Chapter 4
It is dark outside the panorama window in the Silver Suite. Charlotte is sitting on the rust-colored sofa with a glass of red wine in her hand, trying to sort out the thoughts whirling around in her head.
She frowns; the way that guy at reception behaved was totally unacceptable.
She might have gone a little too far, but you can’t lose your temper like that with a guest. It’s not okay.
He must have serious issues with aggression, and Charlotte intends to pass her concerns on to his line manager as soon as she has time.
He really ought to be fired.
Restlessly she twirls the glass around in her fingers.
The blood-red wine matches her nail polish.
An unpleasant receptionist is the last thing she wants to waste her energy on right now; tomorrow is a big day.
She doesn’t usually get nervous before public appearances, but presenting the Storlien project to the press is a big deal.
Her PR team has established that there is considerable interest—all the significant media players will be there, either in person or via video link.
And tomorrow Henry arrives in ?re, and she will need to take care of him.
She groans to herself. Henry is a brilliant business partner, but something of a diva.
She had to summon up all her powers of persuasion in order to get him on board with the project.
Without his financial resources, the plans would never have gone through.
Henry is a superstar in the Swedish property market, and his support has opened doors that would otherwise have remained closed.
Charlotte would like Stefan to be here too, but he is away with the family—two kids and his snippy wife, Ulrika.
Charlotte pulls a face at the thought of Stefan’s wife, the high-court judge.
They have met in social situations on a few occasions and greeted each other politely, but nothing more.
Charlotte has never understood how Stefan, who is so powerful and charismatic, could possibly have fallen for her.
She hasn’t asked him, of course. Their discreet arrangement has suited Charlotte very well for many years, but recently she has begun to long for more. She is tired of sneaking around, of never being able to appear in public together.
As long as Filip was living at home, it was practical to keep her two worlds apart, but now that the apartment is empty in the evenings, she misses having someone there.
She leans back on the sofa, snorts derisively at her own feelings.
Stefan is never going to divorce his wife; he made that clear right from the start. Especially as it’s Ulrika’s family money that pays for their generous apartment and luxury vacations.
Charlotte takes another sip. She wonders what Filip is doing now.
He still hasn’t replied to her text asking whether he is coming to ?re.
It stresses her out. She hopes he won’t leave it until the last minute.
She really wants him here when the world hears about her Storlien project for the first time.
She would never say it aloud, but she hopes he is proud of his mother’s successes.
Her phone buzzes with a text from Bengt Hedin. She hasn’t heard from him since yesterday, when he tried to back out. What now?
The message makes her furious.
The purchase of the land will have to be postponed. I can’t make tomorrow’s press conference.
Charlotte digs her nails into the palm of her hand with such force that she almost breaks the skin. He can’t do this to her. Not now. Quickly she types a response.
It’s too late to back out.
She remains still for a moment, then continues:
Everything you have accepted is documented. If you ruin this for me, I will ruin you.
The answer comes immediately.
Are you threatening me?
Charlotte considers; then her fingers fly across the screen.
You can interpret it however you like. I will see you tomorrow.
She is interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. She looks up. She isn’t expecting anyone. With a sigh she puts down her phone and gets up. Outside the door is the tall man from reception, the one who was so rude earlier.
She doesn’t have time for him at the moment, and she is still angry about his behavior.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” begins the man, who, according to the name badge on his chest, is called Paul. “I just wanted to . . . apologize for what happened this afternoon.”
Charlotte raises her eyebrows. So now it suits him to apologize.
“I didn’t mean to lose my temper,” he adds.
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you were so rude to me in front of all the other guests.”
In spite of the dim lighting, she can see that he isn’t happy. He is surrounded by an aura of frustration. She doesn’t believe he’s sorry at all—one of his colleagues has probably persuaded him to come and apologize because the way he acted was unforgivable.
“I really am sorry,” he says stiffly. His expression is challenging, as if he is trying to force her to accept his apology.
“I heard what you said.” If he thinks that a few empty phrases are going to fix things, then he’s wrong. With such poor self-control, he shouldn’t be allowed to keep his job.
In her hotel he would be out on his ear immediately.
The silence between them is oppressive.
“Was there anything else?” Charlotte says, keen to bring the conversation to an end. She wants to close the door; she has to prepare for tomorrow’s press conference. She suddenly spots the fabric bag of dirty laundry she has put out, ready for housekeeping to collect.
She reaches for the bag and holds it out to Paul.
“Could you take my laundry, as you’re here anyway?”
He looks vaguely offended. “That’s not my job.”
Charlotte’s irritation flares up again. “You work here, don’t you?”
Paul takes a step closer, opening and closing his fists as if he is about to lose control again. “Be careful,” he says quietly.
Charlotte stares at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Even though she is determined not to show weakness, she steps back. Her suite is at the far end of the corridor, no one else can see what is going on.
“I don’t have time for this,” she says, grabbing the handle to pull the door shut.
Paul sticks his foot in the way, preventing her from closing it.
“You think you can treat people however you like, just because you’ve got money. But you can’t tell me what to do.”
Charlotte swallows. His face is only inches away from hers. He is tall and strong, with a thick neck. His shirt collar looks too tight.
“If you don’t leave immediately, I will be speaking to your boss,” she says, straightening her shoulders. She wants to sound powerful, make him back off.
It takes a moment, but eventually he turns away. Charlotte is about to close the door when she hears him mumble something.
“Fucking upper-class bitch.”
“What did you say?”
She can’t help reacting, although she immediately regrets it. The situation is already uncomfortable. She shouldn’t have said anything, she should have simply let him go.
Paul doesn’t answer. He just keeps walking down the corridor. Then he slowly looks over his shoulder. His expression is so full of contempt that she physically recoils. Rage sweeps away her self-control—this guy needs to be put in his place.
“Don’t think you’ll be keeping your job after this!” she shouts.
She closes the door, feeling more shaken than angry.