Breaking Leila (36 page)

Everyone kept saying that the job on Joseph’s team was mine,
kept insinuating that I was a shoe-in. The masochistic streak in me
wanted to prove them all wrong, just
 
because
…which was kind of stupid.

“Matt?”

He snapped up
to look at Joseph.

“You’re going
first. The rest of you children can wait outside.”

Poppy and I
gathered our belongings and filed out quickly. We sank onto a sofa
in the conference lobby, an echo of the morning past in the
airport. Yesterday, though, blood had roared in my ears for a
different reason altogether.

“Nervous?” I
asked Poppy.

She nodded. “A
bit. I’ll be glad when it’s done.”

“Me too. That’s
if I can remember everything.”

She held up a
little wad of purple. “I made flashcards. I’m very sad, aren’t
I?”

I wanted to say
yes, but–”That’s actually quite sensible. I’ve just got this.” I
held up a sheet of paper that looked like a long-lost treasure
map.

“That looks how
I feel.” She grinned. “Have you got any plans for after this?”

“Well…since I
probably won’t be joining Joe and Yves to plan the pitch, I might
go and browse things I can’t afford.”

A pause,
stuffed and shaky.

“What?” I
said.

“
Joe
?” She
raised an impish eyebrow.

I spent a few
seconds blinking at her before I realized what she was getting
at.

“That’s his
name,” I mumbled. I actually blushed.

“To you, perhaps.” She gave an awkward little laugh. “I think
he’d be rather unimpressed if
 
I
 
called him that.”

Silence
descended once more in all its glorious discomfort, and Charlotte
rolled her eyes.

“What are you
going to do?” I said. “If you end up not pitching, that is.”

“Walk to Wall
Street, I think. Take some photos. Pretend I can buy shares.”

“Do you
remember that awful fantasy stock market thing they made us do last
Christmas?”

“Yep.” She
smiled wistfully. “I liked it. Again–I am aware that it makes me
sad. But it was better than Fantasy Football.”

“I think
Solomon rigged it.”

“Of course he
did. He looks like the kind of man who enjoys cheating more than
playing fairly. He wears…” She scowled in disgust. “Nehru
jackets.”

“We’re tax
lawyers. I think that’s the point. The not playing fairly, anyway.
Not sure about the absurd formal wear.”

The door
creaked open at that point and Matt strode out, his face mellow
with relief. He even managed a vague smile. “Poppy’s next.” He
gestured to her.

“Great. I mean,
I’ll get it over with,” she said quickly, bouncing up and sliding
her laptop bag over her shoulder.

“Break a leg,”
I said.

Heh.

She hurried in
and Matt sat down cautiously.

“How did it
go?” I asked.

He shrugged.
“Better than I expected.”

“Good, that’s
really good.” I attempted a smile, but he didn’t look up to see it.
“Have you heard from Aidan at all?”

“Yeah. Going to
meet him after lunch, actually.”

“What happens
if you’re pitching?”

“I won’t be
pitching. You don’t have to pussyfoot around me, Leila.”

“I wasn’t–”

“Good,” he
snapped. His knuckles were white as they stretched across his file.
“He’s doing this on purpose, isn’t he?”

“How do you
mean?”

“Putting us
together. Like last night at dinner.”

I chewed my lip
for a moment. “I think so.”

“You like that,
do you? How he likes to play games with people?” Anger plucked at
the ends of his words.

“I don’t know
that they’re games.” It was easier to say that than skewer him with
complexities I barely understood myself.

“Of course they fucking are, Leila. He did it on that first
night and he’s still doing it now. What do you
 
see
 
in him?”

“A job,” I said helplessly.
 
Liar.

“You said…you
said that I like to torture myself.” His hands were twisting in his
lap now. “He likes torturing other people. Which one is better?” He
didn’t give me the chance to answer; he launched himself up and
sauntered down the hallway.

I opened my
mouth to call to him, but my voice wouldn’t come. I dug a bottle of
water from my bag and drank deeply. A moral lecture was the last
thing I needed this morning–the last thing I needed in general, all
things considered.

First Aidan,
now Matt…did everyone think Joseph was an arsehole?

Were they
right?

I don’t know
how long I sat waiting for Poppy to finish. Long enough to craft my
own PowerPoint show, anyway, and I teetered on the verge of making
my own flash cards when she emerged from the meeting room.

“Sorry about that, Leila,” she said. “We got on to a debate
about some bit of the City Code and it was
 
fascinating
–”

Yves nudged her
aside as he ushered me in. “If you say so, St. Clare. Vaughn, are
you ready?”

“As I’ll ever
be.” I was already jealous of her debate. Crap. What could I look
excessively clever with?

Joseph already had his head in his arms on the table. He
looked up as I got to the end. “This had better be
very
 
concise
, Miss Vaughn. I have four
and a half minutes of patience left.”

My notes stuck
to my sweaty fingers as Sadie connected my laptop to the
projector.

“When I do
this,” I began, “am I doing it as if you two are Redfish? Or just
like I’m explaining what I would do?”

Joseph
shrugged. “I honestly don’t give a fuck.”

“I concur.”
Yves tapped a pencil against the polished table top and I wanted to
shove it through his eye socket.

Oh God. When
did I go all psychopath? Was this what New York did to people?

I waited for my
presentation to load, and drank more water. The atmosphere felt
oiled and tetchy; the tension made me flush.

“So,” I began.
“Redfish are proposing to make an offer on The Hemmings Lab PLC in
order to create a platform for their goods in the UK. Bach and
Dagier can do three things to facilitate this takeover: We can run
the offer process, manage UK tax interests regarding the
acquisition and integration, and on the other side of things,
smooth the way for Redfish to import–and export–their products with
the European Chemical Agency and the MHRA. In summary, unlike a lot
of UK houses, we’re set up to offer a thorough service to these
particular clients, and our expertise in the pharmaceutical
industry is explicit.”

Joseph gave a
single nod and I tapped the space bar on my laptop.

“There’s
sufficient interest in Hemmings so Redfish need to act quickly. We
have a neatly tailored package regarding Offers that is conducive
to…”

I could bore
you with the rest of my jargon but I suspect that boring Yves and
Joseph with it was quite enough. As the words spilled out, I
remembered, for the first time in a good few days, that all this
interested me, that it actually made sense.

I skimmed over
the basic structure of things and got stuck into tax loopholes for
the acquisition. My suggestions were nothing the partners hadn’t
thought of, but it was noted that they were there. I went over
timescales for the takeover before tearing into Hemmings. They
didn’t trade outside the UK as yet and were more known for their
research, so much could be installed for Redfish to be used–and
abused–as a trading platform, if the acquisition went ahead. Then I
finished with a fee summary and as bright a smile as I could
summon.

“You haven’t
covered anti-trust,” said Yves, his eyes narrow.

“It’s not
relevant in this case.” I paused, glancing at Joseph. “Is it?”

“No, it isn’t,”
he agreed.

I waited.
Silence. “Well?”

“It was good,”
Yves said finally.

Joseph started
to make notes on his file. “You’re excused,” he muttered, waving a
hand.

There should
have been relief it was over and that I hadn’t passed out in the
middle of it, but instead, I felt…confused.

I tried to
catch Joseph’s eye. “When do we find out the results?”

“We’ll send
texts around lunchtime. If you’re chosen, you come back here for
the afternoon and if not, you’re free until tomorrow,” he said,
still scribbling.

“Okay. Um.
Thanks.” Feeling ragingly uncomfortable, I gathered my things and
hurried out of the room.

It occurred to me in the lift that Matt hadn’t needed to join
me earlier. He wasn’t obliged to wait. He’d wanted that excuse to
talk to me–or talk
 
at
 
me, as the case had been. That
was progress…I supposed.

I met Poppy for
lunch and we talked through our pitches, ordering good wine to
extinguish our nerves. Secretly, I was smug about her total
remittance of the MHRA, and then equally panicked about the idea of
spending an afternoon with two people who knew what they were
talking about, complicated by the fact that I shared a bed with one
of them.

Poppy’s phone vibrated first and her hand jerked over it,
almost knocking the wine. Mine went off a second later and we were
both giggling as we read the messages. All mine said
was:
 
Later.
J x

Erm.

Then Poppy
squealed in delight.

“Congratulations,” I said, trying not to sound flat.

She beamed like an evil garden gnome. “I’m sorry you didn’t
get it, Leila. But
 
wow
.
I can’t believe I’m really pitching tomorrow.” She gripped my arm.
“It’s all starting to feel a bit real…we’ll be qualified
soon.”

“Yeah.” I
polished a glass of wine off in about three gulps. “You’d better
get your arse over to them, then.”

“I had, hadn’t
I?” She stood, grabbing her bag. “Do I look all right?”

I squinted at
her. She was polished as ever, square glasses subtle, and her shift
dress pretty in a very classic way. “You look immaculate, Pops. Now
go and be a proper solicitor for the afternoon.”

I watched her
shuffle off with a fizzy head, and it wasn’t from the wine. What
had she done better than me? Was this bad, should I worry?

Back in the
hotel room, I sat on the terrace for a while and watched the
traffic pass by. New York smelled like my walk to work in London:
sweet deli bread and cheese, potent coffee, car exhausts. The
tainted air exfoliated, waking me up and sanding off the
morning.

Inside, I went
to raid the mini bar and the door swung open. I found myself
watching it expectantly.

“Hi.”

“Hello.” Joseph
nodded at me and disappeared straight into the bedroom. He emerged
a moment later, bare-chested and clutching a clean shirt on a
hanger. “Needed to change. Yves makes me feel dirty, it’s like his
hangover is contagious.”

Still rooted to
the spot, I smiled at him. I couldn’t tear my eyes from his broad
shoulders, the streaks of muscle that sculpted his chest. He draped
the shirt over a chair and strode over, taking my face in his
hands.

I think I
kissed him, maybe he kissed me, I can’t remember. It wasn’t
important. We were both ravenous.

“I need to give
her this,” he whispered, dragging my fists to his torso. “I have to
be seen to be fair.”

“I know.” I
kissed him again, mewing in relief–half at the shock of his skin
and half at his reassurance.

He pawed at me
like a monk released from vows. I felt as naked as him from the
waist up; every stitch I wore was insignificant. He already bulged
over the top of his belt and I toyed with him with forceful
thumbs.

“Don’t,” he
mumbled, nudging me away. “I was only meant to be gone for a few
minutes.”

“Then be quick.
I don’t care.” I tugged at the buckle. “I can’t stand not having
you–”

“Good. It’s
your turn to suffer.”

“But how
long?”

“Tonight.”
Teeth caught at my throat roughly. “I have to finish this
pitch…there’s a networking dinner…but I won’t be late. You’ll be
here,” he said firmly, “waiting for me.”

I reached for
his shirt and began helping him into it. “How’s it going down
there?”

“Slow and
excruciating.”

A wicked grin
splashed over my face.

“Not in the
good way.” He tucked his shirt in and bent to kiss me again.
“Leila…I want you to think of a word.”

“Hmm?” I peeled
my tongue from his collar bone.

“A safety
word,” he murmured thickly.

“Oh.” I
swallowed and shivered at the same time. “Oh.”

“Can you do
that for me?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” He
stroked a fingertip over my bottom lip. “I haven’t forgotten about
punishing your mouth, you know.”

I laughed,
trying to catch him with my teeth as he darted the finger in and
out. “We’ll see about that.”

“I mean it. I
really do have to leave.”

“Tonight,
then.”

He nodded. “I’d
better rejoin the Fuckwits at Law.”

When he
returned, it would be the first time we would be together without a
deadline. Without restraint. The thought made my blood bubble and
my flesh swell.

Chapter 17

I dialled
Aidan’s number and walked back out onto the terrace.

“Lei-Lei! Are
you coming out to join us?” He had that smug tone to his voice, and
I knew he was doing the awful tourist thing, sunglasses and
all.