Lovers' Dance (36 page)

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “You know why, poppet. To apologize for the millionth time. To ask for forgiveness—”

“Forgiveness?” I interrupted scathingly. “You expect me to forgive you after last Saturday? Have you lost your mind?”

“I’m in the process of losing it, yes,” he shot back. “Because I can’t stand this distance between us. I don’t want to have this discussion over the phone. Can I stop by later?”

He
didn’t want to have the discussion? The arrogant asshole. Typical. Everything must be done on his terms. Well, not this time.

“No.”

“Poppet,” he said in frustration. “We have to talk about this. Face to face. I know you’re angry with me and rightly so—”

“Angry?” I cut him off as I juggled the papers on my lap. “I’m not angry, Matt. I’m done with you, with whatever this is…was. I may be inexperienced, but I’ve watched a lot of movies and read loads of books. Everyone knows if there’s ongoing drama between your man and his ex, things get out of hand, someone gets stabbed and the girlfriend ends up in jail. I’m too short to go to jail.”

Matt chuckled down the line. Damn it. I missed his smug laughter. Stupid, idiotic, sexy man.

“In this scenario of yours,” he drawled, “who gets stabbed? Not the boyfriend, I hope.”

“No one knows until it happens,” I said, smiling unconsciously, then stopping myself. I needed to hang up the phone before he did some sort of mind control trick to make me forgive him.

“Madi.” He breathed huskily into the phone, and my nipples tightened from the way he said my name. The man was lethal. He wasn’t physically there, yet my body responded without shame.

I glared down at my boobs, mentally ordering them to behave before I spoke coldly. “Matt, I’m extremely busy and you need to stop calling me, stop buying me things and, for God’s sake, have someone move that SUV from in front of my house.”

There was pause on his end. I could hear the clackety-clack of a keyboard. He must be in his office, taking time from his busy day to call me. Stop it. Stop it right now, Madison DuMont, I scolded myself.

“Natty wants your number,” Matt said unexpectedly. “I’m loathe to give it to her, but she seems fond of you, poppet. Both girls are. They’ve been texting me all week asking when next they’ll see you. It’s becoming tiresome.”

The sudden change in topic distracted me. “I like them, too. Give her my number and tell her to call me. I’ve got to go, Matt.”

“How’s work?” he asked quickly. It was an obvious attempt to keep me on the phone.

“It’s fine. We’re busy like I said—”

“How’s the choreography going? From what I saw last Friday, it looks amazing,” he said supportively.

Against my will I replied, “Really? We think so, too. Dante and I are swamped with auditioning extra dancers for the production. We’re running out of time if we want everything—” I stopped. How did he do this?

The silence stretched between us and I fiddled with the pile of resumes on my lap.

“Poppet,” he murmured after half a minute. “Talk to me.”

“I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Madi, I’m sorry about what happened at dinner. You have no idea how sorry.” He took a deep breath. “I love you, I miss you and I need to see you. I need you, poppet. Can I stop by later?”

The ‘yes’ was on the tip of my tongue. It was only through sheer, desperate resolve I managed to avoid blurting it out. I swallowed the lump in my throat and said instead, “Matt, I need time to think and I have to go.”

“How long?” he asked in an empty voice.

“I don’t know.”

“Are the press leaving you alone?” Another suspicious change of topic. This time, I wasn’t falling for it.

“A few reporters were hanging around earlier this week, but nothing today. I have to go. Goodbye.”

I hung up the call and tried to control the surge of emotion running through me. It was good hearing his voice. I fucking missed him. The way he kissed me, the way he touched me, even the way he’d get irritated with me and frown those delicious lips of his.

“Stupid motherfucker,” I muttered in annoyance. What was wrong with him? Letting that woman touch his junk…junk that was mine. There it was, the seething jealousy that rippled through me ten times a day. I stood up, clutching the resumes to my chest and slipping my cell into the pocket of my jeans. I needed to forget about Matt, at least for now. Shit had to get done, and me moping over him was unproductive. A decision over the extra dancers needed to be made today. And I had to call Geoffrey. I sighed, gingerly making my way between the seats. We had to plan the Christmas recital for the beginners and intermediate classes. We were still lacking an artistic director. I had to place an order for the tickets to be printed for
The Ice Queen and Princess
, but I had no idea how it would look. We needed to source costumes…a shitload of costumes. We needed backing, and I hadn’t been as focused on drumming up sponsorship as I should have been. I felt overwhelmed.

And my fucking birthday was only weeks away. God help me. Another year, another anniversary of their deaths. I stubbed my foot on the back of a chair and yelped. The resumes went fluttering to the floor as I jerked in pain. I bent down to pick them up, wondering how much it would take before I had a mental breakdown and ended up in padded room. Time heals, that’s what they say. Whoever said that was a liar. Time didn’t heal shit. Time was a cruel bastard—it served to remind me of years lost, years that we should have shared together. They never got the chance to see me dance. They never would…

<><><>

Matt scowled at the men surrounding the large table in one of the conference rooms. They avoided his hard glances, except his older brother, who wore an exasperated expression on his face.

“What exactly are you telling us, Brandon?” Matt asked, the frigidness of his tone caused the others to shoot pitying looks at Brandon Eghart, one of the executives.

“It was an unexpected development—” he began, trying to look as confident as possible. It didn’t work.

Matt cut him off with a terse, “Unexpected development? Do we not pay you enough to ensure there are contingencies in place to deal with these unexpected developments?”

“Matt, how could we know—”

“Because you’re paid to know,” Adam burst out from the opposite end of the table. “Now we have a serious problem. Do you know how much it is costing the company? If that oil refinery isn’t up and running by Monday, I swear, Brandon, your next job will be cleaning up aisles in Tesco. Millions of pounds, you fool. How inept are you? It’s bad enough Egypt has undergone huge uprisings in the recent past, bad enough that those Production Sharing Agreements are the most complex contracts I have ever come across.” Adam stood up, face almost purple with rage. “But you’re now sitting here telling us the contractor who supplies and maintains the exorbitantly priced machinery for all our refineries out there, is trying to force a thirty percent increase in what we pay by allegedly cutting a deal with the bloody Americans? Get your arse out there and get those blasted renegotiation papers signed.”

Brandon Eghart looked deflated as he stood up, the other execs carefully avoided his eyes. They didn’t want to risk the brothers’ anger.

Matt held a hand up and the man paused, glancing fearfully at him. Matt ignored his cowering executive and motioned to Adam.

“A ten percent increase should appease the contractor. He knows there’s no way we’ll agree to a thirty percent hike.”

Adam rubbed a hand across his jaw, glowering at Eghart who was standing as still as possible.

“We need to know what figures our competitors are tossing around, Matt. If it’s true, the contractor has the upper hand and we can’t afford our production levels to fall any further.”

Matt exchanged a silent look with his brother. His eyes narrowed as a determined smile slid over his face. Adam started nodding slowly, in tune to Matt’s thoughts. They were brothers, grew up together, worked together. They were Bradley men, and no one tried to fuck them over.

“Give the contractor a twenty-five percent increase,” Adam said. The execs began murmuring, a low nervous din of shocked whispers.

“Find out everyone who owns their stock,” Matt added in a hard, unrelenting voice. “Acquire fifty-two percent, as quietly as possible.”

“I like fifty-five percent, Matt,” Adam mused while sitting back down. He was grinning at Matt, the same predatory gleam in his eyes. “It has a better ring to it.”

Matt shrugged, then turned his hard gaze on Eghart. “Get it done.”

The man nodded and pushed his chair back further before hurrying to the door.

“Oh, and Brandon,” Matt called when he was about to open it. Eghart turned with a feeble smile.

“Yes, Matt?”

“Ineptitude is a trait frowned upon in this company. Let this be your first and last warning.”

Eghart paled, nodded and fled the conference room.

Adam opened the file in front of him. “If everyone can turn to page seventeen, we need to assess the viability of four of our smaller companies in the current economical market. A decision must be made today on merging them.”

“We’ll take a lot of flak if the merger results in redundancies, Adam.” A thin, wiry exec, wearing a brown, ill-fitting business suit piped up.

“Redundancies are unavoidable,” Matt stated, head bent as his eyes flicked restlessly over the page. “These four companies are operating at a loss. We need to lower our costs or risk them all going under, and my father will not be pleased with that.”

At the mention of his father, the men around the table were agitated. William Bradley was head of their vast empire, although he was technically retired. He kept his office in the building and made it his business to stop by at least three times a week. Everyone knew his retirement didn’t halt his decision-making through his sons. Everyone knew he still ran things.

Matt sighed softly, distracted with thoughts of Madi. Bloody hell. He missed her and it was unnerving. Matt had never missed someone as much as he missed her. At least she had spoken to him earlier, which was a marked improvement on those impersonal texts. Why was she being stubborn? It wasn’t like he had shagged Louisa. What did she want from him? In all his life, he had never apologized so much and it angered him. He was Matthew Bradley, he didn’t apologize. So why was he thinking up new ways to appease his dark beauty? New ways to say sorry, to gain her forgiveness for something he felt wasn’t his fault. Bloody Louisa Gilliford and her wandering hands.

Someone asked him a question, and Matt pushed thoughts of his personal problems aside and focused on business. It was another three hours before the meeting drew to a halt and he was able to escape to his office. His secretary, Rachel, was under strict instructions to hold incoming calls and guard his office door like her life depended on it. He needed time to think. Time. Madi said she needed time. Bollocks to that. He didn’t want to give it to her. What if she decided to end things? Matt remembered their earlier conversation as he poured himself a stiff drink at the sleek bar stationed in the corner of his office. She had said she was done with it. What the fuck was she playing at? Things may have gotten out of hand…bad choice of words in this circumstance. Matt tossed back his drink and scowled at the glass he held. What did she want from him?

The door to his office opened and he could hear Rachel’s alarmed voice wafting in loudly.

“He’s not to be disturbed.”

Matt glanced at the intruder, an exasperated sound leaving his lips. Rachel followed his brother into the office.

“I’m sorry, Mr Bradley—”

“It’s all right, Rachel.” He waved her apologies away. “Adam never listens to anyone but himself.”

With a harsh look directed at Adam, Rachel spun on her heels, shoulder-length brown waves flicking wildly over the shoulders of her jacket, as if her hair was annoyed with his brother’s unwanted disturbance. The door closed, a tad louder than necessary, and Adam stared at it for a second before walking over to where Matt stood.

“How long has she been working here?”

Matt placed his empty glass on the bar’s smooth surface. Adam arched an eyebrow, noting the open bottle of spirits.

“Long enough,” he replied. “What do you want, Adam?”

Adam ignored Matt’s question and sent a frown at the door. “Her office skills need a serious overhaul. She told me to come back later. Does she not understand who she’s talking to?”

Matt had to smile at Adam’s arrogance. “She’s my secretary and is paid to do what I tell her. What do you want?”

“What’s wrong? You seemed to be somewhere else in that meeting. In fact, you’ve been distracted all week.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m busy. There’s a snag in our takeover bid. Dad told you about that, right?”

Adam nodded slowly, peering at him, then glancing again at the open bottle resting innocently on top of the bar. “What’s wrong, Matt?”

“Nothing,” he replied emphatically. Matt wanted to be alone with his thoughts, and Adam was an interruption he could do without right. Goddamn it. He needed his poppet and she was being difficult. The last time he’d enjoyed her delectable body was a week ago. It felt like forever to him. He wanted her naked and writhing in his bed. He wanted her melting on his tongue. He wanted those slender legs of hers wrapped around his waist as he lost himself in the moist tightness of her body. He was going crazy with unfulfilled lust. The vivid images of their bodies intimately pressed together haunted his every waking hour, and his bloody dreams, too. He missed her intoxicating smell, her delicious taste, her beautiful, smooth, dark skin contrasting with his and covered in the glistening sheen of sweat from their intense lovemaking. He fucking missed her, and he’d had enough of her childish behaviour.