Chapter 12
DAYNA
The weekend has flown by in some ways. In others, it feels like a lot has passed in these mountains. I head downstairs in the chalet, Tim lugging my suitcase behind me.
Clark and I are heading to the airport this morning, but the others are staying for one last day of skiing. There aren’t many flights from Geneva to Dubai and given Clark and I are both meant to be headed to the same conference, it’s not much of a coincidence that I’m on his flight.
What he doesn’t know is that I’m connecting straight out to Bahrain. Nor will I be telling him. Whatever is, or isn’t, going on with us, it’s personal. Bahrain is business, and he’s still my competition.
In hindsight, I wish I’d brought a trouser suit for today, but when I packed, I had expected to be going from here directly to the conference and not sitting down later today with Hassan Deeb – a member of the Bahraini government and the Gulf Cooperation Council.
The contact of Arthur’s who got us an in to the tender.
I’ve heard he takes no prisoners. A my-way-or-the-end-of-your-business-in-the-Middle-East kind of man. It shouldn’t make a difference, but I’d much rather be wearing trousers to meet a man with his reputation.
Arthur’s tried to talk me out of this twice.
So, like a true adult, I’m refusing to take my honorary father’s calls.
He needs to get on board with this or realise that I’ll do it without him.
It’s not a choice I want to make, but I want this well and I’ll get it however I can.
I’m offering something neither Layton Oil nor Persian Fuels can compete with, if Hassan Deeb is onside.
And if I have my mum to thank for one thing in life, it’s that she taught me to put what I want above the emotional needs of the people I love (or ought to love, in her case).
Teddy is in business mode with Clark in the kitchen and doesn’t notice when I enter. ‘Analysists are saying we’ll have dropped another five dollars a barrel by year end. It’s a downward slope. A black one. It’s not a good time to buy, bud, and there’s no scope for you to increase your budget.’
I clear my throat. I’ve made a mental note of Teddy’s concern, since it affects me too, but I won’t let them talk shop without knowing I’m here; it’s underhanded.
Clark loosens his tie slightly at the neck and brazenly drags his eyes over my black pencil dress.
‘Eyes to yourself, Layton. We’re back to business.’
‘Let’s talk about the kind of business I’d like to be getting down to.’
‘Or we could not.’ We might be playing nice but crude jokes are a leap too far. ‘You ready?’ Raising an eyebrow, I pick up the half-eaten croissant on the worktop in front of him and take a huge bite, washing it down with a mouthful of his coffee.
‘That was my breakfast.’
‘It was good, thank you. Can I finish this?’ I drain his coffee.
We say our goodbyes to the others and take a taxi to the airport, Clark checking his emails, me listening to another voicemail from Arthur.
‘Dayna, I don’t feel good about this. This isn’t the kind of meeting you should be going to alone. These men are bad news. If Caspar gets wind of this… You know what he’s capable of. The things we hear on the grapevine aren’t idle gossip. He’s dirty.’
It’d be nice if he stopped adding to my anxiety about this meeting.
I’ve heard how tough the guys are in the Middle East. Damn it, I’ve seen the lengths they’ll go to to get what they want.
But I’m asking them to come onside with me, work with me.
This isn’t a war. Arthur’s acting as if they’ve baited me in and I have a shoot-on-sight price on my head.
I went to them. I’m offering them a deal they’ll like.
And if they take it, I get their protection, too.
I feel unsettled enough without Arthur making the persistent tightening in my chest worse.
Despite my protests, at the airport, Clark wheels my suitcase and his own to check-in. Our other bags and ski kit are going back to England with the rest of the group. He lifts my case onto the weigh-in belt then moves to the desk next to mine.
‘Dubai, sir?’ his check-in assistant asks.
I cringe when my bubbly check-in lady announces, ‘Bahrain.’
I nod, trying not to look at Clark, knowing his focus will be on me.
‘Bahrain?’ he asks as we’re heading up the escalator to security.
I give him a confirmatory look without speaking.
‘Fuck me,’ he whispers. ‘You were making a hand all this time. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you don’t have balls, Cross.’
Cross. I’m back to ‘Cross’, and I have balls. Well, that’s probably for the best. This is what I know: business. I’m more comfortable here than locked in a chalet with Clark for a weekend.
He hardly speaks as we clear security and grab coffee. We sit at a table in the window of the airline lounge and watch the planes taxiing and taking off. We’re not exactly on good terms, but we’re at least faking being friends who have no questionable benefits or major sexual tension between us.
‘Let me come with you.’
I slurp my latte. ‘To Bahrain?’
‘Yes.’
I stare at him. ‘You’re actually serious. Why would I want you to come to Bahrain?’
He sits back in his padded seat. ‘I don’t want you to go alone. I don’t like it.’
My stomach twists, and this time, it’s not because he cares; it’s because yet another man is telling me this meeting could be dangerous. ‘What do you all know that I don’t? These are government officials, Clark. I’m not going to the underworld.’
‘You’d be closer to the underworld than you think. Trust me. And it isn’t just about the men you’re meeting, you know that. If you’re making a play in the Middle East, Kahn will already know.’
I feel my annoyance rise with my anxiety. ‘I guess you’ve worked out I’m going to talk about an alternative bid?’
He nods curtly. ‘I can also have a pretty good guess at what you’re offering, and I’ve no doubt it’ll be of interest to them. But I don’t like it. I don’t want you to get into something you can’t handle.’
My jaw drops open. The arrogant bastard thinks I’m not up to it. I stand abruptly, my chair scraping the floor, drawing attention from those on surrounding tables. ‘Fuck you, Clark.’
He stands as I storm away from him. ‘Dayna, I wasn’t saying?—’
I ignore him in the queue to board the plane, and I ignore him when he walks past me to take a seat towards the back of first class.
We land on time and I move swiftly for my connection to Bahrain. There’s no time for a messy goodbye. Instead, I’ll have an awkward-as-hell night at the conference, but right now, I’ve got to get my head back in the game.
* * *
The short flight to Bahrain gave me time to think about the meeting.
I need to be firm. Show them I can be on their level but charm them enough that they want to take my deal.
This is the only chance I have of beating Caspar and taking a small piece of the revenge my father deserves, that eleven workers and their families deserve.
And I think I’ve decided this is it. The missing piece of the puzzle of my life.
The axe I need to grind. Then I want to pivot.
I hate this industry, what it does to the planet and what it’s doing to me.
The hardened witch it’s turning me into.
The losses it’s caused me. The wrong people it’s connected me to.
The sense of underworld I don’t want to be lost in any more.
I fleetingly considered Teddy’s concerns this morning – if oil prices really do keep spiralling, I could be putting SP in a position to lose money if I win this well.
It’s something I need to think about. And I will.
I already have Arthur in my ear about financials, but I’m struggling to believe his motivation isn’t just to protect me from the Middle East. Right now, this well isn’t just about money to me.
It’s about so much more. A life score I need to settle. Therapy. Closure.
A man wearing traditional dress is holding up a sign with my name in Arrivals and leads me to a limousine arranged by Hassan.
‘Welcome to the Kingdom of Bahrain, Ms Cross. We have a short drive to Mr Deeb and Mr Akbar.’
Twenty minutes later, the limousine stops.
The blue coast is on one side and an opulent hotel on the other.
The heat of the afternoon is strong and feels intense against my all-black attire.
The driver gestures to a concrete staircase that leads to a stone archway.
Two guards with guns slung across their shoulders stand either side of the entrance.
Maybe I should have let Clark come with me.
I try to hide my involuntary shudder and swallow my nerves as I slip by the guards into the hotel. Hours ago, I was with my friends at a ski resort, envious of their ease, the way they laugh and love without inhibitions. Now, I’m standing on the precipice of hell.
‘Ms Cross, this way.’ A man steps from behind the reception desk.
I follow him out to a terrace that overhangs the sea.
Two more armed guards stand either side of a short staircase leading out to the only occupied table.
Hassan Deeb and Mr Akbar sit smoking cigarettes with small glass cups of tea. Okay, hell sweetened with dates.
‘Mr Deeb, sir,’ the receptionist says.
‘Ah, Dayna, welcome.’ Hassan stands and holds out a hand. As he does, one of the guards lifts my free arm and starts to pat me down. I jerk at his touch. ‘Please, Dayna. I’m sure you understand we can never be too careful.’
I try to relax as the guard frisks me, thankful that he doesn’t try anything funny. I’m not behaving like myself. I’m a businesswoman and I feel like a child, thanks to bloody Arthur and Clark and everyone else trying to get under my skin.
‘This is Hamad Akbar. A fellow member of the Gulf Council and our government here.’
I extend my hand, which Hamad takes somewhat reluctantly, throwing me a hostile look as he does. A waiter holds out the spare chair at the table, and I take my cue to sit.
I tell him I’ll join the men in drinking mint tea but decline the offer of food.