight.

Oscar let out a low whistle, the sound of disbelief not lost on Mendes. "That's a lot of ground to cover. Even for me."

"I know," Mendes said quickly, feeling the pressure rise. "But this isn't just about the money. If we don't resolve this soon, the whole operation collapses, and the ripple effects will be massive. I've got some ideas, but I need your support. Just enough to stabilize things."

Oscar was silent again, likely thinking through the implications. "I can't commit to anything right now," he said cautiously. "But I'll see what strings I can pull. It won't be easy, Mendes. You've got a lot of people watching."

"I appreciate anything you can do," Mendes replied, grateful for even a sliver of hope. "I'll be in touch."

As soon as he hung up, Mendes dialed the second number. This call was going to be even trickier. Akbar Ouli, the Saudi Arabian oil heir and notorious "nepo baby," had always been a wildcard. His wealth came from his family's vast oil empire, and though he had inherited billions, he lacked the seasoned wisdom of a businessman like Oscar. Still, Akbar had influence and money, and Mendes needed every ally he could find.

The phone clicked after a few rings, and Akbar's voice, rich with a thick Saudi accent, greeted him. "Mendes, my friend! How are things?"

Mendes wasted no time. "Akbar, we're in trouble. I need your help. There's a situation with the investors, and if we don't come up with a plan, things are going to get ugly."

Akbar chuckled lightly, clearly not grasping the seriousness of the situation yet. "Ugly? How ugly are we talking?"

"Half a billion dollars ugly," Mendes replied flatly.

There was a long pause. "Ah… I see." Akbar's tone shifted, becoming more thoughtful, more calculating. "That's quite the mess."

I wouldn't be calling you if I had other options, Akbar. I need to figure out a way to calm the investors, buy some time, and find new funding. If you can throw in some capital, I'll make it worth your while. There's a future in this for both of us."

Akbar sighed. "I'll think about it. But you know my father won't like me throwing money at uncertain ventures. He'll want to know what's in it for us."

Mendes leaned forward in his chair, his grip tightening on the phone. "There's always more oil money to be made, Akbar. We can strike deals that'll put your family on the frontlines of global energy. But I need you in now, before it's too late."

"I'll speak to my father," Akbar finally said. "But you'll owe me, Mendes. You'll owe me big."

Mendes swallowed, knowing full well the kinds of favors Akbar would eventually ask for. But right now, he had no choice. "Whatever it takes. Just get back to me soon."

When Mendes hung up the phone, he exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples. It was a temporary relief, but the clock was still ticking. He had bought himself a sliver of time, but without a concrete plan in place, they were still very much on the edge of ruin.

Meanwhile, Pascal's footsteps echoed in the dark, empty street as he made his way to the address Sasha had texted him earlier that evening. After the conversation with his father, Pascal had left the house in a haze, desperate for a distraction, desperate for answers. Sasha had been the only person he could think of, the only one who seemed to understand the mess he was in. He couldn't shake her offer from his mind—the dangerous opportunity she had dangled in front of him.

The neon sign of a small, tucked-away apartment building flickered in the distance as Pascal approached. His pulse quickened. There was something about Sasha that pulled him in, despite the danger she represented. Maybe it was the way she didn't flinch when he talked about his failures, or maybe it was the fact that she seemed to see through his mask of indifference. Either way, he couldn't stay away.

He knocked on her door, and within moments, it swung open. Sasha stood there, a sly smile curling her lips as she leaned against the doorframe. Her eyes glinted in the low light, and Pascal felt his stomach tighten.

"Pascal," she greeted him, her voice smooth, almost teasing. "I wasn't sure you'd show."

"I need help," he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "That offer you made… I'm running out of time."

Sasha's smile widened as she closed the door behind him. "I figured. You looked desperate last night."

Pascal's jaw clenched, his nerves on edge. "This isn't a game, Sasha. I'm in real trouble."

Sasha crossed the room and sat on the edge of her sofa, her gaze never leaving his. "I told you. I can get you out of it. But there's a cost. You're sure you're ready to pay it?"

Pascal hesitated for only a moment before sitting down beside her. "What do you need from me?"

Her smile turned predatory as she leaned closer, her breath warm against his neck. "I think you already know."

The air between them shifted, the tension thick and electric. Pascal's heart raced as he tried to maintain control of himself, but the weight of everything he had been carrying—the debt, the fear, the grief—came crashing down on him. He was lost, desperate for anything that felt real, even if it was dangerous.

Sasha's hand slid to his chest, her fingers tracing the outline of his shirt as she whispered in his ear. "You don't have to think about tomorrow tonight. Let me take that weight off your shoulders."

Before he could respond, her lips were on his, fierce and demanding, pulling him into a world of heat and intensity. Pascal knew this was reckless, knew this was a distraction from everything he should be focused on, but for a moment, he let himself give in. His mind fogged over as the two of them tangled together, caught in a dangerous dance of desire and desperation.

The world outside, with all its problems, debts, and dangers, melted away for just a little while. But deep down, Pascal knew that when the morning came, the real trouble would only just be beginning.