Chapter Text
“Mr. Crowley, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Bela’s voice oozed charm and professionalism, despite her dislike of the man.
“Oh come now, darling. You don’t have to use the fake charm on me. I know better,” Crowley chuckled, sending ice through Bela’s veins, even through the phone line.
“Fine. What do you want?” she said, with a touch of disdain. She was careful to keep a leash on her personal feelings. There was a difference between toning down the fake charm and outright disrespect. And she had to, begrudgingly, respect the man. He may be a right prick, but he knew his business, and he was ruthless. Not to mention he owned her for the next four years. “Do you have a new talent you need me to represent?” she asked, hoping it was her legitimate business the Scot needed, and not her more questionable talents. Nothing good ever came of it when Crowley needed those services.
“No, my dear, I am in need of your procurement skills, to an extent. I don’t need you to get me something, but I need you to make something happen for me. I will compensate you handsomely, of course.” The smarm was overwhelming, which didn’t bode well.
“Details, please.” She wanted to get this over with. Just talking with him reduced her normally rock solid confidence, making her feel like a teenager forced into some prank by the high school bully. Honestly, that was never far from the mark.
“Your hot new talent, Dean Winchester, the sculptor. I need him to get national exposure, preferably positive. I don’t need him in the gossip rags. And I don’t care how you do it, but it has to happen by the end of next month, ideally sooner.”
“What’s the big deal with this guy? I mean, I know why he’s special in the art world, but why are you interested in him?” She was mildly concerned. If something happened to one of her clients because of her actions, that would be very bad for business.
“That is none of your concern, Ms. Talbot,” he rebuked. “Rest assured, nothing unseemly will get back to you. As far as anyone is concerned, you will be promoting one of your client’s careers. You’ll be doing your job. You will just be doing it more aggressively in this case. I’m not asking you to do anything illegal, darling.”
“I don’t know. On the surface it sounds like it’s not a big deal. But if something happens to him—“ Not that she really cared about the artist as a person. She just needed to protect her reputation.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental on me now,” he said, incredulous.
“Oh please, you know me better than that," she said with a touch of sarcasm. "It’s just bad for business. I’m sure you can appreciate that.” She pinched the bridge of her nose to stave off a headache that was looming on the horizon.
“Sweetheart, I helped you build that business. Do you really think I’d ask you to do something that would jeopardize it? You might as well stop fighting this. I’m not actually asking you to do it. I’m telling you to do it. I own you, Ms. Talbot. You must remember the contract that you signed six years ago, yeah? You still owe me four years of services, no questions asked. So stop asking questions and do as you’re told, like a good little girl.”
Bela sighed at the scolding. She did remember the contract. She was haunted by it daily, reminded every time she stepped through the doors to her offices. Before she met Fergus McCloud, who preferred to be called Crowley, she made her money through procuring high-value objects for high-paying, high-profile clientele. Such transactions were usually not strictly within the law, and she’d had a run of bad transactions that put her on Interpol’s watch list.
Crowley, being her biggest client, had offered her a deal. He would set her up in a legitimate profession with a new, completely backstopped ID, and the right contacts to start out with a bang. In return, she continued her previous line of work for him, whenever he asked. He still paid her handsomely, of course, services rendered and all that. But she was not allowed to turn down any of his requests. There was a clause in the contract about her right to refuse, or lack of. If she refused anything he asked of her, he would destroy her and her business, and make sure Interpol knew exactly where to find her.
Bela recognized that she sold her soul to the devil, so to speak, but it wasn’t like she had much of one anyway. But his orders had never come so close to her legit business ventures before, and it made her more than nervous.
“Very well. It's not going to be easy, you know. Winchester hates being in the spotlight. I seem to remember you saying something about being handsomely compensated? Just how handsomely?” If she couldn’t get out of it, she may as well profit from it.
“Remember the Orb of Thesulah? That handsome enough for you?” Crowley practically cooed at her.
That made Bela perk up. The Orb of Thesulah had been a difficult and, therefore, rewarding acquisition. Although, Bela didn’t really know what Crowley would need a soul vault for, except for a very expensive paperweight. “That will be acceptable. Will there be anything else, Mr. Crowley? As much as I enjoy our little chats, I do have work to do.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but she was anxious to get the man off the phone. She dealt in some pretty shady circles, but dealing with Crowley always made her feel the need to shower.
“No, my dear, that will be all. Keep me informed. Oh, if he needs a little prodding, tell him you have pictures of him with a man named Alastair. That should do the trick. Let me knew if you need the photos, I'll send them over.” The call terminated before she could respond.
Completing the task should not be that difficult. She had already been working on Sculpture Magazine to do a piece on Dean Winchester, so all she really had to do is make sure that the article got more exposure. There was just the little nagging thought that she was part of something bigger, something not good. She shook it off.
Whatever Dean Winchester had done to get on Crowley’s radar, well, that was his problem.