Chapter 19
LIFE WAS GREAT. Fantabulous, actually. The artistic director in my employment was a dream to work with.
His professional expertise helped us tweak the troublesome parts of The Ice Queen and Princess, and we changed a few things.
That was unexpected, to say the least. I was surprised Dante hadn’t lost his rag. He had listened to what Francois had to say, run through the steps, then agreed with him. I thought my friend had been replaced by a pod person.
My relationship with Matt had settled into a nice routine. A tiring, but definitely nice routine, where I was spending more and more time over at his place in Kensington while he spent less and less time at mine. Sometimes we barely saw each other, which always made me laugh seeing as we were in the same place. I would drive over to his place late at night to find him in bed, then he would leave early in the morning while I drooled over his pillows. Or he would come home from a long day at the office, and I would be fast asleep in the studio, wrapped up in duvets and pillows on the floor. He didn’t like that, had scolded me about it, too.
The media was still a problem. I doubted I could ever get used to their intrusion in our lives. A few days ago, I had been in Tesco picking up bottled water for the canteen and toilet paper for the loos at work when I spotted a magazine with a picture of me and Matt on the cover. The caption read: ‘The elusive Matthew Bradley tamed at last?’
The fuckers. I bought it though and the checkout girl had glanced at it as she passed it over the machine, then glanced at me, before her mouth fell open. I had smiled politely at her and pointed to the toilet paper. She ran those over the machine, goggling at me. This picture was an okay one. I swear those darned photographers went out of their way to catch me on every single bad hair day I had.
But I was happy. Matt was happy I was happy. Although there had been two incidents that had put a damper on my current bliss. The first was ‘the ambush’. It was a little over a week after my birthday and Matt had requested my presence at his place—well, ordered more like it. Being the great girlfriend that I was, I had left work early to acquiesce to his request. Big mistake.
George had met me at the door, taken my bag, then informed me to go to Matt’s office at once. His behaviour had seemed a bit cloak and dagger, and I foolishly wondered if Matt had gotten me a new expensive surprise. He had, but not the nice kind. On my entry to Matt’s office, I was met with the sight of a well-dressed, middle-aged white woman seated in front his desk drinking tea. Matt had walked over to kiss me hello and closed the door behind me. Then, he made the introductions: Dr Yvonne Brown, Psy.D. My new psychotherapist.
There had been five awkward minutes of silence with Matt standing conveniently in front of the door and blocking my immediate escape. I had a moment of pure panic before I politely laid into Matt. I reminded him this was supposed to be done my way, when I was ready. He countered by saying she was the best in the field and came highly recommended. I had sweetly retorted he said I could do my own research into it, and how was he sure she was the best. At that point, I had stalked over to his desk giving her a wide berth, of course, and Googled her ass. She was the best, it seemed. But I wasn’t going to take this ambush lying down.
She had remained completely calm sipping her tea and observing Matt’s and mine interaction. I worried that she was making mental notes about me.
I told Matt to stop pushing me. He calmly said I was using delaying tactics as I had made no attempt to do anything about the issue and a resolution to my problems were long overdue. He and Dr Brown had had a long discussion about the next steps forward.
Dr Yvonne Brown had finished her cup of tea and poured herself another, still silently observing us.
Matt politely asked me to come outside the office for a moment. It was the most polite argument we had ever had.
He had reminded me in his deep, sincere voice that I had agreed to prove my love by doing this for us, and he wanted me to have the very best. Her fees were upwards of ￡350 per hour, not factoring she was here outside her normal work hours. I had asked how long she’d been there and Matt said an hour and a half. Matt was right. I didn’t appreciate the ambush, mind you, but he knew I was secretly trying to weasel my way out of getting help. Damn. I thought I had more time. I relented, promising some form of payback, and that I would be cured in the cheapest amount of time possible. Three hundred and fifty pounds and upwards? Per hour? Hell, I would be cured by the time she left here.
Matt had called Dr Brown out and led us to the studio where there were two fancy chairs and a table laden with goodies and tea. He had said to her I felt the most at ease in my studio, and it was probably the best place for us to get to know one another. He left us to it.
Bloody man.
She was nice though. Very professional. When I had walked her to the front door an hour later, I told her I felt better and probably wouldn’t need to see her again. Dr Brown had laughed and said our discussion about the Nutcracker, although pleasant, would not be the last one we would have.
Once I had closed the door behind me and searched out Matt—it had taken me twenty minutes to find where he was ensconced—I had promptly kneed him in the nuts and called him a tyrant. Then I kneed him again.
The second incident had been at my place. Matt had surprised me one night by stopping by. I had been sorting through my paperwork and seeing him was a welcome break. After I had fed him, he offered to help me organize the mountain of papers stacked around my living room floor. Everything was going fine until he happened across my most recent documents from Geoffrey. He had asked me what it was, and I had shrugged, giving a brief explanation of the way we sometimes worked with Geoffrey. Matt had looked ill. He demanded to see every single document from Kincaid I had signed, which I found irritating. When I asked him what the big issue was, he had ignored me and diligently searched through every piece of paper on my floor until he had a neat pile of documents from Kincaid in his hand. I was not happy with that, told him to stop minding my business then attempted to reclaim the documents. Humph. Matt, being much stronger, easily evaded my attack then he strode off to the kitchen and locked the door, leaving me to continue sorting through my paperwork. I didn’t know why he was acting strangely, and it was obvious he didn’t want to explain his actions to me. When he rejoined me a little while after, he had coldly asked if I was fully aware of what I had signed my name to. I had explained my relationship with Geoffrey, and Matt had ordered me to never sign another legal document like the ones he’d been going through unless his solicitors okayed it. He completed ignored the fact I told him I already had a legal third party who went over the documents before I signed them. His attitude towards my relationship with Geoffrey was not only perplexing but uncalled for. He didn’t even know the man. Then he called his secretary, I think her name was Rachel, and instructed her to ensure a charitable donation of two hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds was made to my dance company the following morning.
Outraged couldn’t begin to describe how I felt. Matt had brushed my feelings aside, saying he had planned to donate funds to my company months ago, before we had gone to Venice, and donations were a tax write-off for his company, anyway. I had calmly explained he had, by that single action, turned me into his whore. He had told me to stop being foolish and wouldn’t listen to why I felt so strongly about what he had done. Needless to say, he hadn’t stayed the night. I felt awful, dirty, a kept woman. I had called him the next morning, imploring him to cancel the donation and, when he said he wouldn’t, I reminded him how the media would portray it if they found out. Matt had an answer for that. Simply put, I would be doing him a favour by accepting the donation as it would be good press for his company to be involved in another programme of the arts. He went on to say he had arranged a press release, and there was a function I would be required to attend with three members of my staff. Bradley Industries held yearly functions for the charities of their choosing, attendance was non-negotiable. When I told Dante what Matt had done, he had shrugged and said we needed all the donations we could get. Plus, Matt was sexing me so he should pay for the privilege. He was teasing, but I punched him for his cheek. I knew the donation would look suspect. It felt wrong. I don’t know why, it just did. My ballet company was my baby; created with blood, sweat and tears. It was mine. I didn’t want to feel as if I owed Matt.
But I was fucking happy right now, even with Matt’s donation that hadn’t been touched.
“Gloria, did all the parents sign those permission waivers? We need to update the website with the kids’ Halloween recital. It’s the 11th of November already, and I want it done by the end of today.”
My receptionist said she would check her paperwork and chase it up. I nodded and headed for the auditorium. We held all our sessions for the production there now, so when opening night came around, all our dancers would feel completely at home on the stage. By the time we called a lunch break, it was needed. I was seated in my office, eating a sandwich and wondering if I should text Matt. He was away on business with Nathan. He had left Friday night and wouldn’t be returning until next Monday. Today was Tuesday. I still had a whole week left to be without him. Someone knocked on my door.
“Come in,” I called, and Gloria popped her head around it.
“Madi, there’s a man out in reception for you, and he won’t give me his name,” she advised with a speculative look.
I frowned. “Not a reporter, right? Because they have been getting pretty persistent of late.”
Gloria shook her head. “I don’t think so, Madi. He came in a limo and he sounds Scottish.”
I wiped my hands quickly on a napkin. Did Matt have something to do with this? Was it another one of his many surprises? I uncurled myself from the chair and locked the computer screen before exiting my office and walking out to reception.
“Mr McGregor,” I exclaimed in shock at the man grinning in my reception area.
“Come now, lass, that’s too formal. I told ye to call me Dougie,” he said in a deep, Scottish drawl.
I walked over, extending a hand, which he took before leaning in to press a kiss to both sides of my face.
Gloria’s face was a picture as she reclaimed her seat behind the front desk. She acted like she was busy, but I knew her eyes and ears were wide open.
“What are you doing here, Dougie?” I queried with a tiny smile. “How did you find out where I work?”
Dougal McGregor ran a hand through his close-cropped brown hair. “Ye never called, Madi. Why is that?”
I was conscious of Gloria’s slow tap-tap-tap of her keyboard. She could type a lot faster than that.
“I lost your card, and you haven’t answered my question,” I said smoothly, wondering why the Scotsman was standing in the reception area of my place of business.
“If ye must know, I had business in London and I thought of our last encounter. Ye promised to dance for me, Madi.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “No, I did not. Now answer my other question.”
He gave me an ‘aw shucks’ grin. “How did I find ye? Och, lass, I am a man of means. Finding a lass is an easy feat.”
I shook my head and eyed him. He was like I remembered: cocky and amusing. And wearing an expensive Brioni suit. I knew the maker, because Matt had quite a few of those suits in his closet.
“So you decided to stop by and say hello?” I injected as much cynicism as possible into my question. Gloria’s tapping had stopped completely. I glanced over to see her staring unashamedly at us while chewing a piece of apple. I would’ve invited him into the office for privacy but, honestly, my knowledge of the man didn’t warrant such an action. I didn’t know Dougie McGregor well, and Matt hadn’t liked me talking to him the night we met.
“Not just say to say hello, I want ye to take me to lunch,” he said, and my eyebrows shot up, way up. Dougie continued. “I feel cheated, Madi. Ye outbid me and I’m not a man who likes losing. I’m giving ye a chance to make it up to me since ye refuse to show me your dancing skills.”
I had to laugh. He was an amusing man. “Firstly, you stopped bidding of your own accord. It wasn’t my fault you allowed yourself to be intimidated by my unfortunate outburst. Secondly, as you can see, I’m at work. I don’t have the time to take unexpected strangers to lunch.”
Dougie gasped, clutching at his chest. “Stranger? That hurts, lass. I offered ye haggis, true Scottish haggis. I dinnae offer that to just anyone, ken?”
I laughed. His accent was adorable. “As much as I would love to listen to that accent of yours, I can’t, Dougie.”
“The others aren’t back for two hours, Madi. You’re free until then,” Gloria said loudly. When she saw my expression after her volunteering of unnecessary information, she ducked her head and the tap-tapping started up again.
“Ye have free time, and I’m starving,” Dougie said. “Where are ye taking me for lunch?”
“Nowhere. I told you I don’t have the time.”
“Then take me to dinner,” he persisted. The tap-tap-tap started slowing down.
“No.” I said firmly. “I can’t.”
Dougie rubbed his chin, scrutinizing my face. “I’m going to wait outside in the car until ye agree to either lunch or dinner, Madi.” He sent a polite smile at Gloria before waltzing out of my building.
“Is he another billionaire, Madi?” Gloria asked, getting off her seat to go peer out the front entrance.
“Why did you tell him I was free, Gloria?” I groused, looking out at the limo parked in front of my building.
“Because you are,” she replied as if it was nothing big. “He’s good looking. Maybe not as handsome as your Matt, but still fit. Is he rich like Matt?”
“I don’t know,” I grumbled, rubbing the back of my neck. “And I don’t care. I don’t want that silly limo parked out front.”
“Take him to lunch, lass,” she teased. “Whatever it is you have, Madi. I want some of it. It’s true what they say, you know. Once you’re in the circle of the rich and famous, you’re in. Can you fix me up with one of Matt’s friends? Or give me that Scotsman. He looks like he knows how to treat a woman well. Eddie is Scottish and you know he’s nice.”
I shook my head at her logic. Eddie was Scottish and he was nice. That didn’t mean every Scottish person was as nice as our Eddie.
“It’s just lunch, Madi. Go on, all the others have gone out for their lunches and you’re seated in the office like a Billy no mates.”
“I was having a working lunch,” I said defensively.
“What’s one lunch going to do?” she asked.
I chewed my lower lip. What harm could it do? And Dougie was amusing.
“Should I?” I hedged, and she blew out air in exasperation.
“Go,” she said. “Otherwise, he might sit out there in that limo all day.”
She did have a point. The men from Matt’s world did what they pleased. I was getting tired of these types of men. It grew old fast.
“One lunch,” I mumbled, then walked to the changing rooms and slipped off my dancing clothes to replace them with jeans, blue silk blouse and a jacket. Good thing I had worn ankle boots today. After washing my face, I grabbed my bag from the office, checked my cell was in it for when Matt called, and gave Gloria a wave before I left my building. I strode towards the car and the back window whirred down.
“Have ye decided then?” Dougie asked, with a pleased smirk on his face as I peered at him.
“Decided what, Dougie?”
“Where ye are taking me to lunch. I’m quite partial to The Dorchester when I’m in London.”
I did nothing to hide the disbelief on my face as Dougie opened the door for me. I slid in and buckled up. Matt had taken me there quite a few times. It was pricey as hell.
“How about McDonald’s?” I quipped. “There’s a drive through not too far from here. McGregor, McDonald’s; you should feel right at home.”
Dougie burst into a deep throaty chuckle, pressed the intercom and ordered the driver to take us to The Dorchester.
I cleared my throat in a pointed manner. “If all you want is a glass of tap water at that restaurant, then fine. Anything else, you’re paying for.”
“Aye, lass, dinnae worry. What’s the price of a meal when ye have already stolen millions out of my grasp?”
“Like I said earlier, don’t blame me because you were too scared of going all the way that night,” I replied with a laugh.
“I plan to rectify that mistake, Madi,” he said, with a glint in his eye that I didn’t pay attention to. Lunch at The Dorchester with Dougal McGregor. I’m sure he would have me in stitches by the end of it.