Chapter 2
My phone 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 feel fully open.
I dry my long hair into soft curls at the bottom and put on a small amount of eye make-up and blush. After tucking my blouse into my black pencil skirt, I put my patent heels in my handbag and slip on my flats.
It’s a couple of degrees warmer outside today than it’s been for the past week or so and I’m hot when I get off the Tube.
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 a coffee chain, I drain a cool sparkling water and change into my heels before meeting Jack.
In response to my greeting, he grunts and offers me an ill-humoured nod as he haphazardly finishes dressing in the street, adjusting the knot of his red tie and tucking the tails of his shirt further into his trousers.
My quick assessment of Jack confirms that he’s carrying nothing.
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 are loud against 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 twenty-seven .
I’m hot and bothered by the time we reach our destination, the lift literally having stopped at every floor on the way up. My nerves build. Do not fuck this up!
‘Mr Jones. Miss Heath.’ A tall, aspirationally polished blonde woman steps towards 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 while 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 demeanour. ‘A cold water would be fantastic, please.’
I can’t bear to make small talk, so I open my laptop and spread my printed research and handwritten 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?’ He’s angrier than reasonable or necessary.
I nod.
‘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 step back. My discomfort only dissipates when the receptionist 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 she’s 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 towards 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 dad, 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 non-disclosure agreements. Once the formalities are complete, I breathe easier and the mood in the room seems to lighten. 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, 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 same receptionist interrupting me. I want to scream, What? 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’ navy suit lines his tall, broad but athletic 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 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 centre of attention, illuminated in front of the window.
They lure me in as if pulling on a rope 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 towards him, my legs weightless.
‘You must be Miss Heath,’ he says, very matter of fact.