Everything You Need: Everything For You Trilogy Book 1 (45 page)

Brent’s voice booms over hers. “Better than Brunhilde? It’s a
red
letter day, Libby. We’ve caught the lady
red
-handed. She’ll be
red
-faced when she knows, we know all about her exploits. The coarse male laughter continues.

Each hideous emphasis Brent makes on the word red makes my heart sink further. I feel the urge to turn straight round and leave again but I don’t have my car and there’s nowhere to hide. I have to confront this. I stand in the doorway.

Libby rushes over and tries to push me back outside. “You don’t need to go in there, Tabitha.”

“Thanks, Libby, but I do.” I give her a weak smile. My heart pounds. My throat hurts. I try to control my breathing but fail miserably. The power outfit isn’t doing its job.

I distinguish copies of several daily newspapers strewn all over Brent’s desk. It doesn’t take long to realise they’re open to reveal photographs of Saturday night’s Commerce Ball. I know already what has caught their attention but I refuse to give them the satisfaction of pretending I’m bothered about a red dress at a Black and White ball.

“Haven’t you got anything better to do?” I try to hold Brent’s gaze.

He bellows with false laughter. “Like work?” he counters. “Your work is already done, I see. It’s made headlines.”

I’m really desperate to assess just how awful things are; to start work on some damage limitation but I try to act like I couldn’t care less. Just keep breathing, I tell myself commencing my 5-2-5 routine. It’s harder when I’m fighting my corner.

“You’ve never been invited to the Commerce Ball, Brent. Such a pity. It’s very enlightening.”

“You’re being thoroughly enlightened in a few of these pictures.” He holds them up to even more laughter.

Hell.

I wonder exactly what pictures he’s got there. “Grow up.” I spin around to leave. I have to. Tears threaten and I won’t give Brent the satisfaction of knowing he’s made me cry. “At least I’m trying to do something to keep this company current.”

“You’ve clearly never heard that sometimes no news is good news,” he calls after me. “You’ve embarrassed everyone. Yep, nobody will forget CaidCo in a hurry, after this. Painting the town
red
, were you?”

I really don’t want to get into a slanging match with Brent and an avid audience of staff. I have to work out what to do first. As I march down to my office, I’m sure I hear
red herring
mentioned. This is all Jack Keogh’s fault. He knew this would happen. He’s media savvy enough to have thought the whole thing through.

Wearing that red dress wasn’t about people remembering my name. He wanted me in my place and he’s certainly achieved that. No wonder he screwed me senseless last night. He knew that would be his last opportunity. No wonder he didn’t wait around to face me, this morning. How he must be laughing at my foolishness.

I decide I’m not going on with this farce. I log into my computer determined to email Jack. It won’t take long to let him know the deal is off. This time it will be my call.

Libby comes through the door.

“I’m sorry Tabitha. Brent is a complete pig.”

“Not your fault.” My decision to walk away from the confrontation calms me a little. Five more minutes and this nightmare will be over. I’ll never have to see Jack Keogh again and I’ll find my own way of dealing with Brent somehow. Perhaps I should hand over leadership. Or let the whole ugly house of cards collapse around me. That would serve them all right.

I glance over at Libby’s worried face. It wouldn’t be fair on her and the other decent members of my team. They need their jobs and it’s my job to make sure they keep them for as long as they possibly can. I owe it to them and I owe it to Harry. He trusted me.

He wouldn’t be so impressed with me now.

“I’ll make you some coffee,” she offers. “I’ll never make Brent coffee again as long as I live.” She leaves.

My screen saver comes up and I gape in disbelief. Someone has altered it and I’m pretty certain who that someone is as I stare at a picture of me and Jack. He’s kissing me up against the wall and that’s the polite way to put it. It looks like I’m practically humping his leg whilst trying to swallow his tongue. God almighty. Who the hell took that photograph? And how did it find its way onto my computer? I fumble my way into network administration with shaking hands and wipe it but I’ve no doubt it’s not gone for good.

The desk phone rings. My hand is still trembling as I answer it and Libby’s tentative voice tells me I have a call.

“I’m not in. Take a message. In fact, hold all calls.” I slam the phone down. I don’t care if it is a client. I can’t deal with anyone else’s shit right now.

It rings again. I huff and lift the phone again. “Libby?”

“It’s Jack Keogh.” Even she can’t hold back the note of fascinated horror that wobbles in her voice.

Holy hell. I especially want to hang up on him but I know I’ll have to face this some time. It will save ending things by email, I reason. Show us both I have some backbone. “Put him through. Thanks, Libby.”

“Tabitha.” I hear urgency. The
Boss
. It isn’t a social call then. “Don’t read the newspapers. Don’t answer your phone.”

That strikes me as funny. “I already answered my phone. To you.”

“Don’t answer it again. I’m on my way over.”

“No!”

“Sit tight. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He’s not listening. I can’t handle him coming here. Not with Brent and the newspapers strewn all over the place. It will make Brent’s day and Jack will go ballistic. I think quickly. “Let me come to you.”

“Not here.” That was definite.

I’m almost afraid to ask. “Why not?”

“I’ve got reporters crawling all over the place.”

It’s worse than I thought. “What do they want?”

He snorts cynically. “We make a lovely couple.”

He’s seen that awful picture too. “That’s not funny, Jack.”

“Gallows’ humour.”

That cheers me up no end. I hear him talking to someone in the background before he comes back on the line. “Blackstock is on his way. He’ll know how to lose anyone who might follow you.”

Follow me? “Where am I going?”

“To Belvedere. I made the mess. I’ll clean it up.”

I’m less than happy I’m being referred to as a mess but I’m not feeling any choices here. “Okay.”

He pauses. “Don’t panic. I’ll sort things out.” His voice gentles. “Tabitha? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” I’ve no idea why I’m reassuring him. Or lying. I’m anything but.

He hangs up.

And I forgot to tell him I’m going to cancel our deal. Libby appears with hot coffee.

“I’m going back out shortly, Libby. Can you handle things here?” I feel guilty leaving her with that lot.

She puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be fine, honey. Don’t you worry about me. You go do what you need to do.”

I jerk my chin in the direction of Brent’s office. “If it gets too crazy, you head off too.”

“For what it’s worth,” Libby murmurs, leaning in and giving me a quick reassuring hug. “I’d have snogged his face off too.” She slips out the door.

I almost laugh. Thank God for Libby.

I watch out the window for the entire twenty minutes it takes for the Bentley to arrive back in the car park. I grab my handbag and rush outside.

“If you need me, get me on my personal cell,” I tell Libby. I’m certainly not answering the work mobile if it rings.

“Take care, honey.”

“I’ll be in touch. Stall any clients that call.”

On the way, I notice Brent has already pinned a couple of the pages to the general office notice board. Several copies of the daily newspapers are lying on the coffee table in reception too. I rip and gather and throw it all in the bin on my way past, not even stopping to look at them. I’ve seen all I want to see.

Blackstock has the car door open and I dive in. As we drive off I glance up to see the face of Brent Tapper smirking at the window. I wish I could just fire his sorry arse and have done.

I head straight to Belvedere. I do not even pass go. Lenuta is expecting me but she knows not to crowd me. This time it’s me pacing nervously, frowning, waiting for Jack to arrive. It isn’t going to be a comfortable meeting. He sounded pretty angry on the phone.

I sense his presence long before I hear the ping of the elevator arriving. Like the effects of Sirocco winds, it hits me. I’m warned by the dry scorch that flares down the back of my throat while the tension of an impending hurricane builds deep inside my body. I turn and face the elevator doors to watch them slide open.

Jack bursts out like a tornado. His sharp, black three piece suit has the jacket and waistcoat buttons open to reveal his pristine white shirt, as if clothes can’t contain such explosive energy. He strides towards me. The knot of his silk tie is dragged down and the top button of his shirt collar open and I picture those huge hands yanking at them in aggravation in the taxi on the way over.

I catch the waft of Clive Christian No.1 and the sandalwood, cedar and vetyver notes which smoulder off his over-heated skin. But it’s his eyes that seize mine.

He floors me.

Like cold winter sunlight pouring through the depths of an Arctic blue ocean, they reflect his steely focus onto me.

Even this much separation from him feels lonely. I want to throw myself into his arms; beg him to hold me tight, soothe me, stroke me, calm me. I need him to protect me and tell me that everything is going to be alright. Every muscle in my body tenses preparing to run to him.

Then I see her.

Amanda Devereaux. She emerges slowly out of the elevator like a black widow spider and I freeze as if I’ve been slapped.

Jack barrels towards me so fast I can’t help but take a step backwards. I can tell in an instant he’s seasoned in fury.

“Sit,” he orders, slapping a pile of this morning’s newspapers onto the dining room table. I don’t even think about arguing.

Lenuta appears from the kitchen, halts instantly as Jack glowers at her and retreats again, dismissed without a word. I can’t say I blame her. Everything Jack did to me over the weekend on top of this table whirls through my head but any sweet memory is soiled by the damning pictures dispersed across its surface.

I scan my eyes across the front pages and groan inwardly. “All of them?” I whisper.

“Pretty much. It seems we made headlines after all.”

More death-row humour, I presume. He can hardly blame me for these events. “That was the whole idea behind me wearing that red dress, wasn’t it?”

Jack looks stunned for a second. “They’re not interested in the red dress, Tabitha.”

I glance at the covers again. “That’s not true.” I quickly read one damnable rhyming headline. “
Lady in Red. Needing a B…
” My voice tails off.

The horrible fact is I feel like I’m back in Jack’s boardroom again, where all this began. Me, on one side of the table and him, on the other. The huge expanse of polished walnut separating us. Amanda allies herself with him. I cannot take my eyes off her hideous claw of a hand claiming her entitlement to his arm. He allows it. Right in front of me. All my fears of being toyed with by the pair of them crowd the front of my brain as the air thins around me.

“Take a closer look, Tabitha.” Jack’s anger snaps me back into the moment.

I turn to face him and my heart sinks. I’ve seen enough of the pictures. They’re pictures of me and him. From the angle they’ve been taken it looks like he’s practically ravishing me up against the wall. And I’m letting him.

“
You
kissed
me
,” I whisper lamely. Why am I being made to feel like I’m the only one to blame here?

He turns his back and looks out over the ever-changing flow of the Thames below. “I know I did.” His voice is low. Disapproving.

Amanda glares at me with her vicious, cold countenance. She despises me. She turns her attention back to Jack and rests her talons on his shoulder in sympathy. She’s standing close by his side. Too close. She’s showing me he belongs to her. That he will never be mine.

I’m devastated when he doesn’t even try to remove her touch from his body. He has no trouble maintaining his distance from me. The two of them have all the appearance of long familiarity. Four lost years of familiarity. And I feel dead inside. Jack and Amanda know each other in every way possible. They’re allied in this adversity and I am nothing to either of them except a problem to be dealt with.

A mess. Jack’s own words.

She rotates her head back to me. Whatever she sees in my face delights her. Her eyes glow with it. I know in an instant she has had some hand in engineering my public disgrace.

Jack Keogh is of huge media interest. I’ve had to go out of my way not to have my nose rubbed in all the places he’s been, things he’s done and women he’s done them with over the past few years. And somehow today confirms my intrusion into a place I don’t belong. A place I’m not even welcome.