Vengeful love, p.19
Vengeful Love, page 19
“One latte,” she smiles, handing me the warm cardboard cup. “Scarlett, I, well, I—”
“It’s okay, Margaret, I’m okay. Thank you.”
Her relief is audible.
“Oh, Mr. Wallace called earlier and asked me to let him know when you were next in the office. He said not to rush you, just when you’re in. Would you like me to tell him you’re here today or should I put him off for you?”
Neil Wallace is the head of the corporate division and my ultimate boss. A tall, wealthy-looking man, well spoken. He made his name in his early thirties on two or three enormous deals and now, only in his forties, he earns seven figures a year. He’s one of those charismatic men who can charm a client until they want to polish his shoes whilst writing the firm a hefty cheque.
I glance from my watch to the stack of documents on my desk. The stack marked Eclectic Technologies that I’ve been trying to ignore since I arrived.
“Tell him I’ll see him whenever he’s ready please, Margaret.”
“Will do.” The hem of her blue tweed skirt twirls as she turns to leave the room.
“Speaking of Mr. Sexy Bazillionaire,” Amanda croons as she picks the top Eclectic Technologies document from the dreaded pile, “how are you guys? Is it super-saucy?”
Her mischievous wink is impossible to resist, forcing me to grin against my better judgment.
“Actually, it sort of fizzled out,” I say, taking the document back from a theatrically huffed Amanda and returning it to the pile.
“He’s free now, Scarlett,” Margaret interjects.
An invitation to Neil Wallace’s office is, I imagine, like an invitation to visit the queen, an incredible honor but scary as hell. I would’ve chosen a different dress if I’d known. I’m not sure which other dress but I’m sure I would’ve chosen a different one.
What will I say to him? How should I say hello?
I’ve only spoken to Neil on a handful of occasions, mostly because he’s trawling the globe a lot of the time, trying to tap into the emerging markets. When he is in the office, his door is not ‘always open,’ so to speak, although I have to wonder whether that’s just a phrase used by people taking up a new position to mask the truth. What they’re really thinking is ‘hi new team, I’m scared shitless that I’m not actually the right man for the job so I’m going to say something truly cliché that I read in a How to be a Leader book that I downloaded for free from Amazon, in the hope I can get you onside.’ Perhaps one day I’ll enter the higher echelons and find out for myself.
How do I even knock on his door? I think before gently tapping three times with the knuckle of my index finger.
“Neil, you asked to see me.”
“Scarlett. Come in, come in.” He rises from behind his light oak desk and walks the excessive span of his office toward the door to greet me.
The office is as bright as the weather will allow, with daylight flowing through the floor to ceiling glass panes.
“Sit down, please.” He indicates for me to take a seat on the opposite side of his desk. “Now, before we talk about anything else, how are you? I’m terribly sorry to hear about your father.”
“Thank you. He was ill for a long time but it’s still a shock.” I hold my blink longer than intended. The office door opens and the kitchen staff wheel in a trolley containing a pot of coffee, a pot of tea and four bite-sized cakes.
“It’s not just a view you get then?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Thank you, Ashley, we can pour ourselves,” Neil says with a pleasant smile.
Taking a cup and placing a piece of lemon drizzle cake on the side of his saucer, he tells me to help myself.
If perceptions could be more wrong. I take a piece of chocolate sponge and a cup of tea.
“Now, why have I invited you here?” he says once he’s chewed the last crumbs of his sponge.
He shuffles in his chair so that he’s leaning back slightly and takes the foot of one leg across the knee of his other.
“Well, I’ve been watching your results for some time in any event but this recent transaction...” he casts an eye over a piece of paper on his desk, “... Eclectic Technologies. We’ve had superb feedback from the client and the figures speak for themselves. In fact, they’ve thrown you over your targets for the year and I’m fully aware of the circumstances of that deal...that you essentially carried the entire transaction yourself.”
“Erm, thank you,” I mutter from behind my fingers which are held a little in front of my mouth to disguise any possible rogue chocolate crumbs.
“No, thank you. As you’ve been off for a couple of days, and arguably should still be off by the way, you probably don’t know that Stephen Lawrence has been in touch about potential future work. And there’s plenty of it.”
My stomach sinks, in part from the thought of another convoluted deal but mostly from the thought that Gregory would rather delegate to Lawrence than speak to me himself.
“They’ve specifically asked that you’re the point of contact for all deals from Eclectic Technologies and any of the GJR group’s companies.”
“Wow. Great. That’s, that’s really great,” I say, faking excitement.
“Now for the good news.”
“There’s more?”
“Well, you don’t think it would be appropriate for us to have just a senior associate in that position, do you?”
“Hmm, well I hadn’t thought about it but I guess you’re right. I’ll speak to them and tell them that I can’t be the lead contact. Who would you like me to—”
“Scarlett.” He laughs, resting his palms on his desk. “I’m offering you a promotion, to legal director.”
I stand from my seat, causing it to rock backwards. “You’re, what? Ha, why? But why?”
He laughs casually, genuinely. “So you’ll take it?”
“Take it? What? Of course. Thank you. Thank you, thank you,” I say in as giddy a tone as I dare use.
My hands wiggle uncomfortably by my side, unsure whether to shake his hand or go in for a hug. I decide to sit down, doing neither. Those seconds give me time to register the situation. I lost my father for a promotion. I can feel tears knocking on the back door to my eyes and I know I need to leave.
“Excellent! Do you want to discuss the finer details now or would you rather get the paperwork first and take it all in?”
I wonder whether he’s noticed the chemical change in my body, the way dogs can sense whether their owner’s happy or sad. Nodding, the lump in my throat subsides just enough to let me explain that I’d rather read the paperwork first but that I’m grateful for the opportunity.
“It’s all rather overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“You’ve no idea,” I say, shaking his hand.
I can’t get out of there fast enough.
“Sooo, what did he want?” Amanda sings, her words reaching my office before her bouncing body.
“Erm, he wanted to offer me directorship,” I offer sheepishly.
“What? Amazing! Crazy! That’s fantastic news, Scarlett, you really deserve it.” She throws her arms around my neck.
“Do I?” I whisper.
She pushes me away from her body, her hands resting on my shoulders. “Of course you do. You work harder than anyone else in here.”
“I just, I just don’t know if one deal means I really deserve it.”
Amanda shakes my shoulders, giggling. “This isn’t about one deal. This is about you working solid for years. You’re always the last person in here on a night and, rather distastefully,” she adds with a forced regal accent, stiff upper-lip and all, “you’re the first to refuse a cocktail in the name of work.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am. Now, let’s celebrate. Lunch somewhere nice? Your treat because you’re about to earn a lot more money than I do,” she says with a wink.
“I’d love to but I actually need to tie off some pieces for a deal.” I glare at the pile of Eclectic Technologies documents that I’ve been trying to avoid.
“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” She giggles. “Okay, well, what are your plans for the rest of the week?”
“Erm, gosh, haven’t got that far yet.”
“Would you like my opinion? I’ll give it to you anyway. You should go home and put your feet up. Pamper yourself, do something with Sandy.”
“You know what...” I sigh, “... I think you’re right.”
“I am,” she states with her hands on her hips in jest. Then, softening, she says, “I’ll see you on Friday, okay? If you need or want me before then just call and I’ll be there in a flash.”
“Okay.” I smile and hug my best friend.
* * *
The smell of fresh polish fills the air when the elevator doors open on to the high-gloss floor. The usual tall legged and tight pencil skirt-wearing blondes are in position beneath the gleaming Eclectic Technologies plaque. Artificial lighting reflects in the windows, illuminating the space. One man in a navy pinstriped suit and red tie seated in reception peruses the Financial Times and intermittently glances at the flat-screen television playing BBC News.
“Good afternoon, welcome to Eclectic Technologies,” says one of the blondes. Juliette, according to her gold name badge.
“Good afternoon, I’m Scarlett Heath. I’m here to see Mr. Ryans and, if they’re available, Mr. Williams and Mr. Lawrence too.”
“Do you have an appointment?” she chimes as she taps on her keyboard.
No, and part of me hopes you’re going to tell me he isn’t in the office then I can leave these documents with you and be on my way.
“No, I don’t but it’ll only take five minutes.”
“Ooo, let me see, it looks like they’re all in a meeting together until—”
“I can wait.”
“Oh,” she says in a way that makes me think her blue silk necktie is choking her. “Well—”
The sound of his voice constricts my torso. I stare with wide eyes along the corridor as he draws closer, unable to move. I can’t do this! Sweat forms on my palms beneath the pile of documents I’m gripping tightly.
“This has been a productive afternoon, Mr. Cheung,” he’s saying.
I contemplate running, hiding, dropping to the ground but it is too late. He sees me. He stops dead in his tracks, his eyes locked on mine, his conversation suspended. All rational thought has escaped me. All I can think is how outstandingly beautiful he looks, his long, toned legs parted, straight and still, his navy suit trousers falling in the right places to show off his physique. His crisp white shirt dips slightly under his pecs, his hair is perfectly combed back.
I feel utterly inadequate.
Williams coughs, breaking the near silence of the room. “Mr. Cheung, allow me to introduce you to Miss Scarlett Heath.”
“Hello, Mr. Cheung,” I say, my professional alter ego reigning supreme. “I’m a legal advisor to Eclectic Technologies.”
Mr. Cheung takes my hand in a limp shake. “Miss Heath, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
I muster all the charm I can. “The pleasure is all mine.”
“They have a lawyer involved already. Should I worry?”
I laugh, a fake hearty laugh. The kind I reserve for networking. “Only if you’re doing something you shouldn’t be, Mr. Cheung.”
“Quick! Hide the documents!” he shouts theatrically to three others in his group.
The four men laugh and though Williams and Lawrence join, Gregory remains taciturn.
“Let me show you out, Mr. Cheung,” Williams eventually says.
“Yes, yes, we shall be going. We see you tomorrow.”
Williams leads the four men to the elevators, leaving Gregory, Lawrence and me in silence. Gregory and Lawrence both watch me, waiting. Compose yourself, Scarlett.
“I need you to sign some documents, all three of you,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to acknowledge Williams. “Do you have five minutes? It won’t take more than that.”
Gregory grips his chin between his index finger and thumb and then pulls his right hand back through his hair, all the while staring at me like I have ten heads.
“Yes, we have time,” Lawrence says.
He starts to walk and I follow him back down the corridor they emerged from just minutes ago. As we turn the corner, out of the view of reception and the blondes, Lawrence clears his throat. “I’m very sorry about your father.”
Neither he nor I expect a response and I don’t offer one. Instead, I keep my focus on the documents in my hands.
“Just in here,” Lawrence says, gesturing for me to walk ahead of him into the boardroom.
The light flickers to life as we’re joined by Gregory and Williams. Lawrence and Williams walk to the far end of the rectangular room and Gregory stands next to me at the head of the oval table. I allow myself a split second glance at him and instantly chastise myself for meeting his eye.
“I have three documents,” I say to the room. “I need you all to sign a copy of this one.”
I push the document to the end of the table for Lawrence and Williams to sign.
“These two are just for you,” I say to Gregory, refusing to move my attention from a particular grain in the wooden table.
Gregory makes no movement to sign anything. I can feel his gaze burning into me and strings being pulled taut in the depth of my abdomen. Please, just sign.
“Do you need a pen?” I ask, eventually turning to face him, holding a pen out for him to take.
When I look at him my heart rate doubles. I can feel moisture forming on my palms and sickness rising in my throat. Those lips, those full, pouting, kissable lips. That sultry frown. Stick with it, Scarlett, you can do this.
I shake the pen twice, encouraging him to take it. Eventually he grabs it, his fingertips grazing mine.
He bends toward the table, leaning on his left hand. I watch the movement of his shoulder beneath his blazer as the nib of the pen almost reaches the paper before he stops. He sighs and turns to look me in the eye.
“This is really how you want things to be?”
How I want things to be? Yes, Gregory, I wanted to meet you and get sucked into some dark, twisted game, then fall madly in love with you so there was no hope in hell of me ever walking away. Then I wanted to find out that me being in love with you would lead to my father’s murder and that I’d be forced to hate you when all I want to do is jump into your arms and feel the touch of your lips on mine.
Holy shit.
I’m in love with Gregory Ryans.
“Is that supposed to be a joke?” I snap, glaring back at him, adrenalin rushing to my head.
He holds his position for an excruciatingly long second or two, neither of us willing to blink. Then with the speed and determination of a raging bull, he signs his name on all three documents. Finished, he throws the pen and turns to leave the room. With one hand on the door handle, gripping so tight that the whites of his knuckles show, he pauses. I hold my breath, expectant. But then he leaves, slamming the door behind him. As I stare after him, the image of his cigarette-burned wrist consumes my mind.
I don’t want to hurt him. He’s breaking my heart and I still can’t stand the thought that I might be just another person in his life causing him pain.
Williams walks to my end of the large table, sliding signed documents toward me.
“I’m sorry about your father, Scarlett. We all are. What happened was unfair and should never have happened.”
I open my mouth, then close it without making a sound.
Williams shakes his head. “It wasn’t his fault and no matter how much you hate him or think you hate him, you can’t make him hate himself any more than he already does.”
“Wasn’t his fault? He’s the reason everything has happened. He got me involved in this whole fucked up mess. Everything is his fault!”
Williams heads for the door but before he leaves he turns to me. “You know, Scarlett, you were only supposed to be his lawyer. You played a part in changing that.”
“You’re all so quick to jump to his defence, aren’t you?” I snarl.
Williams sighs. “Everything he does lately is about you. He would never, could never, have imagined this would happen.”
“Ah, I get it, the promotion was his doing? Well, I guess in your sick games, it makes a lot of sense to have someone on your side. To take the hit for you when it all goes wrong, doesn’t it?”
He shakes his head again and I can’t help but think how I would like to slap his face repeatedly until it’s red raw and stinging like my raging eyes. Once again, he places his hand on the handle of the door and once again he turns to me before he leaves. “How many people do you know just hand themselves in to the police for a life sentence?”
I knew it. “Jack.”
He leaves with Lawrence following quickly behind, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder as he passes me.
I stand alone in the empty room until the sensory light turns out.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Hi Sandy,” I mutter as I walk into the house. “How’s your day been?”
“I’m in here,” she calls from the kitchen.
The smell of sweet biscuits is delicious and the scent leads me to Sandy.
“Oh my word, what have you been up to?” I ask, scanning the results of hours of baking spread across the granite worktops.
“I just thought I’d bake something nice for dinner but I had spare pastry so I made some tarts for pudding too. Hmm, then I decided to make some ginger biscuits and a cheesecake.” She giggles, washing a large plastic bowl in the sink.
“And these?” I ask, pointing to a stack of whoopee pies.
“I have no excuse for those.”
She balances the bowl on top of a mound of draining dishes then rubs her hands down the sides of her flour-dusted apron.
“Right, what would you like first?”
I wrap my arm around her waist and rest my temple onto hers. “You can always cheer me up, Sandy.”
“Rough afternoon?”
“You could say that. Okay, I’d like to start with a nice big fat wedge of this delicious-looking cheesecake please.”
