Devil | A Solomons

ONE - SIX O'CLOCK MEETING

Irina sat at her desk, one leg crossed over the other with her hair pulled around one shoulder, her fingers wrapped around the nib of a pen as she signed her name for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

The wind was howling outside, the windows screeching every time a gale blew against the glass. She was used to the cold, but something about the view from her office window watching the water in the canals shiver like her skin did unsettled her. It was like the place was alive.

"Miss Zakharov, Mr Shelby is here for your six o'clock meeting."

She glanced up at the door after hearing a faint knock, an eyebrow raised at the gentleman, Kristian, who handled her diary for her hovering in the frame, looking slightly more intimidated than he usually did whenever he disturbed her.

Irina had wanted to finish up at four that afternoon, however Kristian had told her earlier that her three o'clock appointment with a Mr Shelby had been requested to be rescheduled to later that evening.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, she leant back in her chair and moved the stack of papers to one side, beckoning with her hand to send in the guest.

"Please," she spoke as the man who she assumed was Mr Shelby entered the room, closing the door behind him, "Take a seat."

He cleared his throat and made his way across the room, pulling out the chair opposite Irina and sitting himself down, his lips pulled into a straight line and his eyes cold, cheeks as hollow as the dark side of the moon.

"Will Mr Zakharov be joining us?"

His accent wasn't the same as the other men in London, but Irina couldn't guess where he was from. She hadn't read the report Kristian had given her on who Mr Shelby was, not because she didn't have time, but because she simply didn't care. There were far too many other things she had on her mind that were more important than briefing herself for a meeting with a gentleman she'd never heard of.

"Mr Zakharov?" Irina furrowed her brows, tilting her head as she looked at the man before her.

"Yes," he replied, licking her lips, "Are you his assistant? Wife?"

This wasn't the first time Irina had been asked if she was Mr Zakharov's wife, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. She hoped that there would come a day when men wouldn't expect only other men to run successful businesses, but it seemed like nothing was changing anytime soon.

"I am Mr Zakharov. How can I help you, Mr Shelby?"

He stared at her blankly for a few moments, Irina unable to work out what he was thinking as she looked into his eyes, not that she cared anyway.

The man shifted in his seat and clasped his hands together, resting them on the desk, "It's vodka you sell, isn't it?"

"Yes," she responded, "Are you interested in purchasing?"

Mr Shelby leant back in his chair, a small smile now on his face as his eyes lit up.

"No, I'm not. And I don't think anybody else is, either, with all due respect."

Irina glanced out the window and let out a quiet sigh. She'd had enough of Englishmen telling her that nobody wanted vodka, that it wasn't as in demand as it was in Russia or the east. She believed them at first, however after opening up the premises in London, she'd made enough money to expand to open three more factories across the country in just over a year.

"And with all due respect to you, Mr Shelby-"

"-Tommy."

She glanced up at him after his interruption, "Tommy. You clearly have no idea what you're talking about. I have factories up and down England shipping out stock every hour. Now what is it that I can do for you?"

He pursed his lips in thought for a moment, his head tilted slightly to the side as he narrowed his eyes across the table at Irina.

Thomas Shelby hadn't expected to come face to face with a woman when he decided to approach Zakharov Industries, but that hadn't thrown him off. If anything, he thought it might've been easier to reach an agreement with her than if the director had been a man, but after speaking with her, he had a suspicion that he may have been wrong.

"I'd like to buy your warehouse. Not all of them, just this one here in London. Perfect size, location, easy to get stock in and out quickly."

"What makes you think it's for sale?"

"Miss Zakharov," he smiled at her which was probably an innocent emotion, but to Irina, it looked patronising, "Everything is for sale if you offer the right price."

"I have more money than you could ever offer me, Mr Shelby, I will not be selling my premises."

For a moment, he looked defeated. Irina was exhausted, drained from her long day chasing up her staff to work faster, fill more bottles and ship more pallets. It felt as though sometimes she was the only person working, but the money that kept falling into her lap reminded her that it was worth every second.

"Look, I can pay you your revenue for the next three years if you sell me this building. Trust me, Miss Zakharov, vodka is not going to stand the test of time, not here."

"And what do you think will?"

"Gin. That's what I produce." He answered.

Irina stifled a chuckle, baffled as to how he had the confidence to come into her business and pick apart the sustainability of the product that had made her rich beyond her wildest dreams.

"I don't like gin. Maybe you should try selling something else, rum, perhaps?"

It was his turn to laugh then. He looked intimidating, his presence cold and hostile as he sat with less emotion and personality than a ghost passing through a wall. There was something about Tommy Shelby that unnerved Irina, but she reminded herself that she'd come face to face with men far scarier than him in her time, and so far, she'd never lost.

"Funny you should say that, rum is on the rise in popularity. I have a friend who distills rum, not far from here, actually."

"Oh you do?" Irina feigned interest, looking down at her nails as she kissed her teeth, "Who is this friend?"

"Alfie Solomons."

an;
Hiii!! New story!! Only a short chapter to begin with, updates coming soon! Hope u enjoy xxx
-champagnepoetry-