Page 77 of Broken Wheels

He glared. “I don’t expect excuses. I expect results.”

“Yes, sir.” Vreeland’s Adam’s apple bobbed sharply.

“With that in mind, I’ve made a decision.” He indicated Mordaunt. “The pair of you will work on this together. Maybe two heads will prove to be better than one.”

He didn’t miss Vreeland’s sigh of relief, and took it for what it undoubtedly was—acceptance that cooperation with Mordaunt was better than being replaced by him.

Vreeland glanced at Mordaunt. “I’m sure we’ll be a great team.” His voice lacked his usual confident tone.

Vreeland was a very bad liar.

“I’ll drink to that.” He gestured to the bottle. “Will you join me?”

Some emotion flickered across Vreeland’s face, something akin to mistrust. His hesitation in responding confirmed the assessment. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Your choice, of course, but you’d be missing out.” He poured himself a shot, then sniffed it. “I laid in some of the good stuff. Yamazaki twenty-five-year-old single malt. It’s a blend of precious single malts that were distilled under the supervision of Suntory’s founder, Shinjiro Torii, and later aged in Mizunara casks. Very rare, very exclusive, and very hard to get. They only produce a few bottles each year.” He chuckled. “I was lucky to find this one.” He tossed it back, swallowing and enjoying the burn. It really was one of the best drinks in the world.

He peered at them. “Gentlemen? Join me?”

Vreeland still looked unconvinced, but Mordaunt nodded.

He held out the bottle. “Vreeland?”

Vreeland blinked. He narrowed his gaze, and it was almost possible to hear the cogs turning. Finally he sighed. “Of course. Thank you.”

He uncapped the bottle and helped himself to another, before pouring a finger of whiskey into the two remaining glasses. Mordaunt stood and joined Vreeland.

“If I’m not mistaken, Vreeland, you drink yours on the rocks, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” He smiled. “Only way I can stomach it.”

He used silver tongs to add a few cubes of ice to one of the glasses, then turned to Mordaunt. “Do you prefer ice as well?”

Mordaunt grinned, exuding confidence. “No, sir. Ice makes a good whiskey into a cheap drink, to my way of thinking.” He smiled at Vreeland. “No offense, of course.”

“None taken.” He accepted the glass, sniffing at its contents.

“Thank you, Mr. S.” Mordaunt smiled as he took his own glass. “Especially because we seem to share the same taste in whiskey.” Another grin. “A very expensive taste.”

He raised his glass. “To success.”

The two men mimicked him. He brought the glass to his lips and drank.

Mordaunt drank his slowly, clearly savoring each mouthful. His eyes sparkled. “Heaven in a bottle.”

Vreeland glanced at Mordaunt, gave the tiniest shrug, and drank his in one gulp. All three placed their glasses on the tray.

“Would either of you care for another?”

Both men thanked him, but declined. Mordaunt retook his seat, but Vreeland remained standing.

He sat back in his chair, his fingers laced over his stomach. “Tell me how you’ll be planning to proceed.”

“I was thinking we could—” Vreeland coughed. His eyes narrowed as he stared at him, his throat working. He tugged at his collar. “We could?—”

“Go on,” he prompted. “Could what?”

Any second now.