In response to a text, I met Hope at her midtown Manhattan offices a few days later. I wore a skirt suit, heels maybe a little higher than I normally would, and little lacy panties and bra I wouldn't normally wear for a business meeting -- not that I really expected anything to happen at her office, in mid-day but wanted to be pleasing if something could happen.
She greeted me, let me into her office, closed the door, and kissed me hard. Then almost as if she hadn't just left me breathless, walked around her desk, sat down, and gestured me to the chair in front of it. I sat.
"To complete the round," she said, "we still need another $20 million or so. Here is one opportunity for us. This is a hard one, and if you say no, we will try to find other opportunities."
She moved a file across the desk to me, I couldn't help admiring her rednailed manicure.
"Vladimir Nishkov," she said. "A limited partner, and a co-investor in several of our ventures. Russian billionaire. Also not a nice man. Look through it."
I paged through the folder. There was a photo, a man with a square-headed, close trimmed head, icy blue eyes, and a stern gaze. A list of his holdings and assets. Also a kind of diagram with connections to the Russian elite.
"He has reviewed your business plan, and thinks it interesting, but, uh, seemed at least as interested in your profile."
"Um, what does that mean?"
Hope looked unhappily away.
"Were you okay with Chuck?"
"I'd rather have been with you, but eight figures, worth a fuck."
She smiled. "Yes. But Vlad will want more. He's a bit of a sadist. And will want a sense of ownership."
"Wait... so you want to sell me to a Russian billionaire?"