Everything You Need: Everything For You Trilogy Book 1 (10 page)

Suddenly I remember Jack and the way he stopped Anderson in his tracks without a raised voice or anything. The intensity of his blue eyes materialises right before mine. Although I feel a tight knot in my stomach, I step up to the desk and grab the phone from Brent’s hand.

“Urgent matter of business,” I say into the speaker. “Brent will ring you back.” I hang up and place it on the desk. The other guys watch with interest.

Brent is stunned into silence for all of a second. I’m pretty surprised myself.

“Put your tin helmets on boys, Brunhilde has a strop on.” Brent laughs. The rest have the good sense to look uncomfortable but not one of them puts Brent in his place or defends me.

It’s his latest tactic. He’s taken to calling me by the name of a Visigoth princess. I gave up treating it with the contempt it deserved and Googled it. A queen of mean, notorious for her cruelty and avarice which I think is pretty rich coming from Brent Tapper.

“I called a meeting half an hour ago.” I already dread his response.

“We’re far too busy keeping this place afloat to sit listening to your chit chat.”

They don’t look busy. I’m sure they’re just sitting listening to each other’s chit chat. But the implication is clear. He thinks I’m adding nothing to the business. My business. If Harry was alive he’d kick his butt but I can’t risk losing him and his contacts to my competitors at this transitional stage and he knows it.

“We need to begin preparations for a presentation to Zee-Com. I may just have got us another shot.” I want to kick myself. I’ve effectively brought my meeting to Brent.

“Whatever you say.” Brent doesn’t even bother to hide the look he gives my managers. It shouts humour the mad bitch. He’s so patronizing I could scream.

I turn and walk out knowing standing there won’t change anything. It might prevent me from hyperventilating all over Brent Tapper though. I’m not going to provide an excuse for him to make jokes about having that effect on all women.

I feel like the pathetic loser he thinks I am. So far this has been a really rotten day. I retreat to my office and go over the brief for a local restaurant’s advertising campaign. I jot down a few ideas and make an appointment to see the client next week. I email some notes to the creatives department.

At least I’m trying to improve matters, not make them ten times worse.

I leave in good time taking Libby with me for moral support. I can’t do this alone but I’m annoyed at myself for pandering to Jack’s whims. For the moment I see I have little choice. No matter what I do to talk myself into it, it will take more than a hot shower to prepare myself for spending the night with him. And not because I don’t want to.

Libby does her best to calm me down but I’m pacing when the doorbell rings on the stroke of five. I’ve been watching the clock.

“Jack Keogh is going to be nothing, if not thorough,” Libby states. She’s a good judge of character.

“What that means for me tonight, I have yet to figure out.”

I open the door to a man dressed in a sharp black suit who stands there holding up a long dress carrier. Actually, he looks more like a marine in a business suit. All crew cut and taut, reactive muscles. He only needs a pair of dark shades and I would think Secret Service. I spot them pushed up high on his head.

The carrier is the sort that expensive couturier houses transport gowns in. I’ve watched enough episodes of Sex and the City to realise that. I spot the label. God, he’s sent me a Versace.

“Miss Caid?”

“Yes.”

“Mr Keogh asked me to deliver this to you.”

Somehow, seeing a man, obviously one that works directly for Jack, rather than a courier, makes it all the more excruciating. Does this guy do all his boss’s sensitive personal work? I wonder how many expensive dresses he’s delivered to other women destined for Jack Keogh’s bed.

“Thank you.” I act like this is nothing out of the ordinary for me either. Except I don’t know what to do next. Should I tip him? Ask him to come in and put it on the bed? I just can’t bring myself to do that.

He sorts the problem for me. Making no attempt to enter, he drapes the garment across his outstretched arms and holds it towards me. It reminds me of a swooning female and the symbolism is apt. The guy, on the other hand is the consummate professional. He doesn’t betray what he thinks by so much as a flicker.

I grab at it, no longer caring if I crease it after its long, careful journey.

“Thank you.” I’m beginning to feel like a parrot but I awkwardly hold the delivery guy’s steady look. I refuse to be intimidated by any minion of Jack’s.

The man removes a card from his inside jacket pocket and places it on top. “If there’s any problem with the fit, phone this number. They’ll send a tailor straight away. Good afternoon, Miss Caid.” He turns and leaves, not prolonging my agony.

Jack obviously isn’t giving me any get-out clause like pretending I have nothing to wear or nothing fits. Libby appears from her discrete hiding place as I stretch up and hook it over an adjacent door.

“Are you going to open it? Oh my God, it’s Versace.”

I roll my eyes at her. “I know.”

Do I want to glimpse Jack’s plans for me this evening? Or do I really not want to know?

“It doesn’t matter what you wear, does it? You’re doing this for CaidCo,” Libby suggests. I know she’s dying to see the dress.

My hands shake slightly as I unzip the bag. As soon as I see it I understand why.

“Wow. It’s perfect.” Libby says, stroking it.

“Perfect for seduction. What there is of it.” Simple, elegant, understated and very, very expensive.

“It must have cost thousands.”

“What’s it going to cost me?” I look at Libby and she hugs me. I’m suddenly very conscious of what the evening has in store. Of Jack Keogh’s plans.

“I’m contemplating pouring myself a very large, very alcoholic Bombay Sapphire.” Strangely enough Jack didn’t pour the scant remains of that bottle down the sink.

“Go for it. We broke any six o’clock rule this afternoon.” Libby reminds me of the alcohol infused coffee. “I’ll pour.” She goes off to organise the drinks.

The dress is beautiful, I’ll admit that. It’s powder blue silk. I can’t help staring at it as it hangs on the back of the door until Libby returns with the gin & tonics.

“The colour reminds me of a favourite little dress I used to wear a lot when I interned for Harry.”

“I remember it. Maybe Jack remembers too?”

“No. It’s co-incidence.”

“That colour looks amazing against your brown hair.”

“And my boring brown eyes.” I take a huge slurp of gin.

“Are you kidding me? Your eyes are beautiful. I wish I had big brown Bambi eyes like you.”

“Thanks, Libby.” I wonder if Jack even knows the colour of my eyes. I could never forget his. I lift the soft fabric between my fingers. “It gleams in daylight.” And reminds me of Arctic blue.

“Candlelight will make it shimmer even more,” Libby remarks.

“Candles?” I mentally kick myself. Why on earth would I imagine the evening as romantic? There’s nothing about romance in any of this. It’s a calculated business deal dished up with a side order of sex.

“The dress will be tight. Far too tight. I’m not slender enough to fit into high fashion like this.” I sigh with aggravation. Jack must have read the size labels of clothes I bought when I was still a teenager. “Why would he even consider someone like me might fit a dress like this? There’s nothing waif-like or willowy about me.” I spread the narrow width of the bodice in disgust. Low-cut, sleeveless. Softly draped to maximise the cleavage on view.

Libby and I stare at each other with widening eyes.

“I’ll be surprised if I can even do up the zipper.”

“It’s meant to hug your hips too, right to the tops of your thighs, then flow out like an ocean.”

“Beached whale comes to mind.”

“Don’t do that to yourself, Tabby. You have an amazing figure. I’m just skinny. You got all the curves. Men like curves.”

“Not men that buy dream dresses like this. Little will be left to Jack’s imagination when I wear that dress. If I can get in it.”

“There’s always the tailor,” Libby reminds me.

We wrestle it off the hanger and lay it on the bed like a dead body.

“I think I’ll ask him to add a nice wide panel of my contrasting orange curtains up each side. And a strip around the bosom.” I think my drink is kicking in as I slurp it. “Redesign the bugger.”

“Yeah. You should so do it. That’ll teach him. Up yours, Versace.” Libby’s drink seems to be having an effect also.

“Up yours too, Jack Keogh.”

We laugh.

Reality sobers me. “Honestly though, what if I refuse? Perhaps I can wear a dress of my own instead? One far less revealing. One that might zip up at least. I’m my own woman. What better way to give Jack a clear message than turn up without his silly dress on.” I toss the silk lengths aside as if I haven’t just admired them.

“You could send it back – thanks, but no thanks – I’ll take it,” Libby offers. “I’ll wear my black shades. There’s still time.”

Jack’s face floats into my mind. His words haunt me. “It’s a deal breaker. That’s what he said.”

“Perhaps you can put a huge cardigan over the top?”

“He means to have me. I don’t think any cardigan is going to change that. And if that means dressing me too, like a silly doll, I’m just going to have to suck it up.” I suck up the last of my double gin.

“Then have him right back. Could be worse. It might be a relief to get it out of the way?” she suggests.

Thoughts of having Jack, grinding on top of the expensive blue silk that he’s just peeled off my naked body, make me weak. I imagine each delicious inch of Jack’s hard body pounding me into the floor. For a second, it’s a good dream.

“Who am I kidding? The only relief I’m going to feel is if he manages to get the zipper undone before it bursts.” I grab Libby’s glass and toss the last of her iced gin down my throat too.

Soaking for a long, leisurely time in a hot bath, I remember how much I wanted that man. I so ached for him to want me I would have stood in front of him naked, gift-wrapped with a big red bow tied around my neck, if it meant he would have noticed me. Actually, I’m surprised I never thought of that one at the time. And relieved. Now the thought of him seeing me naked, horrifies me. I submerge my whole head beneath the surface of the water with a groan.

Libby helps me to get ready and straightens my hair. Between us the zipper goes where it’s meant to. I stand back while Libby admires our efforts.

“You look beautiful, Tabitha. That dress fits like a glove.”

“A glove on the point of bursting.” I try to tuck my spilling boobs back into the bodice. “Luckily I haven’t eaten all day.”

“How did he know your size anyway?”

“He has a good eye for women’s figures apparently.” I roll my eyes as I repeat Jack’s words.

Libby laughs. “I’ll bet he has.”

I snorted. “That’s exactly what I said.”

Libby squints at me. “You’ve had quite a bit to drink if you haven’t eaten all day.”

I am feeling a bit anaesthetised but, for me, that’s the whole point.

When the doorbell rings for the second time, we look at each other in alarm.

“Sleep over if you want Libby. I won’t be back ’til morning.”

“Knock him dead, kid.”

Libby sees me off at the door. The same black-suited man stands there; my driver, as well as Jack’s delivery boy. Perhaps Jack is being discrete. The less people that know about this awkward little arrangement, the better. I see Libby gawp in amazement at the good-looking driver and grin. She winks at me.

“Miss Caid. Madam.” He acknowledges Libby whom I notice, with amusement, blushes. “My name is Blackstock. It will be my pleasure to drive you tonight.”

Mild panic rises. I hesitate but the guy doesn’t rush me. Soon there’ll be no turning back. Jack bruised my heart once before, but I’m over him. I can do this in cold blood.

I can’t. I panic.

I want to slam the door in Blackstock’s face. Send the message I’ve changed my mind. Jack can’t even call for me himself. He wants his toy delivered. Send a car is right. And, I suspect, looking at Blackstock’s toned body beneath the smart disguise of a civilised suit, he’s sent a bodyguard too, to make sure I don’t escape his clutches. I wouldn’t be surprised if the man was carrying a firearm.

Shotgun sex.

I turn for a last look at my reflection in the full-length mirror by the door. An old habit. It shouldn’t matter what I look like. This is for business only. But I can’t face Jack without knowing I look good. Pathetic as it is I want him to realise what he’s been missing all these years.

I see smooth, glossy hair. Big smoky eyes. Full lips. Acres of cleavage. The very obvious nature of that part of my body, down to his choice of dress. I’m perfectly groomed for seduction.

The delivery guy – which is exactly who Blackstock is – lifts my small overnight bag to my acute embarrassment and awareness that he’s comfortable enough to have definitely done this sort of thing before.