Chapter 6
The lift doors open to the gold GJR Enterprises wall plaque. The usually quiet floor of Gregory’s office block feels occupied. Two men holding what look like camera accessories, both dressed in khaki combat trousers and black T-shirts, are hovering in the glass-lined corridor.
‘Mr Ryans’s office is just this way.’
I follow Sue, a new receptionist of Gregory’s. Her brown bob bounces as she totters along the corridor in kitten heels.
‘Yes, I know, thank you,’ I say with a smile.
‘Oh, of course, you said you’ve been before,’ she says on a nervous giggle, sliding her square-framed glasses back to the bridge of her nose.
‘It’s my first day and my last job wasn’t half as corporate as this.
I’ve been up and down to Mr Ryans’s office all morning, helping out the staff from The Times – photographers, camera men.
Gosh, he makes me so… so… flustered; I’m not used to him yet.
The other girls warned me but…’ She shrugs and casually wafts a hand by her flushed cheeks.
‘The other girls warned you about what?’
‘Well, you’ve seen him,’ she says, her hair bouncing in all directions.
‘He’s so… so… hmm, I need to learn to cope with it, like the girls said.
He’s my boss, after all. He just looks so…
so… oh Lord, I’m being unprofessional again.
I won’t even last until day two at this rate.
’ She snaps her head around to face me and stands still on the spot, almost causing me to walk right into her. ‘You won’t tell him, will you?’
If my head wasn’t banging like I’ve just fallen down a set of concrete steps, I might be narked at Sue’s obvious crush but I’m not that primitive or possessive. Instead, I feel empathy for the state of frenzy she’s worked herself into.
‘Tell him what?’ I ask, attempting a reassuring smile.
‘Thank you. It’s this one,’ she says, gesturing to Gregory’s open office door.
Gregory’s positioned at his desk, the foot of one leg crossed over the thigh of his other and his interlaced, manicured fingers held in front of him at his waist. Cameras, umbrellas and screens cast a purposeful soft light across his olive skin.
My feet forget how to walk and I stand, gormlessly, gripping the sides of my ring binder files to make sure they don’t fall to the floor with my jaw.
One day, I might get used to this man enough to not be blown away by the sight of him but right now, blown away is exactly how I’m feeling.
‘Miss Heath, good afternoon.’ The tall, flawless blonde I’m used to seeing behind the reception desk at Eclectic Technologies in her figure-enhancing pencil skirts whispers a greeting. ‘You can take a seat on the sofa over there. Mr Ryans is expecting you. They’ll be taking a break shortly.’
‘Thanks.’ I tiptoe to the leather sofa and place my files down on the glass table to the side as quietly as I can. I undo my coat and rest it over the back of the sofa then take a seat and watch as Gregory replies to another question from a man whom I assume is a reporter for The Times Magazine.
As if he feels my eyes burning into him, he shifts a little in his chair and finds me.
His straight lips turn ever so slightly up, then he winks in a way that’s most unlike the CEO Gregory.
Despite myself and despite my usual ability to remain at least outwardly professional, I beam back at him, quickly biting my lip in an attempt to rein it in.
Too late. Every pair of eyes in the room just landed on me until the interviewer continues.
‘So, Gregory, the youngest technology billionaire in the United Kingdom. To what do you owe your success?’
Gregory straightens the arms of his blazer, pulling the cuffs of his shirt just slightly in front of the hem of his jacket. It’s a move that’s terribly him.
‘Many things. Hard work, ambition but more than anything, in such a fast-paced environment, it’s important to make your sector your life.
I live and breathe technology markets around the globe.
I know what exists, what doesn’t exist and what ought to exist. I understand what businesses and consumers need. ’
God, I’ve missed him. My watch tells me it’s half-past three. Seven hours I’ve been away from him and I’m desperate to run to him and fold myself onto his lap.
This can’t be normal. There’s no way I could stand to be away from him for six months.
When did this happen to me? When did I become reliant on a man?
For years, I’ve thought of nothing but work and my dad and now one man has derailed everything I know in a matter of weeks.
My dad. I lean forward on my forearms and drop my head into my hands, massaging my temples with my index fingers as images haunt me.
My dad, pushed down the stairs, frail, bandaged and strapped to machines, fighting for his life from a hospital bed.
Alone when Kevin Pearson came back to finish what he started and pull the plug.
The image of Gregory as a boy, sobbing as he watched his mother being battered half to death.
Gregory just two nights ago, struggling beneath the chain wrapped around his neck – the mark still visible above his collar to those in the know.
Eight hours, six months in Dubai. Either would be nothing compared to Gregory serving a life sentence.
Abdulla wants a decision in three weeks. In less time than that, the CPS will make an even bigger decision.
‘Are you unwell?’ Gregory is on his hunkers in front of me, gently prising my hands away from my temples.
Oh God. Every person in the room watches as I stare at my beautiful CEO. The curt manner he reserves for work is gone and it’s just Gregory, my Gregory, his face drenched in concern.
‘I’m fine,’ I whisper. ‘I just have a headache.’
He silently questions me, his focus falling to my lips. Knowing I can’t, won’t, kiss my client in a room full of cameras and a reporter, I pinch my eyes shut and when I open them, his expression is replaced with one of professionalism.
‘Francesca, please get Miss Heath some painkillers and a glass of water.’
The receptionist snaps into action but Gregory remains focussed on me.
‘Would you like to postpone our meeting?’
‘No. I’m fine. Sorry, it’s been a long day.’
‘Let’s see if I can make you feel better tonight,’ he whispers so only I can hear, then stands, straightens his jacket and fastens one button in the middle as he walks back to his desk. ‘Let’s draw this interview to a close,’ he says, taking a seat and returning to his cross-legged position.
‘Well, I was about to move on to your status as one of the world’s most eligible bachelors but—’
‘I don’t think that would be appropriate. This is an article about business. My personal life isn’t the concern of the readership.’
‘Err, erm, right. No, of course not.’
‘Do you have another question, or are we done here?’
His tone is so abrupt, I actually feel for the reporter. The rare flash of relaxed Gregory is replaced with the brusque white-collar mogul.
My headache wanes under the influence of paracetamol, not in the least bit aided by the flashing bulbs of cameras as Gregory is set in poses at his desk and in the window.
‘Can we try that with a smile?’ a cameraman asks.
Gregory cocks his head to one side and arches a brow.
‘I’ll take that as a no.’
‘Do so,’ Gregory says, brushing one side of his blazer, which I’m almost certain is purely for effect.
Another series of flashes illuminates the room before Gregory announces, ‘We’re done. Help yourselves to food and drinks, gentlemen. I have another appointment.’
‘How did your meeting about handling PR go with Sydney this morning?’ I ask when we’re tucked in the sanctity of one of the meeting rooms.
Gregory crouches down in front of my oversized leather chair, turning me away from the large glass table to face him. He runs his fingers down the side of my cheek then drops his forehead onto mine.
‘Kiss me,’ I whisper.
He presses his lips to mine and I hum, breathing him in. He nips my bottom lip between his teeth and slowly opens his hooded eyes.
‘I’ve been desperate to do that since I left you this morning.’
‘Why didn’t you say you aren’t a bachelor?’ The words leave my mouth before my brain has even processed them.
Gregory pulls his head back, his face still level with mine. ‘Like I said, it’s not their business.’
‘But… do you…’
‘Do I consider myself a bachelor?’
I shrug, feeling emotionally juvenile but still wanting the answer.
‘No.’ His tone is matter-of-fact but I’ll take it.
I try not to smile but I’m not convinced my attempt is successful.
‘Now, shall we get on with this meeting? I was told this morning in no uncertain terms that we absolutely must discuss Shangzen Tek.’ He steps back against the table and folds his arms across his chest as he presses those perfectly pert arse cheeks onto the edge.
Clearing my throat, I take a notebook from the front of my document folder, keeping my eyes down to lessen the distraction. ‘You mentioned a new company.’
‘Yes. I’d like to structure the joint venture through a new subsidiary of GJR Enterprises.’
‘Have you already agreed the approach with Mr Cheung?’
‘I wanted to discuss the feasibility with you first. I want to fully understand the tax implications and how the ownership of the products we develop would work. If this idea comes off, it could provide the software necessary to significantly increase the flight speed of a drone, something that could be very valuable to businesses using drones commercially.’
We’re both fully in professional mode. He moves to take a seat on the opposite side of the table from me.
‘I assume you’re aware that there’re fairly tight limitations on the use of commercial drones?’
‘Yes, but hurdles can always be navigated. In fact, my thoughts are that the software would probably be seen as more desirable once companies have had an opportunity to explore some of the development areas of the drone.’