Breaking Leila (31 page)

Then I
remembered the dream I’d had a few nights ago, how I’d woken, found
Matt in Joseph’s place and been shamefully disappointed. How the
thought of spending a week in Joseph’s bed made me shiver with
insolent desire. I felt guilty, but the sensation wouldn’t die, and
worse, I didn’t want it to. It wasn’t just lust–something violent
lurked beneath and every day that passed, it seduced me a little
more.

What if Charlie
was right? What if the person I tried to be–the person Matt needed
me to be–was no more real than the dream itself?

Fuck this
desire that haunted me. It wasn’t a ghost, it shouldn’t be allowed.
Charlotte could swivel on the knives, her silver playthings.

Just leave me
alone.

Chapter 14

We gathered in
one of the board rooms on Friday morning for our New York briefing.
The trainees sat along one side of the table, and Joseph occupied
the other along with his colleague Yves and his assistant, Sadie.
Solomon Dagier stood at the head, tapping fingers on his leather
chair.

“I’m not
sitting around to listen to all this. I’m in Salzburg all next
week,” Solomon said sharply. “But I want you to know how important
it is that we get this contract. Redfish Pharmaceuticals are doing
some of the most important research into bacterial infections. What
does that mean? St. Clare?”

Poppy blinked;
she was as shocked as me that he knew her name. “They’re going to
make a lot of money.”

“A shitload of
money, St. Clare. Thieving bastards, pharmas–the lot of them.” He
cocked a weedy little eyebrow. “So no shame in taking our cut.”

Joseph tossed
out thick itineraries and Poppy winced as one crushed her
suede-covered Filofax.

Solomon started pacing the length of the room, hands behind
his back. “We already represent Wan Tech on the other side of the
city. This could go in our favour. Play on it–we know what we’re
doing. But if any of you disclose anything
 
about
 
Wan Tech, I will personally
flay you. Is that clear?”

The room was
silent, but a flicker of a smile crossed Joseph’s mouth.

“Good, good.
Now. Work hard, enjoy yourselves. Don’t disobey Joseph and never go
out for a fag with Yves.” He exited, his hollow laughter echoing
down the corridors.

“There’s
something sinister about that man,” I whispered to Matt.

“He’s like an
evil little leprechaun.” He stroked my knee under the table.

Joseph cleared
his throat loudly and we snapped up to look at him. He stood now,
the itinerary heavy in his hand. “Finished, children?”

“Yes,” I
muttered, my cheeks flushing at his attention.

“So I should
think.” The wad of paper dropped onto the table with a thud.
“Everything you need is here–flight details, hotel plan, schedule.
You’ve all met Yves.” He slammed a hand onto the man’s shoulder.
“He’ll be assisting me with the main pitch. I also want you to come
up with your own, individually. You’ll be presenting them to us on
Monday–the best of you will join us for the real deal and the other
two can observe.”

Cheers for the
early warning, Mr Merchant.

“You can spend the rest of today researching Redfish. Sadie
has done the donkeywork, but I want to make sure you’re capable and
I
 
nee
d to be sure you’re
knowledgeable. Full profiles on my desk by lunchtime. Then you can
start thinking about your pitches.” Joseph paused to sip a glass of
water. “Yves? Some examples, if you will.”

Yves ran his
fingers over a buzz cut. “Look at the Wan Tech files and take note
of everything we managed to offset for them. The loopholes are the
key here. What kind of tricks can we pull that other firms can’t?
You’ve got to be savvy.”

I hated hearing words like
 
savvy
 
from older people. I hoped he
couldn’t see me cringing.

“And legal,”
Joseph added wryly. “No playing silly fucks just to look
clever.”

“Won’t we all
end up pitching the same thing?” There was a nervous edge to
Poppy’s tone; she wanted the chance to compete with me. Needed it,
now.

“In theory,
yeah,” said Yves, “if you’re on the ball.”

“But it’s how
you dress it up that counts.” Joseph shot me a sharp little stare.
“The most important thing the three of you can do on this trip is
to network. I want them left reeling that Bach and Dagier is
stuffed to the arse-end perfect with bright, young things. Be fresh
and be charming–no talk about politics, no talk about religion and
for Christ’s sake, no jokes about Jaffa Cakes. That’s another
flayable offense.” He leaned forward on his hands. “I’ve pulled a
lot of strings to take you on this trip. Make me proud of you.”

Matt squeezed
my knee under the table and I pressed my leg against his. Such
little gestures were instinctive, as if we were just components on
an electric circuit, passing on the charge. It seemed the most
natural thing in the world and yet I had to break it, soon–all this
heat would wither to a chill. I hated knowing it and I loathed how
the realization crept up on me in moments like this.

“Leila? Any
questions?” Joseph’s voice was terse.

“Oh.” I glanced
up at him. “No. I think.”

“Any further
questions can go to Sadie.” He stepped back. “You’re excused.”

“Have you heard
what they’re saying up in litigation?” Poppy asked as our heels
clicked down the corridor in unison.

I shook my
head.

“They’re
considering opening an American office,” she whispered, “and they
want Joseph to head it.”

My stomach
lurched and I wobbled on my shoes. “Oh?” I meant to sound casual,
but the panic was searing, obvious.

“He’s got
family over there,” she went on. “He handles Wan Tech and a couple
of other American companies. He’s the obvious choice.”

I knew, then,
why she’d suddenly applied for my job. She wanted to go with him. I
needed a few minutes to work out what that meant, somewhere quiet
and peaceful. Somewhere unlike a busy office. “How do you know all
this?”

She shrugged, an impish smile forcing a dimple to surface.
“All the rubbish errands he gives me do have their benefits. I
overhear all sorts of stuff. He calls New York a
 
lot
.
I knew it as soon as I heard where we were going.” There was
something in her voice beyond conspiratorial camaraderie. So this
was where our opposition really lay, hmm?
 
Him
?

Joseph had
assured me that the job was still mine. Did he plan on taking me
over there? Questions rushed over me, dumped from a great height
into a pail of iced water.

“What’s that?”
Matt said, appearing beside us with cans of Coke from the
machine.

“Poppy thinks
Joseph might be setting up an office in New York,” I said
quietly.

His face
mellowed in relief. “Oh…right.”

I knew what he thought:
 
Good fucking
riddance
.

Back in the
office, I flicked through the itinerary to check for anything of
use. Only then did I notice the little brown envelope clipped to
the back sheet, adorned with my name in Joseph’s blunt handwriting.
I glanced around to make sure Matt and Poppy were occupied and
teased it open. Inside lay a check for at least ten times my usual
fee.

I didn’t know
whether to take it as compliment or warning, and worse, the
prospect of either made me tighten in places it shouldn’t have.
What I did know, as I watched Matt wipe a drop of Coke from his
laptop and blow the hair from his eyes, was that it could be no
compensation for the price I would have to pay.

* * * *

Copious online
purchases awaited me at home, and later that night, I spent a good
hour twirling in the mirror. These were the kind of clothes that I
didn’t need Clemmie’s help to pick. Silk jersey dresses by Issa
that hung off all the right curves, an embellished skirt cut just
above the knee, Westwood ankle boots in stroke-worthy, satiny
suede. Sheer lingerie that made me feel guilty just looking at it.
Stockings.

On the plus
side, the check that morning meant I didn’t have to send most of it
back.

I sat on my
bed, staring around at all these beautiful things and suddenly
feeling very lonely. The realization that I was a big fat whore
cliché descended like a machete and I rushed into the bathroom,
spooning water to my mouth with cupped hands.

Matt picked up
after a few rings.

“Hey.” I could
hear him smiling. “How are you getting on?”

The pitch? “Oh,
I’ve given up until tomorrow.”

“Will you have
time to come see me play?”

“Your rugby
thing?”

“We tend to
call it a match.” He laughed. “It’s at eleven. Would you come?”

“Do I have to
bring quartered oranges?”

“That’s for
football poofs,” he scoffed.

“What do rugby
players eat, then? Quartered babies?”

“Yeah. Tubby
ones.” He paused, swallowing. “I miss you, babe.”

I bit my lip
and lowered my eyes, as ashamed as if someone could see me. “I miss
you too,” I said softly.

“I could walk
around, if you wanted.”

“I do…but you
need your sleep.” I stroked the buckles on my new handbag.
“Besides, my bedroom resembles some kind of costume department
right now.”

“I wouldn’t
mind.” His voice was so warm. “Shall I?”

“I need to get
it all sorted. But I’ll come and watch tomorrow, okay?”

He sighed. “All
right, then.”

“Good luck with
the pitch.”

“Oh, sod that.
I’m off to the pub.”

“Anyone
interesting?”

He cleared his
throat. “Your mate Aidan, actually.”

Aidan, not
working on a Friday? It must be love.

“Don’t turn your back on him,” I said. “
Especially
 
not your back!”

“It’s not like
that. We’re going to plan New York.”

“Oh,
 
plan
? I see.” I was actually a bit
perturbed that they were doing it without me. “Just don’t tell him
you were ready to blow him off for a lady.”

“I wouldn’t use
those exact words,” he teased. “I suppose I’d better get in the
shower…I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Okay. Have a
good one.”

I clicked off
before he could say anything else, and smacked the phone against my
forehead. I would have loved nothing more than to find him on my
doorstep, to bring him in and curl up next to him on the sofa while
he played with my hair…but I would long for the fingers on my skin
to get rougher, for him to be a man that he wasn’t, and maybe
Charlie was right–I didn’t want what he wanted, not in the
straightest sense. The bruises he’d left on my knees that first
night weren’t badges of his desire, they were just symptoms of the
competition he’d felt with Joseph, even then. Shame throbbed that
I’d ever thought otherwise.

Soon enough, our relationship would become less about being
with him and more about trying
 
not
 
to be with others. I’d been
there before. Aidan was right, too–at heart, Matt was a nice boy.
Or he had been, once, before London shoved him down on his knees
and made him beg to swallow.

I wished I
could settle for that in a lover. I wished that it wasn’t settling
at all.

I wished that I
deserved him.

* * * *

Saturday
morning brought a text from Poppy. Did I want to meet for breakfast
and compare pitches?

Er, no thanks.
Usurping cow.

Besides, I had
roughly forty-five minutes to look presentable and get to Matt’s
rugby match. Pompoms seemed appropriate, but I didn’t own
any–cheerleading was never a popular request.

Morning had
brought more miserable rain, and the heels of my boots slid about
in the mud. The match had already started and I stood on the edge
with the rest of the small crowd, cocooned in my suede jacket. I
felt like a preening plastic doll compared to the other spectators,
who had considered things more carefully and wore trainers and
anoraks. Sexy, eh?

Matt spotted me
after about ten minutes and shot me a huge smile. His white shorts
were smattered with mud, a light sweat shining on his forehead;
they had been playing for a good while. His dark hair clawed at his
face as he ran.

Something twisted inside as I went over the words. I strung
them up on little nooses in my mouth.
 
O, Charlotte…what a tangled
web you weave.

Bitch.

It would have
been a hundred times easier to just wait until we’d been to New
York. There was the small obstacle of Joseph and his request,
though. I couldn’t wait any longer to tell Matt and I might as well
get the savagery done with in one sitting.

If things
weren’t bad enough already, Matt’s team lost the match. He
approached me with slumped shoulders, still catching his breath.
Greg and Eton strode not far behind.

“I’m sorry,
babe. We’re normally better than that, I promise.”

“I’m sorry I
was so late,” I said. “And you were brilliant. I liked watching
you.”

He dropped his
head and kissed me, salt and sugar and all things vice. Just what
little boys are made of.

“But she isn’t
your girlfriend,” said Greg, eyeing me over Matt’s shoulder.

“Fuck off.”
Matt laughed as he pulled me into his arms. Body heat drenched me,
mellow and soothing–there is honestly nothing like the smell of a
man straight off a sports pitch. “You’ve met Greg before,
yeah?”