Scandalous

by Tilly Bagshawe

  Jackson leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about these.” She handed him the case. “I know it was you who sent them.”

  Jackson read the blurb on the back. “Midnight’s Children. Now that was a good movie. One of her best. If you haven’t seen Dita Andreas’s shower scene with Leo Di Caprio, you haven’t lived.”

  “It won’t work, you know,” said Sasha furiously, snatching back the case. “These childish little mind games of yours. They won’t get to me.”

  Jackson laughed. “Really? I’d say they already have. You know what your problem is, Sasha? You can give it, but you can’t take it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s fine for you to tell girls I’m seeing that I’m gay.” Sasha at least had the decency to blush. “But when the joke’s on you, that’s childish. I must say, I couldn’t believe it when I found out. After the way you’ve looked down at me from your moral high horse these past two years, like I’m the evil, selfish playboy and you’re the perfect little saint. When the truth is you had an affair with a married man, then tried to claim his work as your own. I may be a playboy, Sasha. But I’m not a thief.”

  “Neither am I!” Sasha was close to tears. When she’d moved to America five years ago, she’d tried hard to leave her past, or that chapter in it, behind. Until now, she’d succeeded. No one at Harvard Business School knew about the scandal that had ended her career as a physicist, nor did anyone at Wrexall. In the States, the Cambridge court case was a footnote in Theo Dexter’s history, nothing more. Or so Sasha had thought. “Everything I accused Theo Dexter of was true. It was my theory. He’s the thief, not me. He’s made a fortune off of an idea that doesn’t belong to him.”

  “Sasha, Sasha, Sasha.” Jackson shook his head, like a disappointed parent. “You can’t let it go, even now, can you? So sad. I guess it’s true what they say. Hell hath no fury…”

  Sasha stormed out, marching back down the corridor to her own office with Jackson’s laughter echoing off the walls behind her. If there was one person in the entire universe she would have wanted not to know about her past with Theo Dexter, it was Jackson Dupree. She might as well take out a full-page ad in the New York Times.

  This is going to be bad. Jackson’s going to crucify me.

  She wasn’t wrong. Over the course of the next few months, the story of her scandalous past spread not just through Wrexall Dupree, but throughout the entire real-estate industry. Jackson’s taunting was relentless. Sasha would turn on her PC at work to find Theo Dexter’s face loaded as her screen-saver. Amazon delivered books to both her home and office: How to Move On, The Married Man Addiction, Astrophysics for Beginners, and the newly published coffee table photo book by Mario Testino, Dita Andreas—A Love Story, in which Theo featured heavily looking brooding and intellectual—as intellectual as anyone could look with their top off and wearing only tight white boxer shorts that left little to the imagination. Most irritating of all, though, was Jackson’s habit of humming the theme tune to Dexter’s Universe under his breath every time he passed Sasha in the halls. It was so childish, Sasha knew she ought to have been able to laugh at it. But sometimes the urge to physically attack Jackson was so strong she had to lock herself in the ladies’ room and breathe deeply until she got it under control.

  The office that had long been Sasha’s sanctuary now became a torture chamber. As a result, she began doing more and more work from home, often poring over spreadsheets and making calls late into the night. With no time for dinner, still less wild nights of sex, her relationship with Grover Hammond soon fizzled.

  The only chink of light in the gloom of Sasha’s life that winter was the McKinley deal. Haverstock McKinley was the largest, most profitable construction firm in the United States. Jackson’s father, Walker Dupree, had first flirted with McKinley over two decades ago, to try to develop a nationwide chain of discount shopping malls. That deal had come to nothing, as had numerous other proposals for possible joint ventures since. But Sasha had come up with a new model, to build cheap, prefab strip malls on Indian reservations. They would start in the desert states, Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, Nevada, and eventually roll the program out nationwide. If the deal came off—a big if—it would be the largest in Wrexall’s history. With her new compensation deal (Sasha had taken a huge cut in base salary and foregone her bonus in exchange for a flat 5 percent share in her revenues) it would also make Sasha personally an extremely wealthy woman.

  Jackson knew about the McKinley negotiations, of course. Everybody did. Publicly, he shared the firm-wide excitement. But privately he was nervous about the degree of autonomy it gave Sasha’s division.

  “I know you think it’s personal. But you’re wrong,” Jackson told Lucius Monroe over a discreet lunch at the Harvard Club.

  Lucius raised a wiry eyebrow. “Am I?”

  “Yes. I’m not going to deny the woman gets under my skin. But this goes way beyond our personal animosity. She’s running that retail group like a private fiefdom.”

  “A very successful fiefdom,” Lucius reminded him. “One that we all profit from.”

  “Yes. For now. But giving any one individual total control over a business area is dangerous. Our clients and our shareholders need to have faith in Wrexall Dupree. Not just Sasha Miller. She could leave us at any time, Lucius, and then where would that business be?”

  Lucius Monroe sipped contemplatively at his martini. “I take the point, Jackson. But these are good problems to have, don’t you think? Employees who are too successful? Besides, Sasha’s not going anywhere. Why would she? No other firm on the street would offer her what we do, a straight percentage cut. Sasha’s very talented, but she has the Wrexall business card and the might of our balance sheet and reputation behind her. Without that, she’d be nothing.”

  Jackson tried to feel reassured.

  Lottie Grainger burst into the coffee shop, hopping from foot to foot with excitement.

  “What’s happened?” laughed Sasha. “You look like you just won the lottery. Either that or there’s a wasp up your shirt.”

  The girls had agreed to meet at Bepe’s, a hole-in-the-wall Italian espresso joint a block from the Wrexall building. At six o’clock on a Friday night the place was almost empty.

  “Jackson just texted me. I’m going to Park City! He wants me to pack a bag and meet him at JFK in”—she looked at her watch—“about three hours. Can you believe it?”

  Sasha hesitated, not sure how to react. On the one hand it was obvious Lottie wanted her to share in her excitement. Jackson had a big series of meetings in Utah over the long weekend. Wrexall was involved in developing a new luxury ski resort to rival Deer Valley, and he was flying in to finalize the deal. On the other hand, Sasha knew better than anyone what a huge crush Lottie had on Jackson. She doubted very much it was the business opportunity that had put that shit-eating grin on her friend’s face.

  “That’s great, Lots. Just be careful, OK?”

  “Careful of what?” Lottie twirled around, a human spinning top of delight. Nothing would spoil her happiness today. “Careful of looking so utterly beautiful at all times that he won’t be able to help but fall madly in love with me? Or careful not to clinch the deal with my awesome marketing insight?”

  Sasha laughed. It was impossible not to. Lottie’s joy was infectious.

  “Just be careful. And pack a lot of scarves. It’s colder than a witch’s tit up there.”

  “And what will you be doing this weekend, my miserable, workaholic friend?” Lottie teased. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you have anything actually fun planned?”

  “That depends on what you mean by fun,” said Sasha. “This McKinley thing could easily close on Monday. So yes, I will be working. As will you, remember? He asked you on a business trip, Lots, not a date.”

  Lottie raised an eyebrow knowingly. “We’ll see. See if you can squeez
e some hat shopping into your busy schedule. It’s going to be a very formal wedding.”

  Sasha watched her float out of Bepe’s on a cloud, not sure why she felt so down. Was it because she was worried about Lottie and the thought of Jackson breaking her heart? Or was it because her own life was so utterly devoid of passion and excitement? She downed another shot of espresso and pulled herself together. Focus. Lottie’s a grown-up. She can take care of herself.

  And you have work to do.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  JACKSON SAT IN the first class lounge, watching Lottie helping herself to orange juice from the buffet counter. Her slim legs and high, tight bottom looked cuter than ever in the tight-fitting, forties-style Alexander McQueen skirt she was wearing, and when she turned around and caught his eye her smile lit up the entire room.

  It’s business, he told himself firmly. She’s here to sell these hotels to the city planning committee. Nothing more. Still, he couldn’t deny he was looking forward to the prospect of three days, and maybe longer, holed up in a hotel with the lovely Lottie Grainger. The recent tensions at work and with Sasha had been getting to him more than usual. Being around Lottie was like getting a massage for the spirit. She’s Valium and Ecstasy rolled into one.

  “I got one for you too.” Lottie passed him a flute of orange juice, and her fingers brushed the back of his hand. Jackson felt a jolt of desire shoot through him.

  “Thanks.” Get a grip. You’ll only hurt her, and you know it. “We should probably run over the figures again on the flight.”

  “Right. Absolutely,” said Lottie, wishing that Jackson would run over her figure on the flight. “We want to get it pitch-perfect.”

  You’re perfect. Too perfect for me. That’s the trouble.

  They stayed at the Stein Eriksen Lodge, in the heart of the Deer Valley resort, a Nordic wood and glass structure with a three-story atrium and spectacular mountain views. With its roaring fireplaces, intimate log-cabin bedrooms, and the scent of pine and juniper infusing everything from the bed linen to the bath towels, it was both luxurious and simple. Lottie thought it wildly romantic.

  “It would be perfect for a honeymoon, wouldn’t it?” She gazed up at Jackson dreamily at the check-in desk, but he was all business.

  “If this deal comes off, it’ll be one of our main competitors. That’s why we’re here. Hi, yes, we’re checking in.” Jackson flashed a smile at the receptionist. “The name’s Dupree.”

  The girl scrolled down on her computer.

  “Here we are. Mr. and Mrs. Dupree.”

  Lottie started to protest but the girl ignored her. “We’ve held the Deluxe Mountain View Suite for the two of you for three nights.”

  “You’ve made a mistake,” said Jackson tersely. “We booked two rooms. We’re not a couple, this is a business trip.”

  “Oh.” The girl looked flustered. She clicked on her screen again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened, but I definitely only have you down for one deluxe suite.”

  Jackson was starting to get angry. The last thing he wanted was for Lottie to think he’d tried to pull a fast one. Not that he was above such tactics—far from it—but he respected Lottie far too much to try such a crass maneuver. Besides, he was going out for a late dinner tonight with an old friend from college, Piers Dellal. Piers had promised to bring some hot girls along. (“Ski bunnies, man, there’s nothing like ’em. All that mountain air makes ’em hornier than bitches in heat.”) Somehow Jackson doubted that wholesome Lottie Grainger was into threesomes.

  “Listen. I don’t care what you have down. My office reserved two rooms. Two rooms is what we need. Close to the business center if possible.”

  The girl frowned. “I am sorry, sir. But I’m afraid we’re totally fully booked. The suite does have a foldout sofa bed in the living room if you need it. And the master bath is stunning. It’s actually the nicest accommodation in the entire hotel,” she added helpfully.

  “Which is what, code for the most expensive?” snapped Jackson. So much for his night of passion with one of Piers’s hotties. He turned to Lottie. “Sorry. Is that OK with you? I’ll take the foldout, of course. The alternative is that I try to check in somewhere else, but at this time of night…” He looked at his watch.

  “It’s fine,” Lottie blurted. “Really. It’s totally fine.”

  To Lottie’s disappointment, and Jackson’s relief, the suite was so huge that the makeshift bedrooms had an entire room between them, a sort of dressing-room-cum-study. “This is great.” Jackson brightened, disappearing into the bathroom and emerging five minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist. Lottie blushed to the roots of her chestnut hair, trying not to stare at his six-pack stomach, but Jackson seemed completely unself-conscious, sauntering around the suite as if she weren’t there.

  I’m invisible to him, Lottie thought miserably. Like his little sister or something. She went into her own room and began to unpack. I can’t give up. This is my chance. If he doesn’t see me as a sexual woman, it’s up to me to change his mind. Pulling out a pair of sexy, sheer La Perla panties with a matching lace push-up bra, Lottie slipped them on, admiring herself in the mirror. She’d been so excited when Jackson had asked her on the trip earlier, she hadn’t eaten all day and her stomach looked wonderfully flat. The clock by her bed said 9:45 p.m. Late enough to change into the new champagne silk robe that just brushed the tops of her thighs and lounge around in the sitting room “working” before bed. Carefully tying the robe so that the lace from her bra peeked tantalizingly out at the top, Lottie tousled her cropped hair and spritzed herself with Gucci Envy, emerging into the sitting room just in time to hear the front door of the suite slam shut.

  “Jackson?”

  He was gone. A note on the coffee table said,

  “Dinner with friends. Don’t wait up. See you at breakfast, 7:30 a.m., J.”

  After a fractured night, the first half of which was spent lying awake listening for Jackson’s return and the second half tossing and turning with sexual frustration so bad she could have wept, Lottie came down to breakfast with huge dark shadows under her eyes.

  “Are you OK?” Clean-shaven and rested, in a dark suit and tie, Jackson looked fabulous. “You look awful. Like you caught the flu or something.”

  “I didn’t sleep well,” grumbled Lottie, pouring herself a strong black coffee.

  “Really? I slept like a baby. The service here is shit, but I must say that sofa bed was damn comfortable. Now look, the planning meeting’s been pushed back to ten a.m., so we’ve got an extra hour to polish our presentation.”

  “I don’t need it,” said Lottie. “I’ve got it down.”

  Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I can run over things with you if you like; I have the time.”

  “I’m sure.” If she couldn’t seduce him sexually, she was damn well going to impress him professionally. The planning committee would be eating out of her hand.

  “That was amazing!” Jackson hugged Lottie as they left the meeting. “They loved you.”

  Walking down Park Avenue toward the golf course in downtown Park City, beneath a blazing, bright winter sun, he felt elated. The deal would go through now, no question. Lottie had dazzled the committee with figures and melted them with charm. Jack Brannigan, the chairman, a dour, fat, self-important little man, was notoriously difficult to please, but Lottie had joked and cajoled and—there was only one word for it—flirted with him until he rolled over like a puppy. It was a side to her Jackson had never really seen before. He’d always thought of her as so sweet, so pure. But she’d manipulated old man Brannigan like a pro.

  “I’m serious, Lottie, you nailed it. I half expected Jack to propose marriage to you by the end of the meeting. He was drooling.”

  Lottie blushed. “He was not.”

  “He was too. Man, I’m on a high! Of course, you realize this means we’re going to have to extend our trip. Now that we have verbal approval, I want to do as many on-site me
etings as we can. Talk to all the bidders, the primary contractors, the subs. Can you stay?”

  Lottie thought about her desk in New York and the mountain of work waiting for her. Then she thought about Jackson last night and this morning, his utter sexual indifference. Did she really want to put herself through two, three, four more nights of mental and physical torture, lying awake, alone, while he ignored her?

  “Of course I can stay,” she heard herself saying. “No problem.”

  “Great. We’ll have dinner tonight and work out a schedule. In the meantime, I think we’ve both earned the afternoon off.”

  Lottie beamed. “Fantastic! Maybe we could go for a hike up in the pine forest? I’ve heard that the area right above our hotel has some stunning trails.”

  “Sounds great,” said Jackson. “You have fun. I’ll see you at dinner. Eight o’clock, Mastro’s.”

  Before Lottie could say another word, he’d hailed a cab and disappeared.

  Lottie tried to look on the bright side. At least he wants to have dinner with me. She looked at her watch. One o’clock. Seven hours in which to transform herself into a Jackson Dupree–worthy sex siren. Last night had been a washout, but that was no reason to abandon hope. Tonight. Tonight was the night.

  Mastro’s was a bustling, modern steak-and-ribs joint attached to an achingly trendy bar. The place to see and be seen in the mountain resort, it was the sort of restaurant that Lottie Grainger usually avoided like the plague. Tonight, however, she felt confident and sexy and fierce. I am one of the beautiful people. I belong here, just as much as the silicone-lipped twigs propping up the bar.

  In one afternoon, she had succeeded in effecting a very dramatic transformation. Marching into an expensive salon, she’d demanded the ultra-flamboyant stylist cut her already short hair even shorter, into a spiky, boyish crop, then dye it from Lottie’s natural chestnut to a shocking, peroxide-white blonde.