Chapter 19 #3
‘I bet you’re surprised to see me here. Of course, you remember our last meeting.
You and your boyfriend tried to take everything I’d ever built.
Forced me to resign from my company. And do you know what that bastard told me when I asked for a fair and reasonable sum to compensate me for my resignation?
My resignation, which came about because he fucked up and fucking killed his own fucking daddy.
’ His words are wet on my face, making me squint and turn my head to one side.
‘Do you know? He told me to go fuck myself.’ A hollow laugh bellows from the depths of him and he leans closer to my face.
‘You two took everything from me. I. Want. It. Back. And guess what, I’m going to take it back, any way I can get it.
You see, I’m starting again, ’cause that’s the thing you forgot in your clever little plan.
I could just start again. Get a new company.
Get funding from Francis Benedetti, a man who can see talent and a good thing.
And now, my company will bring your man creeping to my door. ’
Francis Benedetti? I thought he was a serious investor, not the kind to scrape the barrel for fuck-ups to invest in.
‘I wish you and Francis every success, Nick, but the reality is, you already ran one company to its knees and it was Gregory who had to come and bail you out then. Let’s just say I won’t be holding my breath.’
I try to move away from him but he slams his free arm to the other side of my head, pinning me to the wall.
‘Not so tough when you’re on your own, sweetheart, are you?’
‘This is what you do now? Try to intimidate women? Perhaps your time would be better spent improving your business acumen.’
My heart is pounding in my chest. I hold his gaze even though there’s no denying I’m afraid.
‘You think you’re so fucking perfect, don’t you?
’ He removes one hand from the wall and swirls a finger in my face, a sadistic grin drawn on his plump lips.
‘I know your dirty secrets. Oh, yes, Katrina Martin has told me about your corruption. How you’re covering up for your fiancé, how he bought his way out of prison.
Bought his way out of prison so he could steal my company out from under me. Yes, I know all about it.’
Katrina told Nick Henshaw? What does she have to do with Nick Henshaw? My head is spinning. In part from the new information but mostly because I need to get out of this situation.
‘Let me go,’ I snarl, taking advantage of his dropped hand to step away from him.
I get two steps before he pulls my waist and rams me back against the wall, my head crashing against the plaster, fuzzing my vision for a second.
‘Don’t rush, I haven’t said congratulations yet. I’m pleased you two are getting married. Really, I am. You know how I like fucking other people’s wives.’
His face is ripped away from mine and slammed back against the opposite side of the corridor as a large vase shatters across the tiled floor.
Gregory pins Nick Henshaw by the throat, the sinews of his neck rigid and bulging, his body tall and strong.
He’s raging and this time, there’s no one to stop him.
He slams his fist into Nick’s face, drawing blood from his nose and eye, then lets his limp body fall to the floor as staff, then guests, teem into the corridor.
I can do nothing but stare in shock.
‘Let’s go,’ Gregory says, tugging my shoulder and moving us quickly down a staircase. He takes his phone from his inside pocket and dials. ‘Now. At the back entrance.’
I follow in a daze as he leads us along corridors and eventually out of a back door where Jackson is waiting with the Bentley.
Jackson opens the back door and Gregory holds me by the shoulders, gently shaking me until I look at him. ‘Are you okay?’
I nod, first slowly, then quicker, until my brain starts to function in real time. ‘Yes. Yes. I’m fine. Your hand.’
‘It’s fine,’ he snaps, taking it to the rim of the door and encouraging me to climb into the back seat.
I wait for him to open the door and slide in beside me, but he doesn’t; he gets into the front passenger seat and before I’m over that subtle gesture, he rolls up the partition between the front and back of the car, blocking me out of his conversation with Jackson.
He just knocked a man’s nose across the other side of his face.
He got us out of there before the press could show interest. Despite his red and swelling hand, he asked me if I’m okay.
This is what I keep telling myself in an attempt to rationalise my building anger at being isolated in the back of the car like a child as he has a private conversation with Jackson.
It’s not the solitary confinement that irritates me most, though; it’s the fact he didn’t overhear the majority of Nick’s venom before landing his fist in Nick’s face. Sitting here now, I realise that’s because he didn’t need to. He already knew.
Jackson parks the Bentley and I’m out of the car first, slamming the door, heading straight for the basement’s lift vestibule.
‘Scarlett.’ My name is bundled amongst frustration, tiredness and yes, ironically, anger.
He is angry with me? You’ve got to be kidding.
I turn quickly, my breaths jagged with rage. My reaction stills him and we stand facing one another, staring, both of us indignant.
‘You knew,’ I fire. ‘You knew he was there tonight and you knew he was in bed with Francis.’
‘Yes.’
Jackson moves slowly in the background, feigning interest in nothing on the side of the car.
‘Why have you sat chatting with Francis as if it means nothing?’
‘Because it doesn’t. It’s business. He’s made an investment. And just in case, I like to keep potential enemies where I can see them.’
As I process that new information, I shake my head, my anger easing marginally now that he’s talking. I move into the vestibule, punching the button harder than necessary to call the lift.
My arms are folded across my chest and I glare at Gregory as he and Jackson join me in the lift, Jackson hitting sixty-four.
‘And Trina? Did you know she’s spoken to Nick? She’s obviously digging for dirt. She told him her bribe theory. Except, of course, we know that isn’t just a theory, Gregory, don’t we?’
As soon as I’ve said that last part, a pang of guilt strikes my gut. Hacking at old wounds is low and I know it but right now, the guilt is losing out to temper and the question I can’t find an answer to. Why would Katrina Martin go to Nick Henshaw?
‘Yes. I knew.’
‘How? Since when? More importantly, why don’t I know?’
The lift doors open and despite his tense body, Gregory remains still, waiting for me to exit first. I want answers and I won’t break the silence until they come.
I expect Jackson to leave and head to his room when we’re in the lounge.
Instead, he takes three crystal glasses and a decanter of Scotch and brings them to the breakfast bar where Gregory is standing with his hands locked onto the edge of the granite worktop.
One hand has white, strained knuckles, whilst the other is red and angry.
Despite my need to see out this argument, I don’t want him to suffer for protecting me, so as Jackson pours three glasses of Scotch, I fill a towel with ice from the dispenser on the front of the refrigerator then lay Gregory’s hand flat on the worktop and hold the ice against it. I can feel him watching me.
‘Sit,’ I say, hooking a stool with my free hand and moving it behind him.
He does and takes the glass Jackson offers to him, draining half the Scotch in one.
‘After Dubai, I had Trina followed.’
I look at him now, grateful that he’s letting me in.
‘You were right. She won’t give up until she finds something.’ He suddenly looks exhausted. ‘She was photographed with Nick weeks ago. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to put two and two together and come up with a thousand explanations. There’s been no contact since.’
I would have done that, he’s right.
‘You still should’ve told me. If you’ve had her followed since Dubai, you’ve known she’s a threat all this time and I’m not crazy.’
He says nothing, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
That’s my cue to leave. He has some thinking to do and, as he knows they will, the cogs in my head need space to turn.
I need to process everything from today and I can’t do that around him.
I balance the ice on his hand, drain my Scotch, and make my way to the stairs.
‘I’m sleeping in the spare room.’
His silence makes my weary limbs heavier as I trudge the staircase in my gown and heels.