Vengeful Love (2 page)

Chapter Two

My Blackberry alarm begins with soft calming music. As it grows louder, I fumble around, grabbing it from my bedside table. Just as the buzzer kicks in, I press Dismiss. Six-thirty.

I drag myself to the shower and clean up under the warm, soothing water. Just before I get out, I turn the water to freezing and put my face directly under the spray. Finally, my eyes are open.

I dry my long hair into soft curls at the bottom and put on a small amount of eye makeup and blush. After tucking my silk blouse into my black pencil skirt, I put my charcoal patent heels in my handbag and slip on my flats.

I’m hot when I get off the tube and it’s a couple of degrees warmer outside today than it’s been for the past week or so. The sun is seeping into my pale skin, making me regret my choice of charcoal silk beneath my mac and suit. The air is muggy and cars beep as I fight the traffic to cross the road with a handful of other suits, all rushing about their business. It’s one of the things people either love or hate about London, the fast pace, the congestion, the smog that can’t escape the high-rise buildings. I love it.

Making a quick stop at Starbucks, I drain a cool sparkling water and change into my heels before meeting Jack.

“Good morning,” I say when I see him.

He grunts and offers me an ill-humoured nod as he haphazardly finishes dressing in the street, adjusting the knot of his red tie to what he considers to be the center point of his neck and tucking the tails of his shirt further into his trousers.

My quick assessment of Jack confirms that he’s carrying very little. This is going to be on me again. It’s eight twenty-five and I have little time to brief him on my research, which means he’ll expect me to dig him out of a hole when questions are asked. He smells of booze and cigarettes, a subtle stench that no longer surprises me. For a moment, I feel sorry for him, perhaps his wife leaving has hurt this time. My sympathy is fleeting.

We walk in relative silence to the company’s office. I offer a few important details as to the internet and technology work of our potential new client but I’m not sure Jack absorbs much, if anything at all. We step through the glass revolving door and into the lobby where my heels loudly click the marble floor, a sound that’s not lost despite the high ceilings of the atrium. A huge GJR Tower plaque sits on the wall to the side of the front desk
.
Scrolling through the list of twenty-eight floors, most of which are some variation of GJR
companies, I see Eclectic Technologies listed on 27
.

I’m hot and bothered by the time we reach the twenty-seventh floor, the lift literally having stopped at every floor on the way up. Nerves build within me.
Do not fuck this up!

“Mr. Jones. Miss Heath.” A tall, slim blonde woman steps toward us from behind her Eclectic Technologies reception desk. “Mr. Lawrence and Mr. Williams will be with you very shortly. I’ll take you through to the boardroom.”

Jack and I follow obligingly along the glass-paned corridor. Mahogany wood doors occasionally break the otherwise clear view of blue sky.

“Can I get you a drink whilst you wait?” the impeccable could-be model asks.

“Coffee. Black. Two sugars.” Jack’s words are stern, his eyes assessing the long legs in front of him, their insane length accentuated by four-inch heels.

I suppress my desire to vomit in response to Jack’s seedy demeanor. “A cold water would be fantastic, please.”

I can’t bear to make small talk, so I spread my research and notes around my place at the board table in silence. When I’m done, I distract myself with the view across London and the Thames rather than taking a seat.

“Ready for this, Heath?” Jack asks.

Irritation betrays my attempt to maintain a neutral tone, my increasing stress levels not assisting my ability to withstand his annoyingly casual attitude.

“To be honest, Jack, I would probably feel more comfortable if I knew more about this deal and what you were expecting of me today.”

His silence tells me I’ve startled him.

“Eclectic Technologies want to use us for a new acquisition,” he finally snaps. “That’s what you do, Scarlett, isn’t it? Acquisitions?”

I nod. He seems angrier than is really reasonable or necessary.

“I haven’t told you anything because the deal is still highly confidential, I don’t know everything. They’ll expect us to sign a non-disclosure agreement before they tell us more.” He sits up and straightens the lapels of his blazer, suddenly businesslike, professional. Some of my tension fades. “You just make sure you can flatter their egos and know their work. I’ll seal the deal.”

“I can do that.”

“This is a big deal for us, Scarlett. You won’t let me down, will you?”

He steps closer, leaning in as he speaks. My body responds, instinctively taking a tentative step back. My discomfort only dissipates when the leggy blonde returns with our drinks.

“Won’t be much longer,” she says, glancing up at Jack through her eyelashes.

Jack mutters something under his breath that I suspect I don’t want to hear.
How do women find this man attractive?

It isn’t long before the blonde is back, struggling to totter one foot in front of the other in her over-tight pencil skirt. “Mr. Jones, Miss Heath. This is Mr. Lawrence and Mr. Williams.”

Jack and I step toward the door. I shake their hands, consciously making my grip firm but not overbearing. Mr. Lawrence has warm hands. His face is soft but his manner professional. He reminds me in some ways of my father, although a slightly younger version. I imagine he has two personalities—Mr. Lawrence the businessman and Mr. Lawrence the teddy bear. Mr. Williams smiles as he takes my hand but his fingers squeeze mine uncomfortably. He must be over six feet. His broad shoulders, sea-blue eyes and dirty blond hair make him look like a surfer trapped in a grey-checkered suit.

Jack is right. The first thing we do is sign nondisclosure agreements. Once the formalities are complete, I breathe easier and the mood in the room seems to relax. I’m excited, ready to get going and hear about the new deal. It must be big, the way they’re dramatising the meeting.

“We must apologise,” Mr. Lawrence begins. “Our CEO is tied up on a call at the moment. He’s the driver behind deals of this size and he’ll be the one to fill in the blanks for you.”

Oh.
My excitement wanes.

“He’ll join us if he can,” Mr. Lawrence continues, as if reading my mind. “In the meantime, he’s delegated to us to decide whether you’re the firm for the job.” He pauses for a sip of water. “I know it’s difficult to give quotes without much information but our main criteria is that we need to know we’ve got the best team. The rest we can negotiate.”

The room falls deathly silent and it becomes clear that Jack isn’t going to pick this up. Taking a subtle breath to fill my lungs, I rise from my seat and distribute a rushed capability statement I put together last night.

“Gentlemen, I can assure you that we
are
the right team for you,” I begin, with my most winning grin. “If, or should I say
when
, you decide to go with us, Mr. Jones and I will be your lead contacts.”

I turn from the table and move in front of the vast window, making myself appear much taller and confident than I feel inside—a trick I read in a book called
Climbing the Ladder
. Excitement starts to build in me again with the thrill of pitching.

“As you’ll see from our capability statement, Mr. Jones has a wealth of experience in the M and A market.” I somehow manage to summon a smile that says,
I’m so incredibly proud to work for this brilliant man
, and quickly glance back to Mr. Lawrence and Mr. Williams to avoid registering Jack’s reaction. “Mr. Jones has worked on some remarkable deals and as a team we have particular strength in the technology sector.”

Words leave my mouth almost instantaneously with my thoughts as I work the room, maintaining enough eye contact to be sincere but not so much I appear arrogant or intimidating. Mr. Lawrence and Mr. Williams are responding well to my pitch. They’ve relaxed a little. Mr. Williams unbuttons his blazer and leans back in his leather chair.

The boardroom door opens, the leggy blonde interrupting me.
What?
I want to scream.
I’m on a roll here!

“Mr. Ryans for you,” she says, stepping into the room and holding the door open wider to let the CEO enter.

My torso constricts, pushing the air from my body. My stomach flips and acrobats perform in my lower abdomen. Mr. Ryans’s navy suit lines his tall, broad-but-slim body, resting perfectly on top of his crisp white shirt and matching blue silk tie. His dark hair shines in the sunlight that bursts through the large office window. He’s clean-shaven but I can’t help imagining his face with a faint line of stubble—his off duty look. He’s younger than I could have possibly imagined. He can’t be over thirty, yet the air around him oozes confidence and power.

His entrance silences the room. I’m vaguely aware that my lips are parted, my jaw dropped loose. His eyes fall on me, the center of attention, illuminated in front of the window. They lure me in as if pulling on a robe tied tight around my waist. He pauses, probably to allow me to gain some composure. I’m suddenly extremely nervous again and my heart starts pounding in my chest.

Breathe,
a voice in my head calls.

I take a deep breath and begin to return to my point of equilibrium. Mustering a polite smile, I step toward him, my legs weightless.

“You must be Miss Heath,” he says, very matter of fact.

My cheeks flush under the heat of his dark brown gems, rich and intense like espresso, as he holds out his hand, staring into my eyes. I return his handshake and greet him professionally, hiding the fireworks exploding from every nerve ending in my body.

He turns his attention to Jack, greeting him in a voice decorated with just a hint South African accent. The interruption gives me time to get back into the zone.
Do not fuck this up!

I give a brief overview of my pitch so far, partly for the benefit of Mr. Ryans, mostly to re-center my thoughts. I continue where I left off but my nerves catch every time I glance at the CEO. I resolve to look anywhere other than at him but his gaze burns through me as he listens intently to what I have to say. He maintains a poker expression until the pitch concludes.

Jack gives my knee a subtle nip when I take my seat back at the table. I know he means to tell me I did a good job but I’m uncomfortable and unable to hide my flinch. I glance at Mr. Ryans, who’s looking at me without giving any indication of his thoughts. He leans back in his chair and folds his hands into one another, placing one index finger on his bottom lip.

As if taking a signal, Mr. Williams glances from his CEO to me and then to Jack before he says, “Very well, Miss Heath, Mr. Jones, we would like to work with you on this deal.”

Whoop!
I mentally high five myself and scream internally with delight. Outwardly, I nod at the three men on the other side of the table. It would be both a tad uncouth and massively uncool to
actually
pat myself on the back or do a little hoorah jig, limbs thrashing around, hips giving my arse cheeks a good shake. No. Best not.

“You’ve made a good decision, gentlemen,” Jack says assuredly.

The CEO shuffles and takes his Blackberry from the inside pocket of his perfectly tailored jacket. “Excuse me,” he says, inclining his head to the phone and exiting the room. “Ryans,” he snaps into the receiver as the door closes behind him.

Mr. Williams leans forward, bracing his palms on the table. “Mr. Ryans has a lot to do today, some of which was unexpected, so we apologise. He will brief you fully in relation to the deal at a later date.” I detect the faintest streak of anxiety in his voice.

“It was a pleasure to meet you both,” Mr. Lawrence adds as we rise from the table and politely shake hands.

We make idle chitchat as the four of us walk toward the lift. Stepping in, Jack and I turn to face the doors, my documents clutched to my chest. Just before the metal doors draw, Mr. Williams calls to me, “Good pitch, Miss Heath.” He flashes a smile I would’ve never expected, forcing me to beam back at him.

I’m on a high. I know I did well. I love my job.

“He’s right,” says Jack, his voice a low rumble. The muscles in my body tighten in wary anticipation. “You did well.”

My body relaxes when I realise he’s not going to touch me or say anything more.

* * *

I’m in the mood for a celebratory drink when I get back to the office. I fire up my computer and email Amanda.

To: Darling, Amanda

From: Heath, Scarlett

Sent: Tuesday 6 Oct 2015 10.48

Subject: Rain check

How about that drink tonight?

To: Heath, Scarlett

From: Darling, Amanda

Sent: Tuesday 6 Oct 2015 10.48

Subject: Re: Rain check

6pm, on the button, no excuses.

Leaning back in my desk chair, I let my mind wander to Mr. Ryans, perfect CEO. Those exquisite brown pools, his slicked hair begging to be pulled, his large, olive-skinned, manicured hands. It’s been a long time since a man has touched me. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever been touched by a
man
.
Boys fumbling and stuttering, yes. But Mr. Ryans looked like he’d know exactly how and where to touch a woman.

“Miss, erm, Scarlett,” Margaret whispers as she steps into my office. “Jack has a call, and he’d like you to join in his office.”

“Thank you. Do you know who it is?”

“A Mr. Ryans, I believe.”

An electric pulse courses through my body just hearing his name.
Forget it!
I pick up a notepad and head into Jack’s office.

Jack places the phone on mute so that Mr. Ryans, and no doubt Mr. Lawrence and Mr. Williams, can’t hear our exchange.

“Eclectic is ready to give us details of the acquisition,” Jack barks. “They specifically requested that you were on the call. They must be looking to have it done on the cheap.”