Vengeful Love (7 page)

Chapter Seven

The office is dark and eerily quiet when I arrive, the sound of each movement magnified by the empty space. On Friday evening I received notification that I was granted access to a VDR—virtual data room—containing information and documents about
Sea People International Inc.
Now my emails tell me that hundreds of documents have been deposited in the VDR for me to review. For once, I’m grateful for the laborious task of sifting through a mountain of due diligence. Eclectic Technologies instructed me only to look at the absolute must-read documents but given the timeframe to complete this deal, that will still mean working flat out to prepare for a meeting with Gregory, Williams and Lawrence by midweek. I won’t have time to torture myself with thoughts of hospices or the reality of how sick my father is.

My ability to concentrate is almost non-existent and I try in vain to plough through the mass of documents. Throwing away the possibility of sleeping pills now seems like an idiotic move.

I rest my head on my hand and wince when I touch the cut on my temple, bringing the memories of just how stupid and selfish I was flooding back. By the time Margaret makes it into the office I’ve barely made a dent in the goal I set myself for this morning.

“Scarlett! Hi!”

“Hi Margaret, have you had a nice weekend?” I ask, unable to muster anything resembling chirpy in my voice.

“Yes, thank you. If you don’t mind me asking, is everything okay? You just...just don’t really look yourself.” It’s probably safe to assume she’s referring to my puffy eyes, resting on top of two big, black rings of tiredness and decorated with a deep red cut.

“Just a big weekend.”

“Can I get you anything? Latte?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

Not even caffeine can improve the look of my tired eyes but it does at least give me enough of a kick to read the next few documents at an improved pace. The office starts to fill with stories of the weekend.

“Guess what?” Amanda yells as she bursts through my door, making me jump in my seat. “Gosh, you don’t look well. Are you okay?” she asks, lowering her decibel level to just above normal.

“Just tired.”

“Sooooo?”

“I can’t guess,” I mutter. “Please tell me.”

“Fine. Guess who has a date on Wednesday?”

I gasp. “You?”

“Meeee. Guess who with?”

“I have no idea. Who?”

“Someone’s in a grouch today,” she says in disgust. “Only with Edward!”

“Edward. Edward who?”

“Edward Williams,” she sings again.

“Williams! What?” I realise too late to prevent myself that I’m snarling at her and up out of my seat. “You can’t, Amanda. I told you, he’s a client. For God’s sake, why can’t you ever listen to anything I say?”

I’m annoyed and tired but most of all, surprising even to me, I’m jealous. I’m jealous that Amanda can get any man she likes just as easy as she can say hello. It doesn’t matter how wealthy or attractive or smart they are, she can have them.

“You can’t do this, Amanda, please. What if it goes wrong?”

“It won’t,” she snaps. “You could just try being happy for me instead of miserable and overly sensible. Jesus, Scarlett, you’re such a goody-goody. What the hell’s gotten into you today?”

I sit back into my chair with a sigh. “Sorry, I’m just busy and this isn’t really a conversation for the office.”

“Fine. Well you would’ve known before now if you hadn’t ignored my calls and texts all weekend,” she huffs like a petulant child and sits onto my windowsill, taking the weight off her Prada heels.

“Sorry, I hadn’t realised. I just, I didn’t look at my phone and...” Before I can stop them, tears are falling to my desk. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business who you date,” I sniff. “It’s just been a long weekend.”

Amanda closes my office door then sits on to the edge of my desk. “Is your dad okay?”

I shake my head. She leans down to my chair and hugs me until my shoulders stop chugging with each breath. Then she pulls away from me and strokes damp strands of hair from my cheeks.

“How did you get that?”

“It’s nothing,” I say, pulling my face away from her and shielding my marked temple with my hand. “This is ridiculous, I’m a mess, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising. You apologise far too much. Why don’t you go home and be with your dad? Nothing here can be that urgent and if anyone argues, send them to me.” She throws her hands on her hips and purses her lips.

“No, I have too much to do. Plus, it’s about the only place I can be to take my mind off it all. It might be the only thing I have left soon,” I croak, catching sobs in my throat, willing myself not to unleash them.

“You know, if you need anything, anything at all.”

I manage to muster a sad smile. “I know.”

* * *

As the day goes on, I wake up and seem to be getting through my work at a much quicker rate. Thankfully, Jack’s away for the day.

Margaret forces me to eat a hot meal before she heads home at five-thirty, leaving a bag of snacks on my desk. I lose myself in my work and remember how much I love it, how big the Eclectic Technologies deal could be for me.

To: Heath, Scarlett

From: Ryans, Gregory

Sent: Monday 12 Oct 2015 21.46

Subject: Meeting

Good evening Scarlett,

I hope you enjoyed the rest of your weekend. How you are progressing with your research? When will you be in a position to set a time for our meeting to discuss your findings?

Regards,

Gregory Ryans

CEO Eclectic Technologies

I stare at the email, scrutinising every character, as if it’s a crime scene and I’m an investigator searching for clues. The fact that I’m delighted to hear from Gregory adds to my terror that he might know just
how much
I enjoyed Friday. My fingertips move to my cheek, remembering the feel of his hot breath on my flesh. My tongue strokes my top lip and my back arches away from my chair as I recall the way he drove me to touch myself, the image of him naked, crawling over me, sating my hunger for him.
Christ!
Our relationship has to be strictly business. This deal means too much to the firm, to me. And more than anything, doing well at work means too much to my father, that look in his eye, his pride. Falling for Gregory is not something I can afford to do.

My first response is an email thanking him for dinner. I delete it. I shouldn’t draw attention to our time outside of work. My second response stays on the computer screen long enough for me to read it eighteen times. Then delete it. More than an hour later, I reply.

To: Ryans, Gregory

From: Heath, Scarlett

Sent: Monday 12 Oct 2015 22.53

Subject: Re: Meeting

Gregory,

Thank you for your email. I hope to be in a position to have a meeting with the Board on Friday. Please let me know the most convenient time for you.

Best regards,

Scarlett Heath

Senior Associate

Saunders, Taylor and Chamberlain LLP

To: Heath, Scarlett

From: Ryans, Gregory

Sent: Monday 12 Oct 2015 23.07

Subject: Re: Meeting

Are you still at work?

Gregory Ryans

CEO Eclectic Technologies

To: Ryans, Gregory

From: Heath, Scarlett

Sent: Monday 12 Oct 2015 23.08

Subject: Re: Meeting

I should be in the office for the next hour or so, please feel free to call if you have any queries.

Scarlett Heath

Senior Associate

Saunders, Taylor and Chamberlain LLP

To: Heath, Scarlett

From: Ryans, Gregory

Sent: Monday 12 Oct 2015 23.10

Subject: Re: Meeting

I hope you are not working late on my account.

Gregory Ryans

CEO Eclectic Technologies

To: Ryans, Gregory

From: Heath, Scarlett

Sent: Monday 12 Oct 2015 23.11

Subject: Slave driving CEOs

With your tight schedule, Mr. Ryans, you leave me very few alternatives.

Scarlett Heath

Senior Associate

Saunders, Taylor and Chamberlain LLP

I hit the Send icon before it dawns on me how outrageously flirtatious my email is. It doesn’t even sound like me. It’s confident and brash. I could kick myself.

To: Heath, Scarlett

From: Ryans, Gregory

Sent: Monday 12 Oct 2015 23.12

Subject: Re: Slave Driving CEOs

In that case, the least I can do is have Jackson waiting for you outside to take you home when you finish.

Gregory Ryans

CEO Eclectic Technologies

To: Ryans, Gregory

From: Heath, Scarlett

Sent: Monday 12 Oct 2015 23.13

Subject: Re: Slave Driving CEOs

Gregory,

Please do not trouble Jackson but thank you for the offer.

Scarlett Heath

Senior Associate

Saunders, Taylor and Chamberlain LLP

To: Heath, Scarlett

From: Ryans, Gregory

Sent: Monday 12 Oct 2015 23.14

Subject: Re: Slave Driving CEOs

Jackson will be outside from midnight. Please see my previous email.

Gregory Ryans

CEO Eclectic Technologies

When I step out of the office into the cool night air, Jackson gets out of the Mercedes to greet me.

“Good evening, Miss Heath.”

“Call me Scarlett, please. I’m sorry to drag you out at this time of night, Jackson, I didn’t—”

“I work for Mr. Ryans any time of day, it’s no trouble.”

I smile with genuine gratitude. The thought of putting any more time than necessary between my bed and me is less than appealing. I sit into the back of the Mercedes and Jackson locks me in. I lean my head back to rest against the black leather seat and inhale the lingering scent of Gregory. God, even that makes me want him. My eyes close and his sexy half smile fills my mind.

“Scarlett. Scarlett.” Jackson rocks my shoulders gently, waking me up.

I thank Jackson and make my way to the house, rubbing my tired eyes. Sandy’s still up watching television in the lounge.

“What’s wrong?” I ask instinctively, dreading the response.

“It’s okay, don’t panic. He’s been very unsettled today but the doctor called again and gave him something to help him sleep.”

With a sigh, I slump onto the sofa next to Sandy, who wraps her arm around me. My heart rate returns to manageable as I lean into her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Of course,” she whispers as she pulls me more tightly into her side. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, neither do I, but the doctor left some brochures today. Some of the places look very nice, like posh hotels.”

She leans toward the coffee table to retrieve the brochures and I slip out of her embrace, instantly missing the sweet smell of pastry on her wool cardigan.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Sandy nods. I kiss her on the cheek and wish her goodnight then shuffle along the floor and up the stairs where I collapse onto my bed.

Flushing hot then shivering cold, I toss and turn all night.

Chapter Eight

It’s a thoroughly miserable Friday morning. I fight with my umbrella in the wind and rain—the worst of all weather combinations. The bottom of my knee-length dress is a darker shade of red than the rest when I eventually arrive into the muggy air of the tube platform. The damp grey mac that I thought was waterproof is clinging to my arms.

The signal on my Blackberry drifts in and out as the tube moves between over and under land but I have reception for long enough to find that my three o’clock meeting at Eclectic Technologies has been moved to ten this morning.

“Great! That’s just great!” I say, unintentionally loud. I slam my Blackberry first into its case then into my bag.

With the exception of the woman sitting opposite me who rolls her eyes and tuts, no one else seems to notice my tantrum. The man sitting in the seat to my left still snores with his mouth wide open. The woman to my right is lost in her novel. The girl standing in the middle of the aisle continues to tap her foot and chew her gum in time to the sound bellowing out of her earmuff-size headphones.

“Scarlett!” Jack yells before I even have a chance to swap my flats for the heels under my desk.

Obligingly, I trudge to his office.

“Hi! How was your trip?”

“How’s the Eclectic deal coming?” he barks.

“Fine. I have a meeting with the board this morning so I’m heading straight back out. I have a few questions for them, could we discuss it when I’m back?”

Ignoring my question, he flicks his hand, motioning for me to leave his office.

His sleazy eyes burn into my back as I walk away and he makes a wet sapping noise with his mouth. I think it would be better not to turn and look at the expression on his face.

It’s not long before Margaret tells me my transport is outside to take me to Eclectic Technologies’ office. I have just enough time for a whistle-stop tour of Outlook and to gather my bundle of documents.

“My out-of-office reply is directed to you, Margaret. I’ll be in a meeting for a couple of hours at least.”

“Understood.”

I ought to have known that my transport would be Jackson. When I step out of the office, he’s opening the back door of the Mercedes.

“Good morning, Miss Heath,” he says, showing his teeth as he smiles.

“It’s Scarlett, please. And this is becoming a regular occurrence. Is he always this controlling?”

“That’s what makes him good at what he does.”

Jackson closes the door behind me and for the fifteen-minute journey, I quiz him. He’s a sort of driver-cum-bodyguard. Gregory frequently tries to give him the weekend off but it depends on his schedule and Jackson is always happy to work. A cleaner-cum-chef visits Gregory’s apartment every day but she doesn’t live in.

“Any other extravagances?”

“A few,” Jackson chuckles. “When he gives himself time to enjoy them.”

Under the stress of my pitch on my first trip to GJR Tower, I’ve forgotten how impressive the office block is. I’m greeted at the entrance by a very merry receptionist in a grey suit and blue necktie who passes me over to a concierge who takes me up to the twenty-seventh floor. The lift opens to a sign stating this floor is the home of Eclectic Technologies
,
with a bolt of electric lightning flashing through the glowing white words.

Another receptionist takes my coat and offers me a drink whilst I wait. She probably thinks I look like I could use some caffeine. She dials an extension and tells the person on the other end to let Mr. Ryans know that his ten o’clock has arrived. On hearing his name, goose pimples form up my arms one by one like a falling domino chain. I quickly stamp on my thoughts and try to remember why I’m here.

I sense his presence before I see or hear him—the blood pumps harder in my veins, my temperature rises and a knot ties in my stomach. When I look up, that disastrous half smile is watching me from the internal reception door. My cheeks flush red under the intensity of his stare.

“Hi!” I manage through my throat dry.

“Hello Scarlett.” He looks effortlessly cool in his tailored charcoal suit and black tie, his thick hair slicked back and slightly to one side.

I drag my eyes from him and fumble around my seat, picking up papers and my bag. He holds the glass door open for me and I glance at the receptionist as I pass, giving her a polite smile but receiving a scowl in return. The short walk to the boardroom feels endless. We ask each other how we are. We’re both well. I pass comment about the great British weather. Gregory apologises for moving our meeting forward.

Williams is already seated at the large oval table when we enter the room. “I have to go,” he says into his Blackberry. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“I hope that was Amanda,” I say. “Sorry, that’s completely inappropriate and absolutely not my business.”

I clumsily place/spill my documents onto the table then awkwardly pull my red dress straight.

“It’s good to see you again, Scarlett,” Williams beams, clearly suppressing a smile. His manner instantly puts me at ease.

A member of kitchen staff knocks and enters the room with three coffees, a pot for topping up and a plate of pastries that smell fantastic. Butter, chocolate and sweet cinnamon assault my nostrils. Williams takes a cinnamon swirl as soon as the plate lands on the table, then wipes his fingers on a serviette. “And yes, it was Amanda.”

I nod, unsure of the most appropriate response. Unbundling my documents and regaining my composure, I take control of the meeting and do what I know best, what my father wants me to do and what I’ve worked hard to do. Settling in to my role as their legal advisor and pretending that Gregory is just another client, I start talking law.

Williams relays Lawrence’s apology for not being able to make the meeting, which is annoying as a lot of my curiosity about the deal concerns his ownership of Connektions Limited and indirectly, Sea People International Inc. I decide to ask questions second and talk Gregory and Williams through my brief due diligence on Sea People first. Gregory pays less attention than I think he ought to but Williams listens intently.

After the best part of an hour, I ask, “Do you have any questions so far?”

Gregory’s usually focussed eyes are distant. Distracted, as if he couldn’t care less about the company he’s taking over. Williams asks five or six questions, apparently more intrigued by the prospects of his investment. There’s a silence after I answer his last question. Williams and I both look to Gregory, expecting him to speak.

“Well,” Williams says eventually, “it’s eleven-thirty, why don’t we take a quick break and I’ll order some more drinks?”

I have to admit Gregory’s attitude toward the deal strikes me as peculiar and his lack of interest is clearly irking Williams. I excuse myself to the ladies’ to give them some space.

They’re standing side by side in front of the window when I return.

“I don’t care.” Gregory sounds peeved himself now, his South African twang more prevalent than usual. Harsher, more manly and sexy as hell.

Williams hangs his head then pats his friend on the shoulder and walks back to the table.

“Is everything alright?” I ask sheepishly.

Williams tucks in his seat. “Absolutely. Where were we?”

Gregory lingers at the window. When he eventually joins us, his face is unreadable.

“Now it’s time for you to do the talking and fill in some missing blanks for me,” I say cheerily.

Gregory’s jaw clenches and his hands tense, nearly forming fists on top of the table.

“Of course, what do you need?” Williams says, his manner in complete contrast to the man beside him. The man whose conceited arrogance is really starting to piss me off, both because he’s behaving like an ungrateful arse and because there’s something completely, undeniably arousing about it.

“Let’s start with the legals first. When I was reviewing the constitutional documents, I couldn’t help but notice a whole web of connections between the companies that each of you and Mr. Lawrence own. I presume you’re aware of these connections?” I ask rhetorically, knowing that any potential conflict of interests
should
have been declared in directors’ meetings. “The one I’m most interested in is Mr. Lawrence’s ownership of Connektions Limited.”

Gregory visibly twitches in his seat.

“Were you aware that Connektions Limited is a majority shareholder of Sea People International Inc.?”

My question is directed to an uncomfortable Gregory but Williams answers. “Yes. We are aware of that.”

Annoyance drives me to bite down on my gums. What a supercilious prick he is! I’m pleased I had myself off over him because at least the CEO in my imagination was pleasant. At least he gave me
something
.

“I don’t understand,” I say, failing to hide my frustration. “Sea People International is very profitable. How could Mr. Lawrence think it would be in his company’s best interests to sell? I find that difficult to comprehend when the intention is for you to buy it and break it up.

“The offer is too good to turn down,” Gregory says through gritted teeth, his South African accent even more prominent than before. “There are numerous reasons why a company would sell up. It might want to realise capital. It might want to throw in the towel.”

“But that isn’t the case here,” I say, unable to stop my tone from rising to confrontational. “It’s Lawrence’s money, in any event, and he obviously isn’t looking to throw in the towel. And this other man, Mr. Pearson, he owns twenty-four percent of Sea People. Who is he and what does he think about the sale?”

Gregory rises from his chair abruptly, thrusting it back against the wall with a bang that echoes in the room and startles me. He storms toward the window and jams his hands into his trouser pockets. His back is strong, his calves pushed back, his hips flexed forward. He exudes authority beyond his thirty years. Heat rises in my chest. I’ve never been more attracted to him.

“Look,” I say, standing but softening my tone, “the business is worth more as a going concern and everything I’ve told you in the last two hours shows you that, if you didn’t know already. Forgetting Lawrence and Mr. Pearson for a moment, it doesn’t make commercial sense for you to pay more than the company’s worth to buy it and sell it off in pieces. The assets are individually worth nothing by comparison to the trading company.”

Gregory turns to me, his face taut. I want to leap for him and pull my fingers through his hair. I want to bite his angry lips and get lost in his touch.

“I instruct you to be my lawyer, not my business advisor. When I need help making commercial decisions from a girl who thinks she can question me because she once read a textbook, I’ll let you know.”

“I’m not trying to—” I clear my throat and check my rising tone. “I’m not trying to tell you how to run a business, Gregory, but something’s off. You seem to resent this company yet you’re desperate to take control of it. You know the maths doesn’t add up. Basically, you want throw money away. I don’t know who Mr. Pearson is but I can’t see why Lawrence would want you to go through with this.” I take a deep breath and try to control my charged emotions. Somewhere in my head the line between my job and legal sense is blurring with an irrational, personal need to protect this man and his wealth. “You’re right. I’m just your lawyer and if you tell me to make this deal happen, I guess I have to do that. But something feels off and I need to know what it is. I need to know this deal is above board.”

He takes a step toward me, the sinews of his neck tight.

“Why are you really doing this, Gregory?”

He’s looking down on me, despite my high-heels. “My motivation isn’t your concern.”

I take a deep breath, trying to stay focused, but when my words form, they’re heavy, husky even. “Why do I get the sense I could be putting my entire career on the line and you don’t have the decency to tell me what for?”

Gregory takes another step toward me and his eyes burn into mine. Now it’s his turn to bite down on his gums. Seconds pass as we stand face to face, neither of us blinking.

“Excuse me, I need to make a call.” He storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him, leaving me feeling like he just left me alone in my bed, naked and vulnerable but wanting more.

Williams leans back in his chair and pulls his interlaced fingers through his tousled, dirty-blond hair. I daren’t look at him for fear my face might betray my facade. I stand in the same spot, not moving, completely dumbfounded.

“What just happened?”

Williams gestures for me to take a seat and tops up my coffee. “He wouldn’t let you do anything to jeopardise your job. Trust me, that’s just about the last thing he’d want.”

I need to clear my head. Here I was worried that I could fall for a client and ruin my career by losing him. Now, I’m more concerned that very same client could ruin my career if I stick around. Yet every bone in my body is telling me to trust him.

Gregory returns as I bring my coffee to my lips and I halt, my cup mid-air, waiting for the next onslaught of his temper.

He drops his Blackberry into his inside pocket and slowly resumes his position at the table, leaning back in his seat, crossing one foot over his opposite thigh and watching me through narrowed eyes.

“Scarlett, I wonder if you could help me with something tonight.” His relaxed tone takes me by surprise. The man is up and down like a bloody jack-in-the-box. “I have to attend a charity gala. It’s black tie, a bit of an extravagant affair, but there are some big business names that I have to be seen to speak with.” His expression suggests there are a million places he’d rather be going. “Someone had to pull out at the last minute and we could use another female to balance the table numbers. It’d be a good opportunity for you to make some contacts, I think. Would you come along?”

“Oh. I—I actually have other plans,” I say sheepishly.

He stares at me, his head cocked to one side. “You do?”

“Yes, I, erm, I’m, I...”
Holy shit, Gregory Ryans in black tie
. As he seems to have the ability to do in a heartbeat, he reduces my mind to a jumble of incoherent thoughts and my body into a sex-crazed frenzy of babbling nonsense. “It does sound like a good, erm, opportunity. Thank you all the same, but—”