Vengeful Love (4 page)

Chapter Four

I couldn’t be more grateful for the latte Margaret has left on my desk. My eyes are drooping and my concentration is definitely lacking as my computer fires into life.

Amanda bobs into my office, taking off her outdoor coat and draping it over her arm. “It was great to have a drink last night, like old times, except we managed to walk home.”

“There was only ever one of us who couldn’t walk home.”

She winks. “Anyways, I hope you passed my best to your pops.”

“I did. He said hi,” I lie.

“Such a sweetie. So, like I said, send the CEO’s number my way.”

I scoff through my takeout cup as she strides confidently out of my room. My best friend can always cheer me up.

Confirmation lands that the Portman merger has gained clearance by the European competition law authorities. I shoot a quick email to Jack and almost as soon as it enters my “Sent Items,” he’s yelling my name.

“Good work on Portman, nice to have that one tied up,” he says as I step into his office.

Oh.

“Just doing my job, Jack.” I give him a wry smile. “Is there anything else?”

“No.” He waves a hand, signaling for me to leave.

Turning on my stiletto heel to exit, I feel his eyes burning into the back of my grey pencil dress.

“Scarlett.” My body cringes in response to his trying-to-be-smooth voice. Turning once again to face him, I offer a forced smile. “I like that dress on you.”

Vomit rises to my throat. Another outfit Jack has successfully banished to the back of my closet.

Back at my desk, I open Outlook and calculate the days I think I’ll have to wait for my next promotion, the promotion which will hopefully see me escape Jack’s close scrutiny. If I do a good job, I could make legal director in two years.
Now there’s an incentive.
Three hundred and sixty-five days, less twenty-eight days’ annual leave, multiplied by two. Six hundred and seventy-four days, my calculator tells me.

My momentary contentedness disappears when it occurs to me that in less, much less, than six hundred and seventy-four days, I’m likely to be without my father.
That’s where playing around and not doing your work will get you!
My subconscious chastises me in a
ner-ner-na-ner-neeeer
fashion.

Shaking the thoughts away, I get started on my tasks for today and the rest of the week. Given the tight timings, I’ll be working almost exclusively on the Eclectic Technologies deal.

“Margaret,” I call from my office to the secretaries’ station.

“Yes, Scarlett?”

“Hey, you said Scarlett first time!” I say when she appears at my door, her voluminous grey-blond hair glued into place just above her shoulders by a bottle of hairspray.

“I’m getting there,” she says, her freshly-coated pink lips turned up. Margaret is the kind of well-turned-out lady who’d never be seen in public without her lipstick. “What can I get for you?”

“Have my reports come through from Companies House for the Eclectic deal?”

Companies House is the official registrar for companies incorporated in England and Wales. Reports from the registrar contain all sorts of key information about a company—its shareholders, directors, incorporation date...things like that.

“Just,” she says with an innocently smug smile, handing me the reports, already printed and ring-bound.

“What would I do without you?”

“Anything else?” she asks.

“Actually, you wouldn’t mind getting me another latte would you? With an extra shot?”

“Of course.” She rotates on her small kitten heel, the ends of her floral dress swaying beneath her peach tweed jacket, Anais-Anais filling the air as she moves.

* * *

The rich, indulgent scent of my extra-strength coffee fills the room and makes my mind fresher, sharper whilst sifting through the Companies House reports. When I reach the details of Eclectic Technologies’ directors, I slip off my shoes and roughly pin my hair into a crocodile clip then pull my legs up to cross them on my chair, settling in for the read.

First Director: Gregory James Ryans

Date of Birth: 09.10.1985

Date of Appointment: 01.07.2010

Associated Directorships: GJR Enterprises, Inc., GJR Europe Limited, Bio-energy Holdings Limited, Sound Telecommunications GmbH, Constant Sources Limited...

The list is endless.

I do the math and work out that Gregory is thirty in less than a week.
Only thirty! Not even two years older than me!
Surveying the shareholder details of the GJR companies, I confirm that he does, in fact, own those too. GJR Enterprises Inc. and GJR Europe Limited are owned exclusively by Gregory but he’s the majority shareholder in most of the others. Casting my mind to the plaque in the entrance of GJR Tower, it’s obvious now that the entire high-rise belongs to him. Outrageously handsome
and
accomplished.
What does a sexy bazillionaire CEO do to celebrate his thirtieth birthday?
Shaking my head back to reality, my eyes move to the next section of the document—Mr. Williams and Mr. Lawrence.

Williams is older than Gregory, thirty-two, and seems to sit on the boards of almost all the same companies as Gregory. In fact, he isn’t a director of any company that isn’t at least partly owned
by
Gregory. He has shares in many of those companies too.

Lawrence is older, fifty-seven, which I’d estimated from his beyond-middle-age spread hidden beneath a paisley waistcoat in that
I’m-not-overweight-I-just-wear-a-lot-of-layers
kind of way. That and his thick but combed-over hair. Lawrence is a director on a few of the same boards as Gregory and a non-executive director on many of the others. Usually, that would mean he offers guidance to the Board as to how to run the company but doesn’t have a right to vote on big decisions the way an executive director can. Unlike Williams, Lawrence is the sole shareholder of another company, Connektions Limited. I wonder whether Gregory knows this about one of his closest confidantes but as I delve into the ownership of Sea People International, Inc., the company Eclectic Technologies is taking over, I realise that Gregory must know. Sea People International, Inc. just happens to be majority owned by Connektions Limited, meaning in effect it is majority owned by Lawrence.

As usual, the intricate links between the companies seem more comprehendible when I sketch them in a diagram. I was once described as a visual learner in a
Who Are You?
seminar at university. The concept kind of stuck. As I draw the tangled web of companies, directors and shareholders, the attachments become easier to follow but there’s one question playing on my mind

Why wouldn’t they have mentioned that Eclectic Technologies is buying a company that Lawrence partly owns?

I think about picking up the phone and asking the question, but Gregory is a busy man and from what I’ve seen, I imagine he’s very much in control of what happens beneath him, under him, in his companies. My thighs reflexively squeeze together beneath the desk. Shaking my hormone-muddled head, I realise I’m probably beginning to overthink Gregory himself, rather than the deal. I note the minority owner of Sea People International Inc. as a Mr. Pearson then resolve to ask my questions at our meeting and continue sifting through my information about the companies, only occasionally having to blank out inappropriate and lascivious thoughts about Mr. Ryans.

Chapter Five

It doesn’t take much for Amanda to persuade me that a Friday cocktail or two might not be a terrible idea. It’s been a rough week and I’ll rush straight home to Dad afterward. The bar is heaving with suits. Each group has spread itself out in a circle around a stack of handbags, briefcases and laptop carriers. Laughter and rowdy taunts are almost as loud as the music playing in the background. It’s clear as I watch people stagger and gesture flamboyantly, that some groups have been out for a boozy office lunch, which has tumbled through into the evening. The leather booths are full and the bar queue is three people deep. There’s no way you could be alone with your thoughts in here and that’s fine by me.

“What are you having, ladies?” a man asks from the second row of people fighting their way into the bar, the question almost certainly directed at Amanda.

“Oh, no, thank you, I’ll get my own,” I say.

It makes no real difference. The “gentleman” is fixated on Amanda, who already has him wrapped around her finger like her auburn hair as she twists it, flashing her most flirtatious smile, her green silk blouse making her skin dazzle.

“We’ll take two Cosmopolitans.” Her wish is granted.

We wait by a pillar close enough for me to watch the bartender make my cocktail and to witness it being carried to me un-tampered.

“Would you relax? We’ll talk to him for five then he’ll find a pretty blonde and leave us to enjoy our drinks,” Amanda says in her usual carefree way.

He doesn’t leave us in five minutes. They never do. Amanda has a way of completely mesmerising men. In a bid to be polite, I talk to his friend, whose name is drowned out by the guitars of Oasis’s “Roll with It.”
Feigning interest in his alleged mansion, complete with a ping-pong machine and full Sky package, is a struggle. When I ask his name for the third time after ten minutes of listening to his mindless dribble, he seems to take the hint and excuses himself to use the gents’.

Amanda glares at me over the shoulder of Mr. Cosmopolitan but laughs when I raise my arms to my sides and shrug.

“Drink?” I shout in Amanda’s direction, taking care not to appear to offer a drink to her suitor.

“Please. I’ll come to the bar with you!”

And
that
is how she does it. Amanda slips out of Mr. Cosmopolitan’s arm around her waist and she’ll never speak to him again.

“My round, since you got the last ones,” I joke.

As our number of cocktails increases, the number of suits in the bar decreases and there’s space for us to hop on two bar stools at a table.

“These shoes are made for sitting under a desk,” I say, bending to rub my ankles.

“Tell me about it. Another?” Amanda asks, nodding toward my nearly empty cocktail glass.

“I’m not sure I can. Four on an empty stomach might be my limit. Do you want to get some food?”

“Can we have another if we eat?”

“Deal.” I tip my head back slightly to drain the last sip from my glass.

It happens in slow motion, one drop of reality at a time. Gregory shakes hands with the doorman first, then Williams does the same. Gregory looks as fiercely intense as he does at work but Williams looks comfortable and smiles, a rogue strand of sandy blond decorating his forehead.

“Shit!” I whisper, almost to myself but Amanda catches it.

“What?” She follows my gaze. “Oh, shit indeed, he is N-I-C-E, nice!”

He is. His intensity adds to his mystery. He looks confident and self-assured, arrogant even, as he makes his way through the bar, his magnetism attracting looks from both men and women. The neat fit of his straight-cut indigo jeans, soft blue jumper and navy blazer make him look effortlessly well-groomed and wealthy. His slick dark hair is so perfectly, purposefully cool I want to pull my fingers straight through it. An irrational need to have him pangs between my legs.

Stop it! Shit!

“We have to leave,” I demand.

“What? Why? The party’s just getting started. Mr. Every-Woman-Has-To-Try-This-Just-Once has just walked in.”

“Amanda, that’s Mr. Sexy Bazillionaire CEO!” I say through my teeth, conscious that Gregory and Williams are walking in our general direction.

“Nooo! Really? I can see why you find him so, how did you put it?
Interesting.
I’d like to see what’s under that jumper. Look at those shoulders. Swimmer. Must be.”

“Amanda. Stop it! I’m well on my way to drunk. I can’t speak to him and I really can’t see him like
that
, at all, ever, not when I’ve had a drink anyway,” I babble. Who am I kidding? I’d love to imagine him all over me.

“Wow, listen to you, you’re a wreck. I can see why. I love a man who can wear red.”

“Red? Oh, you mean Williams. That’s his sidekick. No, Gregory, erm, Mr. Sexy Bazillionaire CEO, is the other one.”

“Then I’m free to tantalise the taste buds of the messy blond?” Amanda asks, her attempt at sultry lost in a cocktail fuelled slur.

“Yes,” I say, relieved. “No. No, you can’t. They’re clients. Both of them.”

“Even more reason for a little business networking, wouldn’t you say?”

“No, let’s go. We were going for food anyway. Let’s leave before they see us.”

I pick up her bag and pass it to her but she’s already off her stool and walking toward Williams.

Shit!

“Amanda!” I snap but it’s lost in the open space.

“Hi, I’m Amanda.” I hear in the distance.

Double shit!

I make a move to stand then sit back down. I reach for my handbag then leave it where it is. I don’t want to look but my eyes defy me, lured like metal to his magnet. As if he felt my eyes burning into him, he’s staring back at me with those devastating browns.

No getting out of it now.

As I walk towards the three of them, he never takes his eyes off me. I instantly regret my choice of royal blue dress and shoes this morning. I imagine he’s scrutinising every inch of me that’s out of place, whilst he looks immaculate. I’d feel no more exposed if I were naked in the crowded room. I wonder if he can see the tired emotional wreck I am behind my cover of his legal advisor. I wonder if he can see how nervous he makes me, how nervous he’s making me right now. I wonder if he can see behind my eyes and into my soul.

I attempt to compose myself as I hold out my feebly trembling hand for him to shake. I manage a weak smile but no words leave my dry throat. He takes my hand as I watch his mouth greet me. His touch sends my irrational hormones into a frenzy.

“Miss Heath,” Williams interjects. A welcome distraction, an escape from the spell of Gregory Ryans, and a chance for the ache in my sex to dissipate.

“Mr. Williams, it’s a pleasure to see you. You’ve already met my friend, Amanda.”

“And colleague,” Amanda jumps in. “I’m a lawyer too.”

Williams smiles politely whilst Amanda beams at him, flashing her best come-get-me smile and adjusting her body slightly, pushing her arse and tits further out. Without turning in his direction, I can feel that Gregory Ryans has not stopped staring at me.

Williams continues to indulge Amanda in flirtatious conversation. Amanda less than subtly shuffles until I’m presented with her back.

“So, erm, what brings you here tonight, Mr. Ryans? I mean, do you come here often? Not that you shouldn’t, or should. It’s up to you where you go.” I stutter as my cheeks flame.

He sniggers at me but returns the most delectable half smile, half smirk I’ve ever seen. The kind that travels straight to my vulva before taking me to dinner. He places his hands in his jean pockets and slightly flexes his hips toward me. Despite all the will in the world, I’m unable to stop my gaze from dropping to his crotch.

Triple shit!

I rub the butt of my hand against my brow and search the floor. For something. Anything.

“Well, it was a pleasure to see you, gentleman,” I say, loud enough for Williams to hear over Amanda’s chatter. “I hope you have a nice evening, we’ll leave you to enjoy yourselves.”

“Where are you going?” Williams asks. Seemingly, Amanda has already caught his attention.

“Yes, Scarlett, where are we going?” Amanda asks, engrossed in Williams’ reaction.

“For food, we were just talking about food, remember?” My words are pushed out by my clenched jaw.

“As were we,” Williams jumps in, eyeing Gregory as he speaks. As is their way, they have an unspoken exchange.

“But you just got here,” Amanda says.

“Well, yes, we did, but we were only going to have one drink and then go for food. Unless you have other plans, we could all eat together?” Williams suggests.

“Yes, and no we don’t,” Amanda replies, almost in a shrill with excitement. “I’m starving.”

Now she’s hungry?

I’m suddenly remarkably sober and Amanda is suddenly remarkably drunk, more on Williams than alcohol, I think. This has gone badly wrong. I can’t possibly refuse to have dinner with a client. Likewise, I can’t possibly have dinner with this
particular
client. How can I spend any longer in the company of Gregory Ryans without my entire being combusting?

“Sure. That’s a great idea. Erm, if that works for you too, Mr. Ryans?” I will him to object and save me from myself.

“I’ll go on the condition that you call me Gregory from now on,” he says, leaning into me as he speaks, his big hands still resting in his jean pockets. “On social occasions, at least.”

No, no, no to social occasions with Mr. Sexy Bazillionaire Ryans!

I nod in uncomfortable acquiescence. The shift of my head lands my gaze on that alluring crotch again.

Quadruple bloody shit! I give in!

“Settled then,” Williams declares proudly in the manner of a politician who’s concocted an outstanding plan for a new bill. The Houses of Commons and Lords are backing him and he’s watching his masterpiece unfold.

Gregory takes the lead through the bar to leave. I’d bet he makes love the way he moves that fine, sculpted South African arse through the bar...with the grace of a gazelle and the command, pounce and salacious bite of a lion. He glances back over his shoulder and flashes his agonising half smile once more.

Dear God.

The doorman dips his head as he opens the door. Gregory steps to one side and gestures for me to walk ahead of him. Almost immediately as we step on to the pavement a black Mercedes pulls up to the kerb. The driver is a tall, ripped man in a black suit and white shirt. The veins of his hands bulge under his dark skin and his shaved head shows a few remnants of black hair amongst the grey stubs. He looks good for his age but given I’d put money on him being ex-forces of some sort, he can’t be under forty. He holds open the rear passenger door and Gregory steps to one side as I climb in, followed by Williams and Amanda, still giggling at one another. Gregory walks around the back of the car and takes a seat in the front of the Mercedes next to the driver.

“Where are we going?” Amanda asks excitedly. “Nowhere expensive I hope. My pops is already bailing me out this month.”

“Again?” I ask.

“I needed new work clothes,” she reasons. “He’s talking about stopping my monthly allowance.”

“You still get a monthly allowance?” Gregory and I ask in unison.

He shifts in his seat to look at me and smiles. It’s an easy, soft, gentle smile. My stomach jumps and my heart pounds in response to him.

“I’m a single girl living in the city. A two bed in Camden doesn’t come cheap. He can’t cut me off.”

“We’re interrupting your evening,” Williams says. “The least we can do is pay for dinner.”

“No! Absolutely not!” I protest. “Thank you for the offer but you’re clients of ours. It would be our pleasure to buy you dinner.”

“This isn’t a business meeting, Scarlett.” Amanda scolds me, then winks at Williams.

“Amanda—” I attempt.

“Ladies don’t pay.” Gregory speaks, this time without turning in his seat. His voice is stern and although I feel entirely belittled, I know the discussion is over.

I fight my usual inclination to counter argue, but smolder beneath my skin and resign to watch passersby through the window without saying another word for the rest of the journey.
Ladies don’t pay.
It occurs to me that I’ve heard my father use that turn of phrase before. The thought softens my prickly mood just enough to allow me to remember that I’m in the company of clients. If only Amanda could behave herself, just this once.

She’s very much in her comfort zone, merrily chatting and flirting outrageously with Williams. Amanda’s always on the prowl for a wealthy man who could allow her to be a lady of leisure. We had endless conversations at Cambridge about Amanda wanting that kind of life—lunching at fine establishments like The Beverley and have beauty treatments in the afternoon, like her mother. Amanda suffers from stereotypical OCS—Only Child Syndrome—but she has a good heart and I love her for having the conviction to be herself, to do what she wants to do and not what others expect of her.

Reading my mind, Amanda reaches for my hand, gently squeezing it in hers, and gives me a knowing giggle that amuses me enough to improve my mood one hundred percent.

The Mercedes slows to a stop outside Heron Tower, the glass structure looming over us so tall it’s impossible see the top, even craning my neck. I reach into my bag for my purse but Williams puts his hand over mine to stop me.

Gregory inclines his head in thanks to the driver. “Jackson.”

Of course, he has a personal driver. Who doesn’t?

Jackson opens my door first. Gregory’s already waiting on the pavement. He offers his hand to help me out of the car. I hesitate but take it to be polite. The kiss of his palm drives a hot sensation all over my body. My breath catches in my throat and I put my spare hand on the first thing it touches to steady my weak legs. That first thing happens to be Jackson’s shoulder, and he’s trying not to smirk, mocking me with his eyes. I suspect he’s seen Gregory’s effect on women countless times.

“Erm, sorry, Jackson. Thank you.” I manage to fumble my words so they’re just about comprehensible.