Chapter 8
It’s a thoroughly miserable Friday morning.
I fight with my umbrella in the wind and rain.
The bottom of my knee-length dress is a darker shade of red than the rest when I eventually arrive into the muggy air of the Tube platform.
The damp, grey mac that I thought was waterproof is clinging to my arms.
The signal on my phone drifts in and out as the Tube moves between over and under land but I have reception for long enough to find that my three o’clock meeting at Eclectic Technologies has been moved to ten this morning.
‘Great! That’s just great!’ I say, unintentionally loud, thrusting it into my bag.
With the exception of the woman sitting opposite me, who rolls her eyes and tuts, no one else seems to notice my ill temper.
The man sitting in the seat to my left still snores with his mouth wide open.
The woman to my right is lost in her novel.
The girl standing in the middle of the aisle continues to tap her foot and chew her gum in time to the sound bellowing out of her earmuff-sized headphones.
* * *
‘Scarlett!’ Jack yells before I even have a chance to swap my flats for the heels under my desk at the office.
Obligingly, I trudge in his direction.
‘Hi! How was your trip?’
‘How’s the Eclectic deal coming?’ he barks from behind his desk.
‘Fine. I have a meeting with the board this morning so I’m heading straight back out. I have a few questions for them; could we discuss it when I’m back?’
Ignoring my question, he flicks his hand, motioning for me to leave his office.
His sleazy eyes burn into my back as I walk away and he makes a wet sapping noise with his mouth.
It’s not long before Margaret tells me my transport is outside to take me to Eclectic Technologies’ office. I have just enough time for a whistle-stop tour of Outlook and to gather my bundle of documents.
‘My out-of-office reply is directed to you, Margaret. I’ll be in a meeting for a couple of hours at least.’
‘Understood.’
I ought to have known that my transport would be Jackson. When I step out of the office, he’s already opening the back door of the Mercedes.
‘Good morning, Miss Heath,’ he says, showing his teeth as he smiles.
‘It’s Scarlett, please. And this is becoming a regular occurrence. Is he always this controlling?’
‘That’s what makes him good at what he does.
’ Jackson closes the door behind me and for the fifteen-minute journey, I quiz him.
He’s a sort of driver-cum-bodyguard, ex-forces.
Gregory frequently tries to give him the weekend off but it depends on his schedule and Jackson is always happy to work.
A cleaner-cum-chef visits Gregory’s apartment every day but she doesn’t live in.
‘Any other extravagances?’
‘A few,’ Jackson chuckles. ‘When he gives himself time to enjoy them.’
Under the stress of my pitch on my first trip to GJR Tower, I’ve forgotten how impressive the office block is.
I’m greeted at the entrance by a very merry receptionist in a grey suit and blue necktie.
She passes me over to a concierge, who takes me up to the twenty-seventh floor.
The lift opens to a sign stating this floor is the home of Eclectic Technologies , with a bolt of electric lightning flashing through the glowing, white words.
Another receptionist takes my coat and offers me a drink while I wait.
She probably thinks I look like I could use some caffeine.
She dials an extension and tells the person on the other end to let Mr Ryans know that his ten o’clock has arrived.
On hearing his name, goose pimples form up my arms one by one like falling dominos.
I quickly stomp on my thoughts and try to remember why I’m here.
I sense his presence before I see or hear him – the blood pumps harder in my veins, my temperature rises and a knot ties in my abdomen. When I glance up, he’s watching me from the internal reception door. My neck heats under the intensity of his stare.
‘Hi!’ is all I manage.
‘Hello, Scarlett.’ He looks effortlessly cool in his tailored, charcoal suit and black tie, his thick hair slicked back and slightly to one side.
Dragging my eyes from him, I fumble around my seat, picking up papers and my bag.
He holds the glass door open for me and I glance at the receptionist as I pass, giving her a polite smile but receiving a scowl in return.
The short walk to the boardroom feels endless.
We ask each other how we are. We’re both well.
I pass comment about the great British weather.
Gregory apologises for moving our meeting forwards.
Williams is already seated at the sizeable oval table when we enter the room. ‘I have to go,’ he says into his phone. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven.’
‘I hope that was Amanda,’ I say. ‘Sorry, that’s completely inappropriate and absolutely not my business.’
I clumsily spill my documents onto the table then awkwardly pull my red dress straight.
‘It’s good to see you again, Scarlett,’ Williams beams. His manner instantly putting me at ease, unlike his CEO.
A member of kitchen staff knocks and enters the room with three coffees, a pot for topping up and a plate of pastries that smell fantastic – butter, chocolate and sweet spices.
Williams takes a cinnamon swirl as soon as the plate lands on the table, then wipes his fingers on a serviette. ‘And yes, it was Amanda.’
I nod, unsure of the most appropriate response.
Unbundling my documents, setting up my laptop, and regaining my composure, I take control of the meeting and do what I know best, what my dad wants me to do and what I’ve worked hard to do.
Settling in to my role as their legal advisor and pretending that Gregory is just another client, I start talking law.
Williams relays Lawrence’s apology for not being able to make the meeting, which is annoying as a lot of my curiosity about the deal concerns his ownership of Connektions Limited and indirectly, Sea People International Inc.
I decide to ask questions second and talk Gregory and Williams through my brief due diligence on Sea People first. Gregory pays less attention than I think he ought to but Williams listens intently.
After the best part of an hour, I ask, ‘Do you have any questions so far?’
Gregory’s usually focused eyes are distant.
Distracted, as if he couldn’t care less about the company he’s taking over.
Williams asks five or six questions, apparently more intrigued by the prospects of his investment.
There’s a silence after I answer the question and Williams and I both look to Gregory, expecting him to speak. He doesn’t.
‘Well,’ Williams says eventually, ‘it’s eleven-thirty; why don’t we take a quick break and I’ll order more drinks?’
I have to admit Gregory’s attitude towards the deal strikes me as peculiar and his lack of interest is clearly irking Williams. I excuse myself to the ladies’ to give them some space.
They’re standing side by side in front of the window when I return.
‘I don’t care.’ Gregory sounds peeved himself now, his South African twang more prevalent than usual. Harsher even, more manly and sexy as hell.
Williams hangs his head then pats his friend on the shoulder and walks back to the table.
‘Is everything all right?’ I ask sheepishly.
Williams tucks in his seat. ‘Absolutely. Where were we?’
Gregory lingers at the window. When he eventually joins us, his expression is unreadable. Uneasy. Angry. Something else entirely.
‘Now it’s time for you to do the talking and fill in some missing blanks for me,’ I say cheerily.
Gregory’s jaw clenches and his hands tense, nearly forming fists on top of the table. Angry, then.
‘Of course, what do you need?’ Williams says, his manner in complete contrast to the man beside him. The man whose conceited arrogance is really starting to piss me off, both because he’s behaving like an ungrateful arse and because there’s something completely, undeniably arousing about it.
‘Let’s start with the legals first. When I was reviewing the constitutional documents, I couldn’t help but notice a whole web of connections between the companies that each of you and Mr Lawrence own.
I presume you’re aware of these connections?
’ I ask rhetorically, knowing that any potential conflict of interests should have been declared in directors’ meetings.
‘The one I’m most interested in is Mr Lawrence’s ownership of Connektions Limited. ’
Gregory visibly twitches in his seat.
‘I assume you’re aware that Connektions Limited is a majority shareholder of Sea People International Inc.?’
My question is directed to Gregory but Williams answers. ‘Yes. We are aware of that.’
Irritation drives me to bite down on my gums.
What a supercilious prick he is! I’m pleased I had myself off over him because at least the CEO in my imagination was ruggedly handsome and attentive. At least he gave me something .
‘I don’t understand,’ I say, failing to hide my frustration. ‘Sea People International is very profitable. How could Mr Lawrence think it would be in his company’s best interests to sell? I find that difficult to comprehend when the intention is for you to buy it and break it up.’
‘The offer’s too good to turn down,’ Gregory says through gritted teeth. ‘There are numerous reasons why a company would sell up. It might want to realise capital. It might want to throw in the towel.’
‘But that isn’t the case here,’ I say, unable to stop my tone from rising to confrontational.
‘It’s Lawrence’s money, in any event, and he obviously isn’t looking to throw in the towel.
And this other man, Mr Pearson, he owns 24 per cent of Sea People.
Who is he and what does he think about the sale? ’