Persephone

Chapter 8

I looked over the paper for the third time to ascertain I didn't misread nor ignore any information.

Mr. Russo stood beside me, tapping his finger on the desk, not bothering to read the contract once. He seemed agitated, and I understood that if I were him, I would be as well.

Placing the paper onto the desk, I looked to the lawyer, and said, "I'm ready to sign."

The lawyer nodded, handing a pen to Mr. Russo and to me.

"Please sign at the bottom with the date beside your signature," he said.

Mr. Russo signed one paper, I signed the other. We traded papers and signed them as well.

"And please sign the third so the courts have it registered," he said, and so we did.

"Very well. On October 23, 1917, Mr. Antonio Dante Russo has agreed to the conditions stipulated in the contract signed also by Ms. Lucille Grace who has also agreed to the conditions stipulated in the contract. Both parties have a contract of their own that they may show to the courts in a matter of civil dispute should the need arise. The courts also have a signed copy to protect against fraud. If there are no more questions, the two of you may leave." The lawyer spoke so monotonously that a yawn threatened to break from my lips.

"Thank you, Mr. Cowell," Mr. Russo said, before he looked to me, gesturing to the door, "After you, Ms. Grace."

I murmured polite gratitude before leaving the office first.

The sun was bright, but I had no hat to shield my eyes.

Mr. Russo took my hesitation as invitation, and asked, "Would you care to join me for lunch, Ms. Grace?"

I looked to him as he stood in the shadows of the awning of the office building.

Though the sun was broiling even in October, the shadows were cold enough for the necessity of a jacket. Still, Mr. Russo stood comfortably in the shadows, looking down at me with a polite yet expectant expression.

"Apologies, Mr. Russo, but I need to return to my shop," I told him, not wanting to be around any longer than necessary.

"Please don't misconstrue my invitation as anything but business," he said sharply, almost looking to me with a look of contempt, "I only desire to speak on the matter of when I can send you the jewels."

"And I suppose discussing business over a meal would be better than in an office," I said dryly.

"Naturally, one cannot think on an empty stomach and good food is pleasing to the body and soul."

"Perhaps at a later date, Mr. Russo, I cannot afford to spend more than given for one day," I told him, though I still had plenty of change in my pocket to afford a small meal.

"Ms. Grace, are you serious about our business or will you continue to make excuses to avoid it?" Mr. Russo asked, his voice deep and threatening.

"I was trying to be polite, but I must remind you now that you are a man and I am a woman. Eating together alone will only lead to rumors." I informed him, though it was just another excuse.

He took a deep breath as though calming his irritation.

"I was thinking of my family's restaurant which is on the way back to your shop. No one there would confuse my affiliations with you with anything other than business." He told me.

We glared at each other for a minute. His silent stare dared me to refuse one more time, and I took the time to find another excuse to avoid being near him.