Everything You Need: Everything For You Trilogy Book 1 (5 page)

“Long enough to know you’ll get it right in the end.”

I’m not surprised by my PA’s unfailing support. I’ve long suspected Harry hired her as office junior when we were both sixteen, as much to be a friend to me as to answer the phone and file papers. For a confirmed bachelor, my uncle proved a pretty astute guardian to his anxious niece. Libby’s long since proved her worth both as employee of the agency and as my best friend.

“Thanks, Libby. I’d be lost without you on my side.”

“Always. Ignore that miserable git.”

“Easier said than done. He presumed he’d take the reins after Harry died so things would carry on much the way they did before with me at the bottom of the heap.”

“Then he’s not the oracle he thinks he is. And look at the vile way he’s making his feelings known,” she points out. “Harry’s only been gone a few months. Brent should be supporting you not making your life hell. Your uncle would be so angry if he knew Brent was undermining you this way.” Libby’s face tightens in fury.

I remember the cutting things Brent said a moment ago but try to understand his point of view. “He’s pretty angry to find himself passed over in favour of the intern.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short, Tabitha Caid. First you’re family. Harry’s closest relative. And you might have been interning while you were an undergraduate but Harry was grooming you to take over his business one day. We all knew it.”

“Just not so soon, eh?” I blink back threatening tears when I think about never seeing Harry again. “I expected to work my way up the ranks while I was learning. Brent expected that too.”

“It’s all been a shock,” Libby admits, catching on immediately to my greater need to talk about Harry. “I still come in to work every morning expecting Harry to check out my legs.”

I can’t help grinning but try to look ashamed for my uncle’s inexcusable behaviour. I can’t. Everyone loved the old rogue, especially me. “They’re rather nice legs, Libby,” I tell her, justifying his roving eye. “And Harry always did have a thing for a pretty girl.”

“Couldn’t understand why he never got married.”

“What? And limit himself to just one?”

We both laugh. It’s good to be reminded of happier times.

“Thanks, Libby.”

“I’m here for you, Tabitha.”

* * *

By the end of another fraught week spent reassuring nervous clients it’s business as usual at CaidCo, I’m about ready to throw in the towel. I’m just too pig-headed to do it. At the very least I won’t give Brent the satisfaction of thinking he’s right about me.

But I can hardly ignore the fact new business has all but dried up, especially with Brent’s constant reminders to anyone who will listen. If they haven’t already signed on the dotted line they’re sitting back and watching developments; waiting for me to drop the ball.

I’ve issued endless chirpy press releases to industry journals attempting to alleviate anxieties and I’ve tried to keep abreast of staff responsibilities on existing accounts and build some employee trust until I’m fit to bust. Attempting to appear as if I know what I’m doing whilst trying to handle the worsening situation with Brent Tapper and his growing horde of antiquated cronies is enough to send any green-as-grass CEO screamingly insane. I feel like a complete fraud.

If Libby asks me one more time if I’m okay, I’m not going to be able to hold back the tears and I’m definitely not prepared to cry in front of Brent. He already thinks I’m too pathetic to run the company I stole from under his nose. Except right into the ground. Not for the first time, I’m beginning to think he might be right.

Annoyed at myself for doing it, and irrespective of what I promised Jack I practically sneak out of the building on the pretence of going for a late lunch but planning to head home for the weekend. No CEO worthy of the title would behave in such a pathetic manner but I’ve no energy left inside me to fight on. I just don’t want to give Brent any more ammunition to use against me.

I decide one small bottle of vodka over the entire weekend still upholds the integrity of my promise to Jack. Not that it’s any of his business. I’m just starting earlier and drinking less.

Keeping up the pretence of coping has simply become another millstone round my neck. I may put a brave face on things for the sake of staff morale but I miss Harry and feel so alone despite Libby, I’m worried what’s going to happen to his business – my business – if I can’t turn this gathering disaster around.

Outside, I wonder about the wisdom of continuing to drive my car to work in London, even if it is an environmentally sound electric one – the graduation present left in Harry’s will for me. I could so easily take the underground, jump on a bus or hail a black cab but the CEO’s parking space is another bone of contention between Brent and me that I’d be unwise to concede, even for the sake of peace. I have to draw the line somewhere.

“Been safeguarding your new vehicle, ma’am.”

I jump at the sound of the deep male voice and clutch my chest. “Oh, you scared me, Phil.”

“My apologies, ma’am. But I wouldn’t want someone to borrow it without you knowing.”

“Thanks.” The thumping of my heart quickly subsides as I turn and acknowledge the familiar face of the ex-soldier and vagrant that hangs around our building, on and off. “You can call me Tabitha, you know.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know.”

I laugh and drop my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You caught me sneaking off home early.”

His face relaxes too and he grins back. “Going off-grid, eh?”

I nod, catching my bottom lip between my teeth like a naughty child. “Something like that.” I feel guilty. Poor Phil must live his entire life off the grid. He seems to understand the concept only too well. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“I come and I go but I’m always somewhere.” Phil glances repeatedly up and down the street like he’s expecting a sniper’s bullet any minute. “Gotta keep eyes on the ground.”

I wonder exactly what it is he’s looking for.

I notice the relative cleanliness of the khaki coloured parka jacket he always wears despite the sunshine and the old but polished boots. There’s a few days’ growth of hair covering his cheeks and chin as always and I suspect if he ever managed to get it all shaved off, his hair cut short and the haunted look out of his eyes he’d be quite a bit younger than he seems.

“Have you eaten today, Phil?” He’s a solid guy despite the vagaries of sleeping rough but I’ve never seen him drunk and despite the wild appearance, I’ve never been concerned he might pose a threat to me. Female gut instinct tells me he’s a good guy and privileges aside, I can understand being down on your luck.

“Eat just fine.”

He’s never yet asked for a hand-out and I sense his pride but I dig in my bag and locate my wallet, drawing out the bank-notes I keep handy inside especially for him. I fold them while we talk and tuck them into his pocket, neither one of us acknowledging the action.

“I’ll see you safely to your vehicle, ma’am.”

“Thanks, Phil.” We walk over and I open the door. “Do you want a ride somewhere?”

He pulls the door wider as I climb in, ignoring my question. “You go straight home now. Bad things happen to good people.”

I wonder at the history which makes him feel that way but he might be referring to either one of us at the moment. He’s restless, constantly scanning our surroundings as I wind down my window.

“Go inside and say hello to Libby. She’ll be making coffee about now.” Phil is our joint social project. Harry, Libby and I started sharing him when I went off to university. My heart almost stops beating as I suddenly realise Phil has lost Harry too.

He rests his hand gently on my shoulder as if he senses my sadness. “Was very sorry to hear about your loss, ma’am. Always hard to lose a good man.” He looks me full square in the eyes. The pain I see reflected there makes me flinch.

“Thank you.” I turn and stare through the windscreen. His sympathy prods my raw emotions too much. I start the car.

“Good day, ma’am.” Phil stares as I reverse.

Suddenly he runs towards me, signalling for me to stop. I don’t hesitate but park and get out of the car. Libby is standing in the doorway, gesturing me back inside.

“Thanks, Phil.” I wave him over as I run towards her. “Come on in.”

We take him into the kitchen and make him coffee and sandwiches as Libby fills me in on the details of an anonymous tip-off she’s just received.

I’m so beside myself with rage when I hear the news, Phil gets agitated. I only make things worse so I leave Libby to settle him down as I make an instant decision. I storm back out to my car.

So Jack Keogh’s willing to help me, is he? Well he isn’t getting away with this one.

Chapter Three

“Mr Keogh is in a board meeting. He can’t see you.”

“I’m well aware he’s in a board meeting. It’s the reason I’m here.” The only reason. I’ve refused to answer Jack’s persistent personal calls or return his work emails all week, passing those on to Mason to deal with instead.

“It’s a closed meeting, madam. You haven’t been requested to attend.” Jack’s PA, words it diplomatically but her voice is steely with resolve.

“I guarantee I haven’t.” I’m fuming at Jack’s underhand scheming. “But I have words for him.” He isn’t going to like them. “And they won’t wait.”

She’s polite but persistent. “If you wish to leave your name, I’ll make certain Mr Keogh gets it as soon as he’s through. That’s the best I can do.”

Being civil is getting me nowhere. I scan the reception hall where she’s skilfully corralled me until I spot the impressive double oak doors that are the most likely location of the gathering to which I’m not party. Like hell. I barge past her and stalk straight towards them.

She hurries after me. “You can’t disturb him.”

She’s right about that. So far, it seems, the only one who’s managed to be troubled is me but things are about to change. By the time she catches up we’re outside and my hand is reaching for the door handle.

“Stop right there!” When she comprehends she can’t prevent me short of a rugby tackle she presses a wall intercom. “Send security up immediately.”

I glance back over my shoulder and give her a cool smile that belies my absolute rage.

“Don’t worry. Mr Keogh is quite used to the concept of breaking down doors to get what he wants.”

“Ah, Miss Caid.”

I’m so stunned when she discloses my name I momentarily freeze but decide this is not the time to analyse how my comment might have helped her to arrive at my identity. How close is Jack’s relationship with his PA anyway?

I burst through the doors as a dozen pairs of eyes fly towards mine. Including Jack Keogh’s.

His, floor me.

It’s been six whole days since I last stared into those dangerous Arctic blues and still they knock me sideways. My breath comes hard, my heart pounds and I struggle with my oxygen intake as it suddenly dips and hollows. Why must this happen to me every single time I’m nervous?

Today, I know why. The man whose levelled scrutiny meets mine, head-on. I must have been half tanked on Saturday morning not to have felt it this strongly. My lips tingle in memory of his shockingly unexpected, banana-fuelled kiss.

What the hell was I thinking? I rein in those dangerous thoughts and my manners. One glance at Jack Keogh’s seriously vaulted brow tells me I’m not going to change anything charging red-faced into his boardroom, gasping like a landed trout. He isn’t a man to be swayed by pathetic displays of emotion.

And I should know.

“Miss Caid.” He lowers the document he’s holding and his piercing attention arrows in on me.

I steel myself and glare back which is pretty brave of me under the onslaught but he doesn’t betray a flicker of unease. He’s completely without shame. Caught out doing the dirty and not the slightest bit guilty about it. He doesn’t even look startled to see me. Why doesn’t that surprise me?

He waits, cool as an autumn breeze but I can play a few mind games of my own these days.

I swallow my anger and arch my eyebrow right back at him. “Mr Keogh.” I offer no pretence of friendliness in my address.

His mouth lifts minutely at the corners. He’s laughing at me. It takes everything I have to remain dignified and calm. His despicable actions might not give him a broken night’s sleep but he knows exactly what’s brought me here.

Jack Keogh is the only man I know who wouldn’t turn a hair if a tornado spun through the building. He’d front it out without a well-cut hair out of place. Cut a little differently to the way he used to wear it. Sharper. More stylish. Worn longer in front. I absorb all the tiny details I overlooked on Saturday and wonder how I could possibly have missed them.

Shock and vodka, I suppose. And a healthy dose of embarrassment. He saw me in my scruffy pyjamas, searched through my knicker drawer and, oh God, discovered my vibrator.

I suck down a great gulp of air.

When he stands, my breath hitches. I’ve forgotten how tall he is. In his three piece dark grey he looks startlingly groomed and completely incredible. I feel like a complete oaf as I slide damp palms over my ancient elephant grey skirt and jacket, like that’s going to help improve anything.