The Devil You Know (23 page)

burst into tears.

When she finished her shift, it was already 4 p.m. Daisy gathered up

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her tips; not much today. Eighteen quid and change. She pulled her coat on and shivered her way back to Walton Street. At least it would enable her to buy the ghastly Edwina a drink.

Daisy unlocked her door and walked into her living room. The answer machine was blinking; she’d check it later. She felt so exhausted, her weariness had seeped into her bones, along with the aching cold.

At half past four she had a lecture on the Iackham campus. Sod it, Daisy thought. She could call her girlfriend Lucy and crib from her notes. She just could not drag herself out to do one more unpleasant thing. Daisy walked into the bathroom and peeled offher rain-drenched clothes, running a hot bath, pouring her Iadox under the tap and watching the white, scented clouds of bubbles rise up the sides of the ancient tub. Fantastic. She jumped in, washing herself, making it as warm as she could bear it.

It got so cold here in the winter she sometimes thought she would never get warm. Baths were a help, and, right now, her only real pleasure most days.

She knew she should wash her hair. Not let the Edwina cow see her like this. But she was just too exhausted to spend forty minutes blow-drying it. Fuck it, she qould just keep her hair twisted in this French pleat. All she needed to do was look respectable …

The misery of it engulfed her soul the way the warm water was lapping at her body.

God, Daisy thought, tears prickling at the back of her throat, will anything ever go right for me again?

She’d once thought that if she could lose weight, she’d be happy, and everything would be OK. What a laugh. Now, sadness and overwork had managed to do what willpower couldn’t, and she was a perfectly respectable size I2.

And she didn’t think she’d ever felt more worthless in her life. But Daisy wasn’t going to let it show. She owed it to Edward to turn up tonight. He’d always looked out for her; she wasn’t going to ruin his happiness now.

She reached for one of the big white towels that came with the place and swaddled herself in it. Maybe she’d go out and get a bottle of wine or something; no, one of thoge ready-mixed gin and tonics they sold in the individual bottles. She was gonna need a drink just to get up the courage to go to the bar!

Daisy dispiritedly reached out to her answer machine and pressed play.

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‘You have one message,’ said the electronic voice soothingly. It beeped. A woman’s voice came on.

‘Hi, this message is for Daisy Markham,’ she said. Daisy could hear the sounds of a busy office in the background. ‘This is Gemma Brown in Ted Elliott’s office. Mr Elliott received your material and he’d like to talk to you about representation. Can you call us back on oi 555 5764? Thanks very much.’

I57

‘I’ve got something I think you should see,’ George Benham told he

fr l°se looked at him with her unreadable expression. She sat in

. %t of him in a wellcut, vintage Chanel suit that belied her youth,

her ……

dark fountain of hair twisted behind her head in a sleek chignon.

Sh kept her make-up light; startling beauty like hers needed no

hell, anyway.

]enham tried not to obsess over the plum lips, the endless

turbling legs, or those she-wolf eyes. It didn’t matter how

reSectably Rose Fiorello dressed. All he thought about was pulling

otf . • .

hat jacket, slipping those,pumps off her slender ankles, reaching

up to loosen that glossy waterfall of hair. He imagined her naked

whenever he saw her. She made him as horny as a teenager.

lie didn’t dare let it show. One false move and the ice-queen

W°ld fire him. And he could not afford to lose her business. He

°Wd his new Mercedes to it.

tenham remembered the first time he had seen Rose. She had

s°Uhded so straight-laced on the phone he’d been shocked when a

stUqent walked into his office, wearing skinny jeans and a plain white

shir.

‘(ou’re R.ose Fiorello?’

her.Shat’s right,’ she’d said, those pale eyes daring him to disbelieve

‘lut Rose Fiorello owns four buildings …’

is voice had, trailed off.

light again. She had laid a cardboard folder in front of him.

Insi%. it were neatly typed-out operating statements, with rental

ifrnCqmes, costs and taxes laid out as professionally as any spreadsheet

o, a real company.

,

TOU seem very young to own so many, units, Benham mumbled. he cold look in her eye said she didn t appreciate the comment.

I58

‘I only own fifteen. I was hoping you would work with me to find some more.’ The vision had sprung to her feet, preparing to storm out.

‘Wait a second - ma’am. I’m sorry. Benham Realty would love to do business with you. Won’t you have a seat?’

Since that day a year ago they had worked together.

Well, he had pretty much been working for Iose. It meant total dedication, late nights, credit checks, hours of phone calls to lawyers and hours of negotiations. But he’d fast learned to do whatever he was told. The commissions made everything worth it.

In the first six months, he’d closed five more deals.

P,.ose Fiorello was a powerhouse. She now owned nine buildings, with a total of thirty-one units. She had occupancy at TOO per cent, with a waiting list, for her apartments. She raked in over fifty

thousand a year in profits, and paid peanuts in taxes.

And she was still at college.

P,,ose discouraged talk about her personal life. Benham wondered if she really had one. But look at her - she must be fucking some lucky bastard.

‘What is it?’

She had that sceptical look. He hated that look. P,.ose Fior’llo rejected 90 per cent of the deals he brought her. But it only took oe deal to get that fat commission he loved.

Even his wife was into it, nagging him less and screwing him more. He hastened to convince her.

‘That last foreclosure you brought me was a real dog, George.’ ‘Yeah, well. This is a little different. It’s not what you’ve been doing up to now.’ He knew the one thing that would convince her.

‘It’s a bigger deal. The next step. You might not be ready for it…’ The wolf-eyes glinted. ‘Let me be the judge of that.’

‘Of course, Ms Fiorello. Well… This isn’t in foreclosure yet, but it will be. It’s a motel. The guy just doesn’t know how to run a hotel business …’

Benham didn’t know if P-,ose would, either. It was a long-shot, but he gave her all his long-shots. She turned down almost everything so he plastered her with deals. Benham !ealty specialised in foreclosures. He had tentacles everywhere. Now people were coming to him, because word had leaked out that Fiorello gave more money to owners than anybody else. If you had something worth selling, she threw you a lifeline.

‘Are you interested in the hotel business, Ms Fiorello?’

I59

‘I’ve got something I think you should see,’ George Benham told her.

Rose looked at him with her unreadable expression. She sat in front of him in a wellcut, vintage Chanel suit that belied her youth, her dark fountain of hair twisted behind her head in a sleek chignon. She kept her make-up light; startling beauty like hers needed no help, anyway.

Benham tried not to obsess over the plum lips, the endless tumbling legs, or those she-wolf eyes. It didn’t matter how respectably Rose Fiorello dressed. All he thought about was pulling off that jacket, slipping those.pumps off her slender ankles, reaching up to loosen that glossy waterfall of hair. He imagined her naked whenever he saw her. She made him as horny as a teenager.

He didn’t dare let it show. One false move and the ice-queen would fire him. And he could not afford to lose her business. He owed his new Mercedes to it.

Benham remembered the first time he had seen Rose. She had sounded so straight-laced on the phone he’d been shocked when a student walked into his office, wearing skinny.jeans and a plain white shirt.

‘You’re lose Fiorello?’

‘That’s right,’ she’d said, those pale eyes daring him to disbelieve her.

‘But Rose Fiorello owns four buildings …’

His voice had trailed off.

‘Right again.’ She had laid a cardboard folder in front of him. Inside it were neatly typed-out operating statements, with rental incomes, costs and taxes laid out as professionally as any spreadsheet from a real company.

‘You seem very young to own so many units,’ Benham mumbled. The cold look in her eye said she didn’t appreciate the comment.

‘I only own fifteen. I was hoping you would work with me to find some more.’ The vision had sprung to her feet, preparing to storm out.

‘Wait a second - ma’am. I’m sorry. Benham Realty would love to do business with you. Won’t you have a seat?’

Since that day a year ago they had worked together.

Well, he had pretty much been working for P,.ose. It meant total dedication, late nights, credit checks, hours of phone calls to lawyers and hours of negotiations. But he’d fast learned to do whatever he was told. The commissions made everything worth it.

In the first six months, he’d closed five more deals.

Pose Fiorello was a powerhouse. She now owned nine buildings, with a total of thirty-one units. She had occupancy at too per cent, with a waiting list, for her apartments. She raked in over fifty

thousand a year in profits, and paid peanuts in taxes.

And she was still at college. Rose discouraged talk about her personal life. Benham wondered if she really had one. But look at her - she must be fucking some lucky bastard.

‘What is it?’

:

She had that sceptical look. He hated that look. P,.ose Fiorllo

rejected 9o per cent of the deals he brought her. But it only took oe

deal to get that fat commission he loved. ‘

Even his wife was into it, nagging him less and screwing him more. He hastened to convince her.

‘That last foreclosure you brought me was a real dog, George.’ ‘Yeah, well. This is a little different. It’s not what you’ve been doing up to now.’ He knew the one thing that would convince her.

‘It’s a bigger deal. The next step. You might not be ready for it…’ The wolf-eyes glinted. ‘Let me be the judge of that.’

‘Of course, Ms Fiorello. Well… This isn’t in foreclosure yet, but it will be. It’s a motel. The guy just doesn’t know how to run a hotel business …’

Benham didn’t know if Rose would, either. It was a long-shot, but he gave her all his long-shots. She turned down almost everything so he plastered her with deals. Benham -Realty specialised in foreclosures. He had tentacles everywhere. Now people were coming to him, because word had leaked out that Fiorello gave more money to owners than anybody else. If you had something worth selling, she threw you a lifeline.

‘Are you interested in the hotel business, Ms Fiorello?’

I59

The thick black lashes flickered. ‘No.’

‘Oh.’ Disappointment. ‘Well, I have some other nice properties to

show you, an eight-family in Red Hook -‘

‘I didn’t say I wasn’t interested in the property.’

She extended one manicured hand.

George Benham was confused, but he handed it over. He watched, almost holding his breath, as Rose skimmed through the details. She was like a very chic hawk, hovering above her prey, waiting to pounce.

With every deal he had seen her outward appearance change. As

soon as R.ose had money, she had appeared in his office in new shoes, with a matching bag. There followed suits and dresses, each outfit a little more upmarket than the last. It was like she couldn’t wait to shed her working-class skin. And now she was wearing Chanel, with a slim gold watch on her wrist and a good string of pearls.

The one thing which hadn’t changed was the sense of the deal. Or

the drive. Benham had expected she would make some money, then settle down and marry an investment banker. But if anything, success had only made her hungrier.

‘This is interesting,’ she said finally.

His whole face brightened. ‘You want me to make an offer?’ Hell, Benham’s commission on this one - three per cent of the lego Park hotel … six hundred thousand … three per cent … thirty-six thousand dollars. A fine mist of sweat broke out on his forehead.

‘It’s really a jewel of a property …’

‘It’s a dump, George. A roach-infested dump.’ Rose tapped the

papers. ‘I’m going to have a look at these.’

‘I have more for you -‘

‘I don’t need to see them.’ She stood up, and the expensive hose

she was wearing slithered against her skin. ‘I must go; I’m late for

class. ‘

Rose Fiore]lo walked out of George Benham’s office, leaving

nothing behind her but the faint scent of lavender.

He thought he would have traded the thirty-six thousand for five

minutes between those long, lean thighs. But who was he kidding?

She was so hot, he probably wouldn’t last thirty-six seconds.

‘Oh! Jacobhhh! Ohhhh!’

Emily Clarkson raked her French-polished nails over Jacob

6o

lothstein’s chest as her back arched in orgasm. He felt a surge of pride mingling with the pleasure as he exploded inside her, as if he had just scored a walk-off home run. Emily’s breasts jiggled stiffly. They were implants, but Jacob really didn’t care about that. He just enjoyed watching another prim and proper Boston Brahmin sobbing with pleasure, her three-hundred-dollar hair cut plastered to her forehead.

‘Oh … oh …’ Emily panted, as he slipped out of her, reaching to take off his condom. She’d said she was on the pill, but Jacob didn’t take any chances. His father and uncles were always lecturing the Rothstein boys.., no glove, no love.., the family fortune was just too large, they said, for women to resist trying to trap them.

Jacob had no intention of being a parent before his time. Bringing up a child with a woman you didn’t love, didn’t even like much…