But instead of stopping Tamara, he took a step back in disgust and slid his arm around her waist.
"Philippa, don't blame me for being heartless. Tamara's right to do this."
"You've always been too stubborn for your own good. If I don't teach you a bloody lesson, how am I supposed to run this company?"
"You believe in all that spiritual nonsense so much? Why don't you pray for your precious gods to come down and save that old hag?"
"If you don't sign, we pull the plug. You brought this on yourself. Don't blame anyone else."
As he spoke, he walked behind the desk and reached beneath a decorative piece, pulling out a small, delicate Censer.
He rummaged through the ash with a look of revulsion, fishing out the other half of the Holy Cup.
"This piece of junk gives me a headache just looking at it. Take it back."
Bertram let out a cold laugh and hurled the Holy Cup to the ground like a piece of trash.
"Who exactly were you trying to curse with this thing?"
Then he raised his foot and brought it down hard, grinding his heel into the Holy Cup.
The wood groaned and cracked under the pressure.