Chapter 11 #2
“How did you-”
Matt slipped his phone into his coat pocket then wrapped his arms around me.
“I knew which way you would be walking so I kept an eye out for you.”
I looked around.
“My, my, Mr Bradley, mingling with the general public? How outrageous.”
He narrowed his eyes before slanting his mouth over mine.
Everything stopped as he thoroughly kissed me, leaving me light-headed and a bit cross-eyed.
“Wow.” I breathed out slowly.
Matt cupped my cheek and kissed the tip of my nose before pulling the top of my jacket closer together.
“It’s cold today, poppet. Let’s get a move on.” With one arm around my waist he moved us forward, stopping only to raise his hand in acknowledgement to-
Shadow man!
Freaking ghost.
He wasn’t behind me when I walked here.
“I’m still not 100% on board with this bodyguard crap.” I slipped one arm around Matt, leaning in closer to him as he helped me dodge people.
“Let it go, Madison.” Matt warned.
Urgh.
Complete first name.
He was serious.
“I’m not changing my mind. Nice skirt, by the way, quite sexy.”
I let it go, conscious of the fact I had bigger problems on the horizon.
It was a wise person who knew which battles to fight.
“Where are we going?” I asked, trying to keep up with his long strides.
Matt grinned.
“You mentioned neither one of us has been to experience the glass walkway since it opened last year. I thought-”
My unladylike squeal of excitement tore a deep chuckle from him.
“You’re the best,” I tried not to gush and wondered what the queue today would be like.
“What about lunch? Have you decided on a restaurant nearby? It’s already gone 1 and I’m starving. How long before you have to head back to the office?”
“Watch your step.” Matt advised, evading my questions while hurrying me along towards the North Tower entrance.
The lift, which the general public had access to, was being guarded by this pale redhead.
The man looked ill.
Damn.
I wanted to give him some flu medicine or something.
“Mr Bradley. I’m Peter. Right this way please.”
I gave Matt a perplexed look and he winked at me as Peter led us into the lift.
Ok.
Matt had a pleased smile on his face as I mouthed ‘what’s happening’ to him.
The lift began its journey upwards.
His smile widened and his grey eyes sparkled with secret delight.
I adored that look on his face.
That hint of playfulness which rarely came out around others, although with me it was never too far from the surface.
I was going to make it one of my life’s goals to keep that look on his exquisite face.
“Everything is as you wanted, Mr Bradley.” Peter continued talking.
Matt held my left hand, his fingers absent-mindedly rubbed my rings.
“Jolly good.” Matt said.
“I trust there were no unforeseen problems?”
“Oh no, Mr Bradley,” Peter was quick to reassure him.
“Here we are. Mind your step on the way out.” Peter held the door open while Matt herded me out.
“What’s going on, Matt?” I asked, surprised by the lack of people.
I knew it was a weekday, but still, there should be a lot more people here.
“Patience, poppet.” was all he said with that secretive gleam in his eyes.
“Mr Bradley,” A matronly woman strode over, hand out in greeting.
“Hello, I’m Linda and we’re all set up for you.”
Matt shook her hand.
“Thank you, Linda. This is my wife,”
I smiled politely, starting to freak out a bit.
What had Matt done?
“Right this way, Mr Bradley.” Linda started leading us towards the walkway.
“Oh, Matt,” I whispered softly when I saw the table covered in white lace with three chairs in the centre.
Matt tugged me closer and I turned my head to peer at him.
“Lunch date.” he said before walking us forward.
All mushy feelings receded as the panoramic views hit me and my toes reached the edge of glass flooring.
Fuck.
“Uh,” I stammered.
“How high up are we again?”
“42 metres above the Thames.” Linda advised in a chirpy voice.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I glanced down, shouldn’t have done it, but I did.
Now, I’m not afraid of heights, not my version of kryptonite.
But I had a healthy respect for the laws of physics.
A very healthy respect.
And in theory I was excited about this, in theory yes.
In reality, well I hadn’t wet myself as yet, but there was still time.
“Umm, and the glass,” I gulped.
“It’s not compromised, right?”
“Poppet,” Matt groaned softly, embarrassed I think.
“Of course not, Mrs Bradley.” Linda said with a laugh.
It was a valid question.
Why the heck was she laughing?
And would Matt be offended if I pointed out it was DuMont-Bradley?
“But it broke last year, days after it first opened.” I said.
Did I sound shrill?
“It was on the news. Someone dropped a bottle on the glass then a woman with stilettoes walked over it and, look, they closed it down to repair it. Is it safe?”
“Are you scared?” Matt teased, a blatant challenge ran through his tone.
“No.” I shot back and took the first step onto the walkway.
Oh my God.
“I’m just slightly concerned. I mean, I’ve got these heels on and, uh,” Another few steps, four more in total.
I was not going to be branded a scaredy-cat.
“I want to-” My stupid gaze dropped to the ground.
Oh God.
The people looked like ants.
Ants!
“Matt.” I hissed.
His laughter came from behind.
I was frozen to the spot.
Staring down at the moving traffic that resembled toy cars.
“I’m right here.” Matt murmured after he followed me onto the walkway and pressed his body against my back.
“Lovely, isn’t it?”
“Mhmm.” I turned carefully into his waiting arms.
“Should I take my heels off?”
Matt laughed for a full minute, the corners of his eyes crinkled up nicely.
“Oh sweetheart, you’ve brightened my day considerably with that one question.” Then he sobered up and looked over to where Linda stood.
“Have our meal brought out in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, Mr Bradley.” she nodded.
“Oh and Linda,” Matt called, stopping her from scurrying off.
His gaze flickered to what I assumed were security cameras.
Matt nose lifted haughtily.
“ Everything is as I requested.”
Linda’s eyes jumped to where Matt had been looking and she nodded vigorously this time.
“Yes, Mr Bradley. Absolutely. Complete privacy is a given.”
Matt gave her a benevolent tilt of head before turning back to me.
He settled his strong hands over my hips.
Linda had been dismissed and she disappeared from view.
“I can’t believe you did this, Matt.” I squinted out the glass.
Whoa.
High, really high.
“How much did this cost?”
“Why do you always worry about the cost of things?” he queried, his hands left my hips and inched up my jacket.
“I wanted to do something special for you before I leave on my trip,”
My lips curled down into an exaggerated unhappy pout.
Matt started unzipping my coat as he lowered his head to kiss me.
The large radiators situated on both sides along the walls were kicking out some heat.
“Very nice,” Matt commented when he revealed my cream top.
The small frills running down the line of buttons were cute.
I carefully slipped my bag to the floor and shrugged off my jacket as he eyed my form with open appreciation.
My outfit was hot today.
“A distinct departure from your usual work garb,” Matt regarded me while I started on his coat.
“Did you have a meeting today? You mentioned something about the Arts Council last week.”
“Can’t a girl look professional for work?” I hedged.
Crap.
He was always so observant.
Always looking at every angle.
“Oh, let’s take some pictures.”
He shrugged off his coat.
I took a moment to stare.
Maybe longer than a moment.
The dark blue Saville Row suit was custom-made, and it struck me for the millionth time how easy it would be for Matt to change careers and become a male model.
Not only did he have a spectacular body, but his features were perfect.
Altogether a perfect mesh of each individual part.
Take his cheekbones for instance.
Men shouldn’t have such high cheekbones and be able to pull it off like that.
The eyelashes too; thick, long, jet-black like his hair, and totally girly.
Matt had eyelashes to make any woman green with envy, yet on him it just added a further dimension to the unbelievable masculine beauty of his face.
“Do I have something on my face?” Matt asked, both our coats over one arm and the strap of my bag in the other as he walked over to the set table.
I shook my head, drooling over the lines of his broad shoulders in the suit.
“Pictures, you say?” Matt continued, he placed our stuff on one of the chairs.
His brushed back hair only served to accentuate the aloof air that usually surrounded him.
It made him look unapproachable, cold even.
Matt looked over in my direction and I amended my previous thought.
His grey eyes were filled with warmth as he crooked a finger and beckoned me over.
Eagerly I closed the distance between us.
“Loads of pictures, hon.”
Matt was a good sport about it, only refusing my final request of him lying prone on the glass floor.
Huh, it would’ve made a great picture, my creativity was being stifled.
I even got the man who brought in our food to take more pictures of Matt and me together.
Then my husband called an end to it and sat me down for lunch.
We ate and talked, and sipped champagne, and talked.
I made googly eyes at him, he pulled my chair closer, making me squeal in the process.
Best lunch date ever.
“Is that why you have to travel so much then?” I asked, taking a small sip of bubbly.
“I still can’t believe the price of oil has hit another five-year low. Are you certain about that, Matt? I still think gas is expensive. I told you the Cayenne guzzles gas, right?”
“Well, poppet,” Matt explained.
“It’s due to the ongoing fear of oversupply. Some analysts are predicting a fall as low as $33 per barrel this year.” He sighed, the tiniest of frowns forming between his eyebrows.
“Due to the weak economic activity, demand is low. And then you have the unexpected issue of Libya and Iraq, two major oil producers,” Another frown, more pronounced this time.
“Despite all the civil turmoil these states have experienced, their output hasn’t been affected. They’re producing almost 4m barrels a day combined, and OPEC has consistently reiterated it will not attempt to shore up the declining oil prices by reducing production.”
I took another hit of bubbly.
Matt looked really stressed.
It was unnerving.
What did this mean for Bradley Industries?
“Umm, but your family’s companies are ok, right?” I chewed my bottom lip.
Did oil companies go bankrupt?
Would Matt and Adam not be able to deal with the current crisis concerning the price of oil?
Grumps would freak if his dynasty went under.
Matt quickly waved my worries away while flashing what he intended to be a soothing smile.
His eyes though, they continued to hold shadows.
“Of course, poppet. We have a wide range of profitable companies outside the oil business. Don’t worry,” he said, reading me like a pro.
“We’re nowhere close to being paupers.”
“That’s-” I huffed at his inference.
“Those things don’t bother me, Matt.”
“So you don’t enjoy the private jets, trips, expensive jewellery,” he mocked.
Matt was this close to a ‘screw you, rich boy’.
My eyes were slits of brown haughtiness.
“I can live without those things, you on the other hand,” I snorted out loud.
Matt shrugged and resumed eating.
So did I.
Was it the right time to mention the work developments on my side?
If I didn’t do it now, I’d probably never do it.
The camera crew would show up, Matt would have a coronary, and someone would end up getting sued.
“Ah,” I speared the scallop with my knife and fork before transferring it to Matt’s plate.
Eww.
“There’s something I need to run by you.” Another scallop made the journey to his plate.
“And what is it?” Matt raised a curious eyebrow in my direction.
Just say it , I should just say it quickly then wait for the expected explosion.
“Oh, look. The bridge is going up.” It wasn’t a delaying technique.
The bridge was in actual fact going up.
Luckily I’d been evading Matt’s piercing gaze and peering at the glass floor.
It wasn’t cowardly of me to want to avoid a massive blow-out.
It was simple self-preservation.
Matt watched me over the rim of his flute.
“Do you know how beautiful you are, poppet? Especially when you’re excited. It makes me happy seeing you like this.”
I snuck a peek at him.
Now .
I should tell him now when he was in a good mood.
“You make me happy.” I replied.
If I laid on the charm he might be more amenable to hearing me out.
We watched the bridge go up completely and the amazing view of the fast-flowing Thames below us.
Someone took the remnants of our lunch away and brought out desserts.
I strengthened my resolve.
What was the worst that could happen?
Matt would never throw me off Tower Bridge…
well, better put, he’d do serious time if he did.
“The Royal Ballet is having a documentary done by the BBC Arts,” I started.
“Lovely.” Matt murmured inattentively, his focus was on the heavenly smelling Lavazza coffee soaked savarin with coffee cream and parfait caramelised hazelnuts.
“Yep,” I played with my dessert, scrutinizing Matt’s expression of delight as he popped a forkful in his mouth.
Taste overload, he was in culinary bliss.
I needed to make my move while the endorphins were flooding his system.
I inhaled deeply then let it all out in a rush of jumbled words.
“A tv representative came by the studio today because they want to do a piece on my dance company for the documentary because they want to show the differences-” I blinked quickly as Matt’s head snapped up.
Oh crap.
“Because it adds another dimension she said - I think it’s a good way to showcase the company - they want to film us, ah unfettered access was mentioned um, she said, it’s the BBC,” My verbal diarrhoea tapered off.
Matt put his fork down and picked up his napkin.
He efficiently wiped his mouth before leaning back in his seat.
The twin eyebrows of doom were gearing up.
“Run that by me once more, poppet.” he said quietly.
“Take your time.”
“They want to do a piece on us,” I explained nervously.
A thunderstorm started brewing on Matt’s face.
I hastened to clarify.
“My dance company, that is, not us us,” I waved my fork between us.
“They’re already doing a documentary on The Royal Ballet, didn’t I mention that to you a few weeks ago?”
“No.” Matt was not falling for my innocent demeanour.
“You did not.”
“Are you sure?” I blinked a few more times.
“Maybe with all the drama of Auntie Cleo being unwell you forg-”
“You did not.” Matt repeated coldly.
Ok.
I needed to change tact, and fast.
“The profile of the company will be raised.”
“That’s neither here nor there, Madison,” Matt’s fingers were drumming out an annoyed rhythm across the table-top.
“The profile of your dance company would be raised from the moment you perform at The Royal Opera House.”
“Well, I meant to say it would be raised higher,” I squirmed in my seat under his unwavering stare.
“And you’re always trying to encourage me to build my company up-”
“Financially, yes,” Matt’s cheeks were flushed now.
“By increasing the rates of your classes and ticket sales when you have a production on.”
“Well, if we do the documentary,” I licked my dry lips.
This wasn’t going well at all.
“We’ll be better known and this would lead to more donations-”
“If you need more investment money,” Matt bit out.
“Why have you not touched the funds in our private joint account? I had your name added on to it months ago, and I rarely use that particular account anyway. It’s for your use, whatever you wish to use it on.”
Our who how what now?
I put the fork down.
“Excuse me, what?”
“There’s currently quite a large balance in the account, Madison,” Matt said.
“And a monthly transfer of ￡100000 goes in from one of my off-shore accounts. If you need money, there’s more than sufficient for you to access. I’ll speak to my accountant, have him set something up so you can transfer the funds in such a way it doesn’t affect you tax-wise. Maybe I’ll have him sort out an investment fund. Leave it with me.”
I needed a few seconds to process this information.
What the hell was he talking about?
“What account, Matt?” I almost shouted at him.
“We don’t have a joint account! I don’t like personal joint accounts. Joint accounts can lead to trouble-”
“Our joint account at Coutts.” Matt looked at me as if I was insane.
I was looking at him in the same manner.
He shook his head in disbelief but something felt off with his demeanour.
My mouth was hanging open as I searched my memory for ever signing a bank form with him.
Nope, zilch, nada.
There was something afoot.
I would never knowingly agree to a joint account.
Matt’s personal finances made me uneasy, it was his money.
I worked hard for my own.
“Oh.” I exclaimed suddenly.
“You sneaky, manipulative, tyrant.”
Matt chewed his inner cheeks.
I had to hand it to him, my husband had some real balls.
“How many times have I told you to meticulously read whatever you sign?” he drawled.
As if he hadn’t set me up.
I remembered now.
It was a few days after the return from our honeymoon.
He was working in his office.
I had brought him some tea, we started fooling around and when things were getting rowdy, Matt had pulled out a few sheets of paper and mumbled something about wedding licenses and accounts before telling me to sign them.
I signed them, of course I signed them.
We were both half-naked and in a compromising position atop his desk.
“That’s just wrong, Matt; and legally classed as entrapment I think.”
He shrugged unashamedly then exhaled slowly.
“Poppet, what exactly do they want? You can’t trust the media and I won’t allow you to place yourself in a situation that could possibly put you in a negative light.”
Huh.
Allow me?
If he pulled his older and wiser crap, I’d throw him off the bridge and do the time.
And did he think I wouldn’t realize he was changing the topic?
This bank account thing needed to be discussed in detail.
“Personally, I think it’s crass, some form of reality tv dross which you are not going to participate in.” he continued in a firm voice.
“And they most likely will use it as a way to gain access to my life-”
“Megalomaniac.” I cut him off.
“Pardon?”
“You’re a megalomaniac, Matt.” I repeated.
“This isn’t about you , and it’s a documentary for heaven’s sakes. It can really boost the profile of my company.”
Matt regarded me silently for a moment.
I held his gaze, knowing he was going to make a persuasive argument against me doing this.
So persuasive I’d probably start seeing it from his point of view.
My shoulders slumped a little.
I needed to bolster my mental and verbal defences, plan my rebuttals for his points.
Darn it.
I was going to lose this argument.
“There must be rules,” he finally said.
My eyes widened in shock.
Matt glared at me.
“Our personal life is completely off-limits. I’m bloody serious, Madison! Stop grinning. I won’t permit any filming at our home. You said unfettered access? Well, that’s not happening. Stop grinning and pay attention, poppet.”
I got off my chair and manoeuvred myself onto his lap.
“I love you.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do,” Matt retorted dryly.
One of his hand landed on my lower back while the other began to trace the frills around my buttons.
“I believe a physical display of how much you love me is required right about now.” He expertly popped the top buttons of my shirt, lust pooling into his eyes.
“No way,” I moved to get out his lap and Matt grabbed me around the waist.
“Are you crazy? People will see.”
Matt glanced around in a pointed manner.
“Which people? And I’ve ensured the CCTV cameras have been turned off for the time we’re up here.”
I tapped the glass floor with my shoe.
“The ones looking up.”
Matt’s mouth curled up into a devilish grin.
Oh no.
I was already weak in the knees at that grin.
“If you straddle me,” he paused, undoing a few more buttons before bending his head and pressing feather-light kisses across my chest.
I shuddered in response, my hands already tugging his tie loose.
Why the heck not?
You only live once…