Chapter four

Sophia's POV 

Now, it's an order. I turn and look at Magrioli. And this time, he's looking right at me. Same way he was studying his notes a couple of minutes ago. I look away as quickly as I can. 

"If you want me there, I'll have to get my things first." 

"The car is at your service, Sophia. Make use of it well. Is there anything else you want me to know?" 

Out of some sort of queer fun, I ask her, "Do I also get to use the private jet?" 

"Unfortunately, Ethan will be using that. You'll fly business class. See you soon, Sophia. And do keep the phone, please." 

The call disconnects. 

"Went well?" Magrioli enquires. 

"Uh-uh." 

"Does it look like you're getting a promotion soon?" 

I'm getting a marriage certificate pushed into my hands, how's that for gambling? 

I reach forward and pick up the carton. "She did hint on anything like that." 

"So what was it about?" 

"It's something personal." 

He huffs, and scoffs. "A personal call at the office? You can try pulling my legs better, Sophia." 

"You don't need to know anything about ladies discussion, Mag." 

"Please, don't call me that." 

"What?" 

"Mag. Don't call me that." 

"Why? Your name is too long for me to remember. I need to take a shortcut." 

"Alright, you have made your goddamn point, Sophia. You can leave now." 

"Thank you, Mag," I say, as a parting shot. 

I get back to my office and I'm alone once more. Time to face the billionaire's mother. What should I tell her? Agree or disagree? If I do, it's not going to make me too happy. If I don't, I'll probably lose my job and never find another in the whole country. 

I'm in between the devil and his mother. And she baits pretty well. 

Ethan's POV 

I step out into fresh air again. Look around the place. Haven't changed much since the last time I visited. Which was six months ago. Mom hardly ever changes something without asking me to do it myself. I should always be in charge in things that concern her. But it seems that this time is somewhat different. I'm not the one in charge here. She is. 

I don't see Simmons. He's already inside. Probably exchanging pleasantries with the woman Mom has brought into the mansion. 

She comes over and puts her hand in my left elbow. We walk up the steps together. 

"You don't look elated to be here," she says. 

"Says who?" 

"Says the look on your face, Ethan. I know how to read that quite well." 

"Why did you look for a woman without asking me first? You think I can't find one one my own?" 

"I never said that." 

"Good to know. But, that's how you make me feel." 

She pats my shoulder in a maternal way that makes me believe that she's just trying to settle the score in my heart. It's like I'm still being spoon-fed by her and it feels awkward. What is the lady going to think of me anyway? Tech billionaire worth seventeen billion doesn't have the guts to pick his own lady, so has to depend on his mother to do it for him. Ha ha. What a laugh. Look at him. Like Johnny Francesco dragged all the way to a fundraiser by Orson. 

"You are going to like her," she assures me. 

I have to laugh at her assurances. "You using your Trump card now, are you mother?" 

"I'm not. She's brilliant, careful, worth the travel. See her as some insurance policy." 

"What?" 

The door opens, and a lady dressed in black and white livery stands beside the door. 

"Welcome home, sir." 

"Thank you, Justine." 

"Have you prepared his favorite, Justine?" Mom asks. 

Justine curtseys. "I have. Soon to be served." 

We walk the short lobby. The walls are covered with 3D wallpapers, programmed to display exactly what you want at a single touch. I stop to observe the current view. Always do whenever I walk in through these doors. What's now showing on the wallpaper is a waterfall. 

"Who's thinking of rain, Mom? You?" 

"I'm not that optimistic about nature, Ethan." 

"Yeah. You are in love with the facts." 

"Hmmm. And the numbers too. Can't make good business without the numbers." 

"What about psychology, Mom? Doesn't that represents something, at least?" 

She looks at me like she's never even heard the word before. "What's that? Does it even matter?" 

I shrug, not wanting to make it look like a big deal. "Well, if you ask the economists who deal with with real time stock exchange markets and real time foreign exchange currencies, they'll tell you that psychology is key. Got to make the best decisions in the best state of mind or you'll just, you know, keep getting liquidated." 

"Is that also key in marketing?" 

"I guess so. Yes. Why?" 

She smiles. "Oh, nothing. Just curious enough." 

I turn my attention back at the wallpaper. "So, whose psychology is this?" 

"I have no idea," she says. "When I was still here this morning, it was showing a lady leaning against your office table and you in the chair. Should be Simmons. 

What can I say? I keep silent and place my hand on the wall. Satisfied at what comes up, I walk down the lobby. Mom says nothing. 

It is a dystopic version of the house and I am unable to recognize it. 

"We'll see her first and then we'll all have lunch. Right?" 

"Right," I say agreeably. 

The parlor opens before us like a book, descending steps bringing is to its level. I feel the welcome. On this floor, by the dining area, the window is completely seven foot glass, right from the floor. Beyond, is the Sneakerella garden and a ping pong table. The white curtains are drawn to the ends. 

I bring my eyes back to the center of the li 

ving room, and she's right there. Sitting on the Versace couch.