(Previously on Confessions:

Haunted by Darce’s memory and Kot’s warning, Obi wrestled with passion and restraint. At the coastal resort, Kot pressed him to keep his promise: no recklessness, no foolishness. Yet as they awaited Amadi and his entourage beneath the makuti shade, suspicion hung thick in the air. The lifelike mermaid statue seemed to watch, as though mocking Obi’s unease. Then came Amadi, bow-legged, sharp-eyed, grinning with petty pride, flanked by his companions. A meeting set for business was already steeped in tension, shadows, and the risk of old desires colliding with dangerous new deals.)

“I earnestly beg you, not to disturb yourself and not be uneasy. Order whatever you want,” began Amadi impressively, as we took our seats.

His two companions were his assistant, a wiry Middle Eastern gentleman named Rashad in his mid-twenties, and a middle-aged lawyer named Miss Antonella.

“Do you know, Mr. Amadi, you’d better not invite us to be our natural selves. Please don’t risk it. I will not go so far myself,” Kot chuckled, giving me a sideways glance which none of the party caught.

“Oh, but that is the root of it all,” Amadi countered, signaling a waitress.

All this while, I was silently watching his companions. His secretary was attractive, well-built, and quite tall. He had a strange fixity in his gaze and appeared to be the silent and awkward type. The type that would become talkative and effusive when he was alone with anyone, but whose animation would vanish as fast.

The lawyer was looking around with assumed ease. Butting her long eyelashes rapidly as she shuffled through her bag, taking out a notebook and pen.

“I’ll have a scotch, neat,” Amadi ordered. Rashad asked for a cold beer, and the lawyer, a glass of a mocktail.

“I’ll have a single malt, and Obi will be having water,” Kot ordered for both of us.

“Hold it,” Amadi stopped the waitress before leaving and looked at me incredulously. “Why just water for you, don’t you want something else?” He asked.

“I wouldn’t want to impose on your generosity, and besides, it’s a hot day, and a glass of cold water would be a welcome respite.”

“Well, there is that, but there’s no way we’re having a business conversation of this nature without a proper drink, Mr. Obi.”

“Then I’ll have a bourbon to accompany the water. And it’s ‘Obi,’” I said.

“Ah, a man of taste, but I daresay it’s acquired!” Amadi laughed as he waved the lady off to get our drinks.

I just hope this won’t be a pissing contest.

“Much is still plunged in the mists of uncertainty, though there are people who’d be pleased to describe me for you,” I said.

“I suppose Kot is one of them, for he said you were the brains behind the ecstasy, such as we had the other night,” Amadi said. “I even lost my woman in the revelry, waking up beside…”

“Yes, it was a great party,” Antonella said. “And we hope this meeting will be the same,” in a gruff voice betraying her demure.

A surly woman, this Antonella.

“Ooh, and here come our drinks,” Kot said.

I took a sip of water, lowered my glass on the table, picked up the bourbon, and sat back.

“Let’s get this over with,” I announced.

“Yes, let’s do this,” Rashad mumbled.

“My family owns a hotel group, managing hotels across four continents and soon, five,” began Amadi, seriously. He was hunched in his seat, with one hand hanging lazily by the side, holding the glass on the right.

“We’d like to bring in something fresh and unique, to cater to an exclusive clientele with deep pockets and morbid fantasies. And having been to your party, I think you two would be a perfect fit for our partners in this venture,” he stopped, as if letting that sink in.

“You can’t have decided that from just one party,” I said.

“I’ve had assessors around for a minute now, and your outfit kept appearing in their reports. That’s why I decided to come and see for myself what it was like to attend a party hosted by you.”

“What would you like from us?” Kot asked, putting his beer on the table.

“We want your expertise and contacts to supplement ours. We’ll take care of the expenses, and you’ll receive 20% of the returns,” suddenly came Antonella’s gruff voice. She clutched the arms of her chair with both hands as though ready to leap up from it if the answer were unfavorable.

“Organizing is not as easy as numbers,” Kot countered brazenly.

“What would you rather it be?” Came Amadi, now seated up.

“We’d rather we kept our contacts,” I began, “share in the profits at 17.5% in the first quarter, 22.5% in the second and third, and settle for 28% by the end of the fourth quarter,” Kot finished.

Amadi stared with bated breath, Antonella clutched even tighter on his seat, and Rashad maintained his bored expression.

“We’d need some meat to bite on, and as it stands, we’re the only ones going out on a limb here,” Antonella said.

“Draw up the papers with your deliverables and expectations, and if they’re agreeable, then we’ll put a signature to it,” I said, sipping on my bourbon.