Trust Me to Know You (3 page)

That night I went for a drink and dance with friends. My companions were not from my new job as it was still too early on in my internship
for creating personal relationships. I was determine
d to make friendships based on my day-to-day life and not return to my old haunts. Even so, I tried very hard not to
think of Jason Lucas and his blue eyes. I
had not felt so entranced since my last long relationship - the one that ended in a nightmare scene.

Back in the office next day, there was an envelope on my desk with my name hand written on it. The small white offering was propped against my monitor. It had to be personally delivered as the internal mail tray was in a cupboard.

I looked around the room at the others but they were all busy. I tore open the envelope and out dropped two pieces of paper. The first was a ticket to the charity concert on Sunday evening - a box seat near the front of the auditorium. I gazed in marvellous delight. The second was handwritten on a blank piece of company stationery and was succinct.

***

To Gemma,

I still prefer the Gloria.

Enjoy the occasion and relax.

Jason Lucas

***

I was completely gobsmacked. Jason Lucas got me this ticket and left a personal message – relax? What did he mean? What was the CEO doing giving me an expensive ticket? Too many questions buzzed around my head like unwanted flies.

I sat down with
my heart in my mouth and fingers trembling. I dragged off my jack
et as if I was in a hot flush.
Why was I feeling overwhelmed by emotions? I
had not felt energised for some time, certainly not since I cruised the clubs or flaunted my body at a party looking for my next encounter, the perfect one - an approach that cost me dearly.
After three years of
my chosen lifestyle I had given it up and decided on a different job, a different approach and now it looked like it had paid off big time.

Perhaps I should not have accepted the tickets. They were not an innocent gift by a furtive admirer. The presumption on my part that they came without any strings attached was due to my relative inexperience of the art of seduction. To see them as a lure or payment for services rendered would have not entered my thoughts. I simply saw Mr Lucas as being generous and kind. I knew he had a reputation for aloofness and distance from his employees, sat in his ivory tower penthouse floor and ruling from on high. To be summoned to his office appeared to be a rare event for most of his employees in his headquarters. I struggled to find anyone below senior management who had made it up there without being part of a larger group of attendees. Even with the knowledge of his reputation, I painted him as a munificent boss.

The more I tried to justify my strange meeting with Jason Lucas, the more I buried my head in my emotional sandpit. He had given me a ticket for an expensive box seat, not one in the balcony or the gods up high. I was going to mingle with society’s wealthy benefactors. Sitting on my worn out sofa in my tiny flat, I held the ticket in my hand and considered returning it to his Personal Assistant with a ‘thanks but no thanks’ note. His generosity was unnerving and I could not refuse it. A little part of me had seen an extravagant surreal future and wondered if it was feasible. The attentions of a rich handsome man who would have me on his arm as he took me to concerts, the best plays in the West End and the Michelin starred restaurants.

Could such a future be possible? I laughed and fanned my face with the ticket. A preposterous idea!
Mr Lucas seeking me, wanting me as his companion or date! I was a nobody who had led a life of wantonness and steered clear of serious relationships. My history of liaisons could easily be portrayed as ignoble, debauched and lackadaisical. Only I knew the carefully considered limits by which I had led my life
. Those same baser instincts tempered my silly fantasies and I decided I would take his ticket, doll myself up and go to
the concert with my chin held up high. I was not going to be ashamed at the lack of a date or companionship. He gave me the ticket so I could enjoy my passion for music and I was going to do just that.

I had to buy a new posh frock to sit in the auditorium, as I could not
go in my old tat. The elegant dress cost most of a month’s wages and shoes were extortionate too. I was glad I did because I
did not
consider myself too out of place when I took my seat on the red cushioned velvet that Sunday evening. Without sex, music
had
filled my life and had kept me from going crazy.
The occasional trip to a concert, blasting songs out of my iPod at all hours and dancing in nightclubs had all helped me in my quest to be complete
again. The downside to my frantic efforts to occupy my waking hours was I was
practically broke by the time payday arrived.

I waited for the lights to dim and the orchestra to finish their tune-
up.
The ambience was
so
amazing and I was wrapped up in my own little world of personal delight. I did not
hear him approach or take his seat on the other chair in the box. I had
convinced myself I had the box to myself the whole evening, who would have had the other seat anyway? I almost fell off my seat with shock when I turned and found I was sitting next to Jason Lucas.

“Miss Marshall, I won’t say this was a pleasant surprise as I knew you would be here” He looked charming in black dress suit complete with black bowtie.

I looked around expecting other people to join us.

“You came alone?” I found myself blurting out with temerity.

“I’m not attached to anyone at the moment.” He looked nonplussed by his comment and then to injure my boldness further he crossed his legs and started to look amused by my discomfort.

“Enjoy yourself, Gemma. It’s going to be a good evening.”

Look away from him, I told myself, and focus on the music.

He was right. The music to start with was blissful and serene. I closed my eyes and swam in it. When I opened them for the interval, he was looking straight at me as if he had been throughout the performance with me thoroughly unaware.

“Let's get a drink,” he requested simply. Reaching forward he offered me his hand.

I took it and stood up. His grip was firm with strong slender fingers. His thumb caressed my knuckles gently, rubbing back and forth. I was strangely comforted by his digital embrace as I was not in my usual environment and surrounded by the well-to-do concert goers had upset my confidence.

“Did you want to hear the Handel or would you like to go for a proper drink?” he turned to face me.

I was absolutely befuddled by then. The request was not
how I did things normally. I
did not do dates, not like this. No, for me interviews, discussions, agreements, many conducted by email or in chat rooms, and then down to business. That was my starting point in any relationship, not charm, music, drinks and chats.

The door of the box opened before me as if it was a sign. I did not like making decisions impulsively. Occasionally they went wrong and I regretted them. I could make decisive choices, as I was not inept or an airhead. Nevertheless, sometimes I wanted to be led. His hand dropped out of mine and he pressed it against my back,
nudging me through the doorway. Some women might have found him presumptuous or
insolent; however, I did not find his gentle guidance unwanted. The touch was the reassurance I sought and it came just at the right moment. Feeling the pressure of his hand on me, I caught my breath before speaking.

“I don’t mind missing the Handel. I didn’t pay for the ticket,” I smirked gaining confidence.

He grinned back, those eyes bright in the dim light of the corridor.

“No you didn’t. I’m sure you can pay me back somehow.” He looked quite serious for a moment, unsettling me.

He led me down to the lobby and out of the front entrance to where there was an executive styled
black Jaguar parked outside the concert hall and a driver waiting by the car door. I was ushered into the back seat and
sitting on the leather upholstery, I stared
out of blackened windows. I was enclosed in a confined space with a man I barely knew and my heart was racing away. I was glad there w
as an impersonal driver present and I was not quite alone with Mr Lucas.

“The usual bar, Martinson,” Jason Lucas instructed his driver with practised ease.

“Where?” I asked curious.

“You’ll see,” he said. “You like clubs?”

“With my friends,” I said pointedly. I wanted him to understand the trust I was putting in him and he gave a small nod in reply. The rest of the short journey he asked me where I liked to hang out with my friends. I listed a few locations, those I felt comfortable mentioning, and I could tell he was not familiar with any of them. I was about to find out where Jason Lucas sought his relaxation.

Arriving at the expensive West End nightclub, he sauntered past the door attendants and with ease, ensured we were seated in a secluded corner. Almost immediately we were served with his chosen drinks by the bar staff attending us at our table.

“Two glasses of Spottswoode, sir,” said the bartender unburdening his tray.

Whatever my companion had chosen was a mystery to me. I sniffed the contents and smelt blackberries, but the expensive Cabernet was not Ribena. Licking my lips, I quickly put the glass back on the coffee table. I needed a clear head not expensive red wine.

I had never experienced privilege like this before. It was not a typical nightclub and definitely not one I had been to before. A different class of customers frequented the dimly lit lounge bar. It was almost like a members club with the admittance restricted by the door attendant
. The dance floor was tucked away in a separate area and the noise of the music drifted in without hindering normal levels of speech. At least I
would not have to shout to make myself heard.

The clientele were smartly dressed and not slovenly in appearance. No ridiculously short skirts or trousers hanging off the hips of the younger men. The bar staff mingled amongst the customers and took orders from their tables like waiters. Consequently, the bar appeared unusually quiet and inactive. The furnishings were spaciously laid out with leather sofas, armchairs and low glass topped tables. In the clubs I would hang out in glass-topped tables would have been smashed by stumbling drunks. Everything about the place shouted money. Simple glass teardrops hung below the halogen lights making the room swim with moving shards of rainbow lights. The walls were decorated with abstracts splashes of daring colours without being garish and the flooring was made from smooth panels of wood.

Jason Lucas sat opposite me in his fine suit and did not look the slightest bit out of place with his surroundings even in his black tie. With legs crossed and arms resting on the wings of the chair, he fingered a glass of wine and did not take his eyes off me once. I had not become accustomed to his good looks and it made it hard to gaze at him without feeling self-conscious. His features were chiselled on his face, not harshly like a stone statute, but elegantly as if to make him refined and ageless. I envisaged Jason was a masterpiece created over many years by a grand artist. Someone who took the time to perfect the striking face and then finally stepping back to acknowledge, with delight, his achievement.

Curling my lips, I mentally pictured Jason Lucas’s mother holding her baby son while admiring his beauty and wondering if a feckless girl would come along, kiss him
brazenly on the lips and turn her child into a frog. Was I going to be the rude princess and taint
Mr Lucas with my humble background and origins? The discomfort returned and I drooped physically in my seat. I had no idea what I was doing in his company. He must have had the pick of high society’s glamorous ladies and his address book would be full of names he could pick and choose from according to the occasion. My eyes dropped to the glazed coffee table and my untouched wine.

He cleared his throat with the tiniest of coughs and I lifted my eyes back up. His face gave me a little moment of encouragement and he led me back to him
, just as he had with his hand on my back in the concert hall. I had to stop the self-doubt and annihilation of my own
well-earned abilities. I was a competent woman, I reminded myself and more than capable of holding my own. My back straightened and I tossed my long locks of hair out of my eyes. I wanted to appear refined in his company: stature and prestige must be contagious.
The faintest nod of appreciation on his part made my heart swell. We were ready to begin.

The evening was a whirlwind of talk about my area of business expertise: asset valuation. I gained
little insight into Jason Lucas the private man, more the Managing Director and
Chief Executive of a monstrous company.
He glossed over his rapid rise to being a successful and exceedingly rich businessman. The speed at which he set up a holding company for his substantially lucrative subsidiaries, which were mainly in the areas of finance, accountancy and legal services. He was a man who oversaw the company headquarters and the few
hundred people based there. Taking into account all of his
UK based businesses and overseas firms, he was nominally in charge of nearly twen
ty thousand people. I could not
stop being in awe of him.

“A small army of people. Quite a responsibility,” I commented trying to appear at ease with him.

“Yes.
However, I didn’t inherit that number overnight but over many years,
and by acquiring several subsidiaries with their own management structure. I prefer to concentrate on new acquisitions rather than the running of the various business groups I own.”

“Empire builder then. You like power. Why not politics?”

My curiosity was being fostered by his openness. I was been given a chance to interrogate my boss and find out what made him tick. The informal cross-examination was a rare opportunity and
I bristled with the honour. I had been on the university student’s gazette for a brief period doing interviews for the student
entrepreneur section.