Resistance of the sides

Chapter 4

Saint Suppapong's office looked very different from what Perth had imagined. He was not defiantly flashy or vulgar, as one might judge from the reception area. Instead, he found himself in a beautifully furnished room with large windows looking out onto the street and into a beautifully manicured garden. The walls painted oyster gray created a neutral background for numerous paintings. Perth looked around in surprise–it was as if he had entered an art gallery. Saint clearly favored modern painting, and Perth reluctantly admitted that he had excellent taste. The desk with rounded corners resembled a work of art. 

Saint was watching Perth closely and narrowed his eyes as soon as he turned to him. He nodded at a chair, offering to sit down, but Perth was too excited to calmly withstand his mocking gaze.

- I'm not going to waste the whole day on you, - Saint warned. - Let's get down to business. Don't try to get leniency–it doesn't work on me. I'll tell you what: you won't get the money if I don't get something in return. Don't expect to live in an apartment that's too big for you. If the only purpose of your unexpected visit is to awaken pity in me and get money, you're wasting your time.

For a moment, Perth was speechless: he did not remember anyone talking to him in such a tone. For the first four years of his life, he lived like a prince in a palace, and after his parents separated, in an instant he found himself in the epicenter of a nightmare that lasted ten years. After the death of his mother in a car accident, he returned to his father again, destroying his marriage with another wife. Everyone was tiptoeing around him. No one knew what to do with the unhappy, embittered teenager, least of all himself. Psychological trauma deprived him of confidence and lowered his self-esteem. Perth became aggressive and unpredictable, but quickly realized that he could easily manipulate people. However, he had serious suspicions that Saint Suppapong saw through him and easily guessed the pretense. His blue eyes were too intelligent and penetrating. Under his gaze, it suddenly seemed to him that he was reading his thoughts, and he did not like them.

– How can I survive? 

Grinning, Saint theatrically grabbed an invisible violin out of the air and began to play, but immediately lowered his big hands and calmly looked at him.

- Spare me the pathetic stories, Perth. – he said, "you'd better try to explain this.

He opened a large brown envelope and emptied the contents onto the table. Perth stared in surprise at the stack of photographs and magazine clippings.

– Where did you get them?

As if fearing infection, Saint winced in disgust:

- Your father gave it to me.

Perth knew that his name was often mentioned in gossip columns and in glossy celebrity magazines that decorated supermarket shelves. Some of the notes he read, some not, but still did not guess about their number. The story of his life unfolded before her in pictures: the photos lay before him like a scattered deck of cards. In the pictures, he went in and out of clubs and restaurants, from exhibitions and fashion shows. Looking at Saint, Perth read unmistakably the condemnation in the depths of the dark blue eyes. 

- Good, aren't they? – she remarked casually, finally sitting down on a chair.

At that moment Saint was ready to bang his fist on the table out of desperation: he is unfamiliar with the feeling of shame. It was worse than he had expected. 

The most annoying thing is that on a subconscious level, her trick worked. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, Saint couldn't take his eyes off him–Perth fascinated him. Combed back hair revealed a beautiful oval face and emerald eyes. He recalled his reaction when Paul asked him for help and showed him the photos for the first time. Looking at them, Saint was speechless for a moment, having experienced a sharp, like a blow to the stomach, an attack of lust.. A feeling of guilt gripped Saint, and he shook his head: