Sasha sipped at her champagne, cursing herself for feeling so awkward and praying that Jackson couldn’t tell. Not knowing what else to say, she asked after Lottie.
“How is she? I hear she’s running an art gallery now.”
Instantly Jackson’s face clouded over. “She’s fine. She’s well.”
“And the two of you?”
“We’re good.”
Conversation closed.
For a full minute, neither of them said anything. At last Sasha drained her glass and got down from her bar stool. “Thank you for the drink. Good luck with your deal.” She started to walk away.
Jackson called after her. “Thanks. Good luck with your speech tomorrow, if I don’t see you.”
Something about his tone of voice made Sasha uneasy. She looked at him, but his face was as blankly handsome as ever and gave nothing away. You’re imagining things, she told herself. He’ll probably be gone by morning.
Sasha woke at three a.m., four a.m. and five a.m., tormented by disturbing dreams in which she appeared on the podium naked, while Jackson Dupree pointed and laughed at her from the front row. At five fifteen a.m., unable to get back to sleep, she put on her running shoes and went out for a jog through Barcelona’s deserted streets. The city looked totally different at this time, its cobbled alleys bathed in soft dawn light. The smells were different too, delicious aromas of baking bread and coffee combined with the rancid smell of fish from the restaurant trash cans, wheeled out for the early-morning garbage collectors. Sasha ran until her limbs ached and her mind was blank. Coming back into the hotel, she bumped into Raj Patel walking out.
“Hey, stranger,” she joked. “What happened to you yesterday? I was starting to worry you’d been abducted by aliens.”
“Sorry,” Raj mumbled. “I…something came up. Something personal. I got caught up.”
He looked away when he spoke to her, as if he were embarrassed or even afraid. Sasha had never seen him look so awkward. “Is everything OK?”
“Of course. Everything’s fine. It’s just…like I said, it’s personal.”
“You’ll be at the conference this afternoon, though, right?” asked Sasha. “I could really use the support. You know public speaking scares the shit out of me.” During her sleepless night, she’d mentally rewritten the whole middle section of her speech into what she hoped would be a funny but inspiring little homily about teamwork. Halfway through she was going to haul poor Raj up out of the audience like a magician’s volunteer. Without him, the whole thing would fall flat.
“Sure,” said Raj. “I’ll be there.”
“Seriously.” Sasha smiled. “I need you. Don’t let me down.”
Raj walked away, wondering if it were too late to have Wrexall change the terms of his new contract to include a bonus of fifty pieces of silver.
The conference room at the Hotel Majestic was a grand former ballroom, high ceilinged and ornate with gilt inlaid paneling and a dais flanked by sumptuous, deep-red velvet curtains. By two p.m. the floor was packed with delegates, the most important seated at the front at round tables sponsored by their various companies, and the less well known fighting over the rows of plush, cushioned chairs lining the middle and back of the room. Behind the dais, a large white screen had been erected to project a magnified image of each speaker’s face to the more remote members of the audience.
Lunch had been served at one p.m., to the chagrin of the locals who viewed this as breakfast time, and a couple of dull speeches had been delivered while everybody ate paella and, in the case of the British and French delegates, got heavily involved with the free-flowing Chablis. Waiting in the wings in a dark-blue Balenciaga trouser suit, nervously scanning her speech cards for the hundredth time, Sasha could have murdered a stiff drink herself. It was only the thought of slurring her words in front of Jackson Dupree that made her hold back. Afterwards, she promised herself. As soon as I step off that podium, I’ll order a Scotch. Only a couple of minutes to go now.
Carlos Gallo, the dapper CEO of the Spanish real-estate giant Explorador and the master of ceremonies at today’s event, tapped Sasha on the shoulder.
“Change of plan, carina. We ’ave one other speaker now before you.”
Sasha felt sick. “But I…I’m ready now. What other speaker? Can’t they go later?”
“Unfortunately not. Mr. Dupree ’as a plane to catch in a couple of hours. I know a lot of our attendees would want to hear Wrexall Dupree’s take on the European market. Mr. Dupree was kind enough to offer to say a few words and then introduce you.”
Peering through the throng of faces, Sasha saw Jackson a few rows back. He was chatting and laughing with a sycophantic huddle of Eurotrash like he hadn’t a care in the world. Some sixth sense made him look up and catch her staring. He flashed her a maddening smile.
Before she had time to protest any further, Carlos Gallo was gone. She felt her sleeve being tugged. Someone was pulling her farther back into the shadows, away from the stage. Turning around, she saw it was Raj.
“I don’t believe it.” Sasha was shaking, close to tears. “That bastard Jackson’s asked to speak, now. He knows how hard I find this. He’s done it deliberately! He’s trying to throw me off.”
“I’m afraid it’s worse than that,” said Raj grimly. “Listen Sash, there’s something I’ve got to tell you…”
Two hours later and Jackson Dupree’s roar could be heard through the floors of his eighth-floor suite, shaking light fixtures in the rooms below.
“You fucker!” he bellowed. “You swore to me you wouldn’t say anything! I hope you realize that your contract’s now null and void? I’m not hiring you, and I’m not paying you a damned penny. FUCK!” He banged his fist on the antique writing desk so hard it cracked like a stick of kindling. Raj, as ever, kept his cool. Jackson might want to throw in the towel because he’d failed to publicly derail Sasha, but Raj doubted the rest of the Wrexall board would back him.
“Don’t be so childish, Jackson. You know I’m the best man for Wrexall. That’s why you made me the offer in the first place. Clearly the board agrees or they’d never have signed off on the package.”
“I trusted you,” Jackson fumed. “You warned her. You fucking warned her!”
“Yes, I warned her. She’s my friend, and what you were trying to pull was just a shitty thing to do. You might not care whether the world thinks you’re a card-carrying wanker, but I do. You were right, me leaving Ceres for Wrexall was a business decision. And I don’t regret it. But throwing Sasha to the wolves like that? That’s not business. That’s spite. You know speaking in public terrifies her. It’s that kind of shit that made us all leave Wrexall in the first place.”
“GET OUT!” Jackson yelled at him. “Get the hell out of my sight!”
“Fine,” said Raj, unruffled. “But you’d better get your shit together, Jackson. Or money or no money, I will walk away. I will stay at Ceres—and don’t kid yourself Sasha wouldn’t have me back in a heartbeat—and I’ll make sure the world, and the Wrexall board, knows why.”
He walked out, shutting the door behind him firmly but gently. In Jackson’s current mood, even that felt like an affront. Why can’t he lose his cool like a normal fucking human being? Why can’t he slam the door or yell back? Why do I have to be the only jerk around here? He kicked the leg of the desk he’d just broken and winced at the pain in his shin. He knew Raj was right. He was being childish. And spiteful. And ridiculous. But he didn’t care.
Jackson had taken the podium earlier full of confidence, praising Ceres for their innovative business philosophy while simultaneously undermining them brilliantly, constantly stressing their youth and inexperience versus Wrexall’s maturity, longevity, and rock-solid financial pedigree. Unlike Sasha, Jackson was an inspired speaker. Had he not gone into the family business he’d have made a terrific politician, masterfully shredding his opponents without landing any obvious blows. In this case, however, after a carefully crafted speech that successfu
lly belittled Sasha’s achievements, he launched a full frontal nuclear strike in the form of Raj Patel, whom he invited onstage, introducing him to a shocked audience and industry press as Wrexall’s latest star hire.
Stepping down to gasps and thunderous applause, Jackson had taken his seat in the front row like a Roman emperor, waiting to watch Sasha being thrown to the lions. But instead of stammering confusion, he found himself watching a poised, thoughtful, and above all gracious Sasha deliver a speech that ultimately won her a six-minute standing ovation. Discarding everything she’d prepared, she spoke from the heart. About how much she owed Raj Patel, and how much she owed Wrexall Dupree. About how, as a young, experimental company, Ceres always pushed its people to accept new challenges, to move forward and be all that they could be. She joked about the tabloids painting her and Raj as a couple, pondering aloud whom she might be linked with next. “I hear Rafael Nadal’s single again,” she quipped, to ecstatic applause (the homegrown Spanish tennis champ had won the US Open two days ago). “Maybe I should stay in Spain for a while and work on my backhand?”
Seething with fury in the front row, the tennis analogy stuck in Jackson’s throat. He’d just served Sasha what ought to have been a surefire ace. But here she was, lobbing it back to him with the effortless grace of a champion. So much for the element of surprise.
Up in his suite, the phone rang. Jackson answered with a snarl. “Fuck off, I’m busy.”
“Aren’t we all?” Lucius Monroe’s reedy, elderly voice had lost none of its dry, sardonic humor. He didn’t miss a beat. “I was calling to congratulate you on landing Raj Patel. That’s a great hire for us.”
“Thank you,” said Jackson grudgingly.
“You don’t sound very happy about it, dear boy.”
“Sorry, Lucius. It’s been a long day.”
“Well go out and celebrate. Better yet, get Patel to pick up the tab. He can afford it on what we’re about to pay him.”
Jackson hung up. Raj was a great hire. He knew he should be pleased, and focused on the bigger picture. But all he could think about was Sasha and the way this afternoon’s conference crowd had lapped her up. Raj’s defection should have been, at the very least, a PR nightmare for Ceres. But once again, Sasha had managed to turn things around.
The phone rang again. If one more person calls to congratulate me, I’m pulling the cord out of the wall. “Yes?”
“You cunt.” Sasha’s voice was quiet, but Jackson could feel the rage quivering in every breath. “It wasn’t enough for you to go after Raj. You had to try to humiliate me too, as publicly and painfully as possible. You knew how much I was dreading that speech!”
“Yes, well, thanks to Mr. Patel’s bleeding heart I never got the chance, did I? So I don’t know what you’re bitching about.”
“Don’t know what I’m bitching about?” Sasha sounded like she was about to erupt. “Get over here.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said get over here! Walk next door to my room and tell me to my face that you don’t know what I’m bitching about. You’re a fucking coward, Jackson.” She hung up. Six seconds later, Jackson was pounding at the door of her suite. Coward, indeed. She thinks I’m afraid to face her? I’ll face her. I’ll tell her exactly what I think of her, right to her face.
“I’m not here to apologize,” he announced defiantly. “So if that’s what you’re hoping for you can kiss my ass.” Sasha had opened the door in a hotel bathrobe with a towel tied turban-style on top of her head. Clearly fresh out of the shower, she had no makeup on and looked more like an incensed fourteen-year-old who’d just had her allowance withheld than a beleaguered CEO. Jackson was just thinking how strangely sweet she looked when a sharp slap across the face sent him reeling. “What the fuck?” He clasped his stinging cheek. “You hit me!”
Sasha didn’t answer but let out a shriek that sounded like some sort of Maori war cry and flung herself at Jackson, punching, biting, kicking, flailing at him with her nails like a wildcat. “You asshole! You fucking asshole!” It was so unexpected that at first Jackson barely reacted. In those few, precious moments of confusion, Sasha scratched at him like a lunatic and landed one agonizing kick to his groin.
Jesus, he thought. She’s trying to kill me.
By the time he regained strength and composure enough to overpower her, his face was covered in welts and the beginning of a plum-colored bruise was already forming on his forearm. Pinning her arms behind her back, he picked her up, legs still thrashing wildly, and put her on the bed facedown, straddling her and holding her in place like a wrestler.
“Enough,” he panted. He released his grip a little and Sasha immediately spun around and bit him hard on the wrist. It was agony. “Jesus!” Jackson screamed, restraining her again, harder this time, with his knee in the small of her back. “Stop it, Sasha. This is ridiculous. It’s completely fucking ridiculous.” Beneath him he could feel her breathing slow and her muscles start to release. If he was exhausted, she must be about to pass out. Tentatively he let go again, and this time she made no attempt to relaunch the attack. Instead she turned and looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. Jackson was shocked. She’d never shown so much as one ounce of vulnerability in front of him before and now here she was crying. Because of me?
His voice softened. “Hey, don’t. Please. Look, I’m sorry, OK? Maybe I went too far.”
Sasha shook her head, too choked up to speak. Jackson didn’t understand. How could he? What if losing Raj Patel was the turning point, the jinx, the beginning of the end for Ceres, or at least the end of their incredible beginning? For Jackson, business was a game. It was all about ego. Not for Sasha. All the adulation, the money, the fame, they meant nothing in themselves. They were a means to an end, an end that she already felt slipping from her grasp—getting her revenge on Theo Dexter. Somehow, in ways she couldn’t explain, Jackson had come between her and Theo. Between her and her destiny, her purpose, her reason for existing. She wasn’t crying about Raj Patel or even some stupid speech. She was crying because she didn’t know who she was anymore.
“I wanted to beat you.” Jackson’s voice broke her train of thought. He sounded embarrassed. “Just once. I wanted to beat you completely.”
“You did beat me,” muttered Sasha. “You got Raj. Wasn’t that enough?”
“No. It wasn’t. I wanted to make you look a fool, the way you made me look a fool last year; in front of the entire industry. I wanted…” He looked her in the eye, and she knew he was telling her the truth. “I wanted you to suffer because of me. The same way I suffer because of you.”
Sasha’s tears stopped. She looked back at him. Still kneeling over her on the bed, she could feel the pressure of his legs against hers, his body warm from the exertion of fighting her off. Her eyes were drawn up, over his lean, suited torso to his face, the strong outline of his jaw jutting out like a ledge at the top of a cliff.
“I make you suffer?” she asked.
His hands stroked her tearstained cheeks. “Every day.”
Afterward, both of them would try to remember how it had happened: Who kissed whom first? Did Sasha slip out of her robe or did Jackson undress her? But it was impossible to tell, like trying to untangle the roots of a single tree. All Sasha could remember was that, without time seeming to have passed at all, they were both naked.
Tentatively, she traced a finger down Jackson’s bare back, wondering at the smooth tautness of his skin. He leaped at her touch as if he’d been scalded. Sasha drew back.
“Are you OK?”
Jackson nodded. “I’ve waited a long time for this, that’s all.”
Sasha laughed. Not as long as me, she thought, mentally trying to calculate exactly how many years it was since she had last had sex. Jackson probably logged his encounters by the week, if not the day.
As if reading her mind, Jackson said quietly, “This is different.”
Gently, with a tenderness Sasha was surprised to find he was capable of, Jac
kson slipped a hand beneath the small of her back and pulled her down the bed until her hips were level with his own. She felt his erection nudging against her belly. All of a sudden, like being swept up in a storm utterly beyond her control, she found herself reaching for him, her legs opening wider, her hands grabbing his buttocks and pulling him greedily inside her. She’d expected Jackson’s lovemaking to be polished and practiced, an all-star performance from a seasoned lothario. Instead, he moved inside her with a wild need that she had not expected, grabbing at her hair, her back, her breasts. He fucked like his life depended on it, like a thirst-crazed nomad stumbling upon an oasis. And Sasha responded in kind, wrapping her legs around him and arching her back with a hunger she could neither contain nor conceal.
“I love you,” Jackson moaned. He was on his back now, with Sasha above him, his hands on her hips as she rocked gently back and forth, utterly lost in her own pleasure.
I love you too, said Sasha. Except it didn’t come out as words, but more of a sigh, a deep exhalation of all the frustration and longing and need she’d been carrying with her for years, since the day they met. Through the wall, she could hear a phone ringing from Jackson’s room. “Someone wants you,” she murmured.
Jackson thrust deeper inside her. “I want you, Sasha. You’re all I want.” He came then, his whole body shaking, as if in the throes of some delicious electric shock. Sasha bent low and kissed him lingeringly on the mouth. Neither of them wanted to move, both afraid to let the moment end, to break the spell. But a few seconds later, it was broken for them by Jackson’s cell phone, trilling loudly and insistently from the pocket of his pants, now lying in a tangled heap on the floor. He reached down and picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Darling, it’s me.”
Lottie’s voice was like a glass of cold water in the face. Jackson pictured her at home in their apartment, loving him, trusting him, eager for him to come back to her. He winced. “Hey. How are you? I was going to call…”
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