Chapter 9 Rafael
Rafael
‘Leads were up ten per cent, but we can do better.’
I rest my ankle on my knee, reclining in my seat as Gabe leads the marketing meeting.
Heads bob along the table in agreement like those nodding dogs. My gaze wanders to the graph Gabe’s put on the screen at the front of the room as he points at something on it.
I wonder if she got straight in a cab like I told her to.
I tilt my head, the graph swimming in front of my eyes.
Her boyfriend’s a prick. Who the hell raises his voice to a woman like that?
Calls her a bitch? The memory makes me ball my hand into a fist. I might want to squeeze information out of Aurora Thorne, but I’d never dream of shouting at her.
Knowing her, it would only make her clam up, anyway.
Increase that stubborn defiance in her eyes.
No, if I want to get what I need from her, then I need to be smart about it.
It was a stroke of luck that Dove let slip the name of the restaurant Aurora was going to be in last night so I could rearrange my dinner plans. But I can’t rely on luck. I need a strategy. A plan.
‘So, what have we got?’ my brother continues, addressing the room.
The table of suits, a mix of experienced marketers and so-called prodigies we got fresh out of university, stare back at him blankly.
‘Ideas?’ he presses, doing a great job at hiding his frustration. If it were my meeting, I’d have probably burst some eardrums by now if I’d received such a piss-poor response.
Guardian Fairfax is a global leader in corporate insurance. They should be damn well coming in their pants to have a seat at this table. There’re a few hundred applications for every job we post.
Silence will not be tolerated.
‘Someone must have an idea. What’s working on social media right now?’ I bark.
A guy halfway down the table clears his throat nervously as I pin my eyes on him.
‘Human connection, Mr Fairfax,’ he says meekly.
‘Go on,’ I encourage.
He clears his throat. ‘Real people, real connection. Seeming less . . . formal, and more relatable.’
‘We insure FTSE companies, and leading global brands around the world. How do we make that relatable to Joe Bloggs?’ another member of the team pipes up.
I hold a hand up, silencing him, and he shrivels in his seat.
We don’t only insure FTSE companies. We also provide the best personally tailored insurance policies for those companies’ CEOs.
For elite businessmen and businesswomen.
The best brains in every multimillion-pound industry.
More often than not our reputation precedes us, and new business comes from personal referrals.
But from time to time we run marketing campaigns, aimed at attracting exclusive clients who have the kinds of assets we specialise in protecting.
Superyachts, private jets, priceless art collections.
‘Carry on, Justin,’ I instruct.
The first guy looks a little less like he’s about to piss himself once he realises I know his name.
‘Have you spent much time online watching vloggers, Mr Fairfax?’ he asks.
I purse my lips as images of this morning’s ‘coffee with a friend’ outfit spring to mind. Snug jeans and a cute little t-shirt that showed a peek of her stomach.
‘Can’t say that I’ve spent long enough,’ I answer.
‘Well, they build up a rapport with their audience first. You feel like you know them the more you watch. Like they’re talking directly to you and you’re their only focus. Like you have a relationship with them. When in reality millions of viewers could be having that same experience.’
I crack my knuckles, heat flaring across the back of my neck. ‘Your point?’
‘I’m not suggesting we vlog. But I think we could learn something from that approach. Make potential clients feel like they’re the only ones we’re talking to. That it’s all for them.’
‘Interesting,’ I muse, my mouth curving into a smile.
He’s given me exactly what I need.
‘I’ve got some ideas, Justin. We’ll make it happen, and if it’s a success there’ll be a bonus in it for you.’
‘Yes, Mr Fairfax,’ he splutters, looking shell-shocked.
‘Great. That’s all for now.’ Gabe claps, grinning, no doubt eager to draw the meeting to a close. He hates this stuff. He’d be much happier back in his own office with his computers for company, and only emerging to talk to his small, select team about cybersecurity.
But we all have to lead meetings like this from time to time. Show a united front. Remind everyone that this is a family business, and that by working here, they are one of the Fairfax Guardian family too. Dove leads plenty, and even Angelo has stood up in front of the team on occasion.
Everyone collects their things and files from the room.
Gabe turns to study me. ‘You’ve got that look in your eye.’
‘What look?’
He folds his arms across his chest. ‘The one that says you’re up to something.’
‘You heard the team. It was Justin’s idea.’
‘What was, exactly?’
‘That we should hire a professional social media expert for a touch of consulting.’
‘Oh.’ Gabe nods, thoughtfully. ‘Okay. I have some contacts over at—’
‘Dove’s friend, Aurora,’ I interject.
Gabe’s brow scrunches. ‘Dove said she specialises in fashion.’
I wave a hand in the air. ‘It’s still a product people buy. No different to an insurance policy.’
‘If you say so.’ Gabe frowns.
‘We’ve got nothing to lose. Give her a call. Offer her a short-term contract. And we’ll see how it goes.’
‘Okay. I’ll speak to HR. Get them to draw up the standard offer.’ He closes his laptop and tucks it under his arm.
‘Double it,’ I say.
He pauses, before bending to retrieve Benedict from one of the many cat beds strategically placed around the building.
‘All right,’ he says, knowing better than to question me once I’ve made my mind up about something. He tucks Benedict under his other arm, saying something to him in a low voice before kissing the top of his ginger head.
‘Actually,’ I call as he reaches the door, ‘triple it. Make it impossible for her to say no.’
He gives me a quizzical look, but nods. ‘You got it.’
I pause, before adding, ‘Just . . . keep an eye on her. She might be Dove’s friend, but we don’t know her that well. I don’t want her having unsupervised access to any company files.’
‘I’ll run a full background check on her before we reach out. I know there was that stuff with her father.’
‘No,’ I cut in sharply. ‘That won’t be necessary.’
I hate lying to my brother, but the thought of him digging into George Thorne runs the risk of him finding out that I invested company money with his old firm.
A fact I’ve successfully kept hidden and have no intention of sharing.
No one can know my own stupidity almost cost us the company for a second time.
They still don’t know what really happened the first time around.
I’d like to keep it that way.
‘All right. Well, I’ve got some data scrapes to run.’
He leaves with Benedict, and I steeple my hands over my chest as I spin in my chair. The city comes into view, forty floors below. My mouth goes dry at the sight, and I quickly turn back around so I’m looking through the glass wall into our offices instead.
It’s the perfect plan.
I can gain her trust. Get close to her. Know where she is at all times.
She was obviously working at Tanya’s to maintain her facade of being penniless, so she’ll need to keep up the pretence of earning her own money.
She won’t be able to turn down the figure in our usual package, let alone triple it, if she wants her cover to remain intact.
No one in their right mind would turn down an offer like the one Fairfax Guardian is about to extend to her.
I’ll have her exactly where I want her, and I’ll finally get my money back. Every last damn penny.
‘Mr Fairfax?’ AJ asks, peering through the open doorway.
‘Yes?’
He walks over and places a pink envelope on the desk. My name is written on the front in loopy handwriting.
‘What’s this?’
‘I’m not sure. Miss Thorne left it for you. She said she owed it to you.’
‘Of course, thank you,’ I say, plucking the smooth envelope from the table and sliding it inside my inner jacket pocket.
The thing burns against my chest for the entire walk back to my office.
Angelo stops me to talk about the new client he’s come back from having lunch with.
But even the sight of him wearing a suit for a change and taking his role in the business seriously isn’t enough to quell the incessant urge to get into my office so I can see what she’s left for me.
The moment I step inside, I flick the lock and hit the controls that turn the inner glass wall opaque.
Striding to my desk, I pull the envelope from my pocket and lift it to my nose.
The scent of something rich with a flowery depth hits me. It’s the same scent left inside my car after I gave her a ride to her boyfriend’s place.
Ex-boyfriend.
My chest rumbles with a warm grunt.
I tear the envelope open, taking care not to damage any of the writing on the front. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her handwriting. And she’s written my name.
Mine.
I pull out a pile of notes. Two crisp fifties sit on the top of a pile of twenties, totalling three hundred and forty pounds.
She’s paid me back everything from the restaurant, plus what I gave her for a taxi home.
‘Stubborn girl, aren’t you, Beauty?’ I murmur, using my thumb and forefinger to open up the envelope further.
Disappointment tugs at my gut when I see it’s empty. No note. No words that I can play over and over in my head, putting her voice to them as I picture her thinking about me as she wrote them.
I toss the money to one side on my desk and place the envelope in front of me, smoothing it under my palm.
‘What were you thinking when you wrote this? What were you wearing?’ I purr, tracing the curves of her letters making up my name.
I jab the intercom on my phone.
‘AJ? Did HR send Miss Thorne’s offer to her yet?’
‘Not yet, Mr Fairfax. I only just saw the email from Gabriel myself, and—’
‘Go down to their floor right now and ask them to do it. Stay there and watch until it’s done. Then tell me as soon as it is.’
‘Okay,’ he replies.
I lean back in my seat and glance at my office door. HR are three floors below us. AJ won’t be back for at least ten minutes, and that’s if he rushes.
I pull my phone from my trouser pocket and bring up her channel, hitting ‘play’ on today’s video before propping it up on my desk where I can see it.
Then I lift the envelope to my nose and inhale as I tug down my zipper with my other hand.
The stiff brown envelope is tucked safely inside my jacket pocket as I reach for the ornate fleur-de-lis knocker on the door.
The pink one that still holds her scent is safely locked away inside the top drawer of my desk, despite the fact that keeping it puts my dick in real jeopardy of being worn away by friction.
I purse my lips, urging the swell of sour anger to retreat back down my throat.
It’s a nice house for a criminal to live in. Aurora must be laughing herself to sleep in it every night, stretching out in Egyptian cotton sheets, dressed in some silky little nightwear.
I bang harder on the door again, my patience thinning.
A woman opens it, her brows hitching as she takes me in.
‘Hello? Can I help you?’
Her gaze travels down over me slowly, then back up, a glint of interest in her eyes as she gives me a polite smile.
I frown, subtly checking the name of the house on the wall-mounted plaque to my right.
‘I’m here to see Aurora.’
‘Who?’ The woman frowns.
‘Aurora Thorne, the young woman who lives here.’
Maybe this lady is her friend, or the housekeeper or something. Figures: Aurora probably has a whole host of staff she’s paying with my money.
‘Thorne?’ The woman’s brow scrunches, before smoothing out. ‘Oh! You mean the previous owners. Do you know them?’
Previous owners? What the hell?
I clear my throat, stalling for a few seconds so I can think.
‘Yes . . . And this is a private matter, which I would appreciate your discretion with.’
‘Absolutely.’ The woman’s eyes widen, eager for gossip.
I pull out my Guardian Fairfax ID and flash it at her quickly, pocketing it again before she can get a good look.
‘I’m actually Miss Thorne’s parole officer. She hasn’t attended her last two check-in meetings, and I’m concerned. She’s been making progress that I’d hate to see go to waste.’
‘Parole officer?’ The woman’s face drains of colour. ‘Is this to do with her father? I heard that’s why the house was repossessed before we bought it. He’s in prison, right?’
‘George Thorne was convicted of stealing millions of pounds from his employer,’ I confirm, making her gasp.
‘And his daughter has followed in his footsteps, then? Sounds about right. These people . . . Oh my goodness, they’re despicable.
’ She shudders and I can almost see the cogs of disgust turning in her head.
‘I met her once when she came to collect some post. She looked so sad to see the house again that I invited her inside for a cup of tea. I should have known the innocent act was a ruse. I left her alone with my handbag when I went to the bathroom.’ She looks at me with panicked eyes.
‘Do you think she could have cloned my cards or something? You hear about these scammers, don’t you? ’
‘I very much doubt that.’
‘She seemed a bit common, come to think of it. Had a tube of crisps stuffed inside her handbag. No class,’ she mutters. ‘Are you sure you want to waste your time on her? These sorts of people can’t be rehabilitated into anything remotely useful to society.’
‘“A bit common”?’ I arch a brow, an illogical anger heating my blood at the judgement in her tone.
Aurora has more class in her little toe than this woman has in her entire body.
She looks stunning in the outfits she styles for herself on her vlog.
And the times I have spoken to her she’s been able to convey her – uncalled for – abhorrence of me with unwavering poise.
‘Miss Thorne is my concern, and mine alone,’ I clip, my patience rapidly thinning. ‘It’s very important that I find her. As soon as possible,’ I emphasise, letting the insinuation that she would be wise to let me deal with Aurora myself hang in the air.
‘Of course, of course.’ The woman chews her lower lip. ‘I might have an address!’ she says suddenly. ‘One minute.’
I wait on the doorstep until she returns, flustered, brandishing a piece of paper.
‘Here. I knew I’d written it down to forward any letters that might arrive.’
I take the note and flash her a tight smile. ‘Thank you. And don’t worry. Once I find her, I’ll make sure she doesn’t leave my sight.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. Thank you.’ The woman visibly relaxes, giving me a grateful smile.
‘Aurora Thorne is my problem, no one else’s,’ I say, turning and climbing into my car.