Chapter 18
Jude
I spot her name on the list of speakers as I sit down for my lunch, and my heart rate picks up.
As I’d been in LA, I hadn’t really looked into anything at this conference.
Once I’d given my speech, I would be moving on to Venice.
More meetings there and a speech about similar themes to a very close business associate’s senior leadership team.
In the conference centre's VIP private dining area, I’m dining with the organisers and the heads of three international building companies.
We’ve done lots of work together all around the world, and it’s good to catch up with them on a personal as well as a professional level.
They tend to be in the same boat as me—work is your lifestyle, and your life revolves around it.
We tend to band together as not many other people understand it. I don’t think I’ve been out to dinner for the past few years—family excluded—that was pure pleasure. Every single one has had some form of business connotation attached to it, everyone—even me—always looking for an angle.
Checking the time on my watch, I reckon I can do all the meet and greets today and still have time to sneak into her presentation.
What will she have on today? Will it be silk?
Will it pull across those magnificent tits?
God I hope so. Professional and Emma Lincoln do not go in the same sentence anymore.
Why on earth she’s picked the last slot of the day is beyond me. It’s second only in terms of terrible to the post lunch slot. The delegates may be awake, but they’ll be desperate to leave, the bar calling them with a long hard day of schmoozing behind them.
I try to leave as inconspicuous as possible, but no luck.
I end up with a bit of an entourage, the heads of the multinationals all intrigued as to why I want to attend the last session of the day at an outlying hall.
I make some excuse about trying to see as many presentations as possible.
I can tell they don’t believe me, but I don’t give a fuck.
We stand at the back in the darkness—she won’t be able to see us from the stage due to all the lights—and I watch her come to life.
The passion and warmth she exudes has everyone captivated.
I know at least two of the guys I’m with take a note of her company name, and I feel a weird sense of pride.
They can see what I see. My chest burns with it.
And then things go utterly and totally pear-shaped.
I can’t take my eyes off her. Her body is screaming out for help. To be put out of her misery. But she pulls confidence from her boots and carries on. She’s bringing the dramatics. Playing into the crowd—who are still with her, all rooting for her.
Until the doorbell chimes.
The tolling of that particular bell her death knell as far as she’s concerned. I can see it written all over her face.
We watch in growing hysteria as her mother, clearly—she looks like Emma—opens box after box of sex toys. Lube, vibrators, dildos. Then the pièce de résistance. The blow up doll.
There is not a dry eye in the house. She’s brought the house down.
This presentation will go down in history.
Be discussed and rehashed. Alerts are already pinging on my phone as people in the room post it.
I hear her parting shot, and my friends break into guffaws of laughter as she does a serious, and literal, mic drop.
She doesn’t even run off stage, but strolls off as if she meant every word. I have never seen a more magnificent example of resilience and endurance in my life. The woman is a goddess. And to think I thought her boring and innocent. That selection of toys was extensive and epic.
With the room in uproar, the host comes on to announce that the conference has ended for the day. The room empties, with every single person talking about Emma Lincoln and Synergy Recruitment Ltd.
“I hope we get sinergised,” my colleague quips. “Do you know her, Jude? I need her for my business. To keep everyone happy.” He’s winking and nodding like a deranged toy. “And I need an invite to that party.”
I grin at him. “She was fantastic, wasn’t she? Coping with all that. Amazing.” I smile, but my brain has moved already. I need to get to her. She’ll be frantic. Maybe she’ll try to leave. The whole feeling from the crowd is one of laughter, but not at her, with her.
“Did bloody well to carry on, though.” He nods at me.
“There are not many people, even top brass, who would have coped with that. Cool wasn’t the word.
Brilliant.” He’s impressed, his voice rings with it.
We’ve all been on the end of technology issues.
Maybe not to that extent, but we’ve all been there.
It takes me an age to exit the hall. Nobody has left. It’s as if they’re expecting her to come back out and do an encore. The excitement in the hall is electrifying. It has pepped the conference up to an incredible level. She has ramped it up to an incredible level. WOW.
But in the melee, I spot her former business partner. Dissing her, slagging her off. Trash talking about her presentation. He was notably in attendance, revelling in her humiliation, as he sees it.
My resolve hardens. My protective instincts kick into gear. No way is she going to run from this. I need to find her fast.
I hear him say she’ll be leaving. She’s a coward.
Calling her character into question. Retelling the tale with a negative spin, People stand around him, egging him on.
Crowds love the drama in this sort of thing, his voice gets louder and louder to match their enthusiasm. But I won’t let it drown out Emma’s.
I don’t even know which hotel she’s in. I need Jonno.
I call him immediately. He said he would watch her. I didn’t realise I would need him so soon.
“Brother, what’s up?” He’s no nonsense. I would never call at this time of the day normally.
“I need to find out which hotel and room Emma Lincoln is in. STAT.”
He doesn’t even miss a beat, he knows where she is. He is watching her, or watching out for her.
“Kempinski. I’ll get rooms, wait a minute.” I wait what feels like an hour, but is probably less than five minutes. “Floor three. Three five two to three five eight. Not sure which one she’s in, but it’s one of those. All okay?” he asks finally.
“No, not for her. I need to go, I’ll ring you later with an update.”
“Is it this presentation? It’s popping up everywhere. Do you want me to do anything?” My brother is an absolute star.
“Hang fire, let me speak to her first and then we can decide. I’ll ring you back when I talk to her.”
“It’s funny and positive at the minute. One or two nasties, but not many,” he states, clearly scrolling the feeds.
“Yeah, let me see her and I’ll ring you.”
I hang up straight away, striding over to the hotel. I’m staying in the same one. I bat off calls to come for a drink, saying I will join them later, and head straight for floor three and her rooms.
Knocking on the first three doors, no one comes. I hear raised voices and I’m sure someone is crying in the last room. My heart rate starts to pick up. Is that Emma?
I bang on the door a little too aggressively, my anxiety ramping up with each strike. The room goes silent. I don’t speak, and step out of sight of the spy hole. I don’t want her not to open simply because it’s me.
The door tentatively opens, and I step into view. A youngish woman gasps out as she obviously recognises me. “I’m sorry, Mrs Lincoln is not available,” she stammers out.
I grin grimly at her, stating, “I’m sure she’s not,” as I push past her into the room.
My chest gets tighter as I see Emma slumped in a chair. Louise laid in tears on the bed. A young guy pouring drinks from the minibar. No one says a word.
Emma stares at me like I’m an unwanted apparition. Then she asks, her voice scratchy, “Were you there?” I can see she is begging for me not to have been.
I nod. “Everyone was there,” I reply bluntly. I am not sugar coating this for her.
“Oh Jesus.” She sounds so defeated.
Louise starts to sob harder, trying to explain through her tears. “The bluetooth was off, we checked. It was that laptop. It was faulty after all.” She sits up, and damn she looks terrible. Emma just looks numb. In a total daze.
“Right, we need serious drinks. What’s in that minibar?” I ask the young guy. “Empty it.” I grab a full glass of what looks like whiskey. Squatting down in front of Emma, I insist, “Drink this. Down in one.” I push the glass at her.
“Go away, Mr Greystone.”
She looks down, and I take hold of her hand, clasp her fingers, and curl them around the glass. The feeling of her skin on mine pumps resolve into my bloodstream. I see the goosebumps on her arms as she’s taken off her jacket and rolled up her sleeves.
“Being drunk won’t change the facts,” she states, her voice starting to rise. A blush dapples her skin. She’s getting upset.
I bend my head to look into her turquoise irises, her eyes radiating pain and humiliation. No fucking way is she going down that road. She needs to know how amazing she was. How fantastic people thought she was, facing into that sort of shit.
“Have you come to halve your offer for my building, now my business just got flushed down the toilet?” She stares at me, her eyes hardening.
“Or maybe, on my home. Has Nigel been on the phone? He’ll think he can take all my clients now.
” The venom in her voice is unmistakable, but there’s no aggression.
I don’t think I’m getting punched, maybe just dumped.
I don’t say a word, but carry on squatting in front of her. She takes a huge swig of the whiskey, clenching her eyes shut on a gulp as it burns her throat.
“You should know that Terry was in the hall and saw the whole thing.”