Secret Intentions

by Caitlyn Nicholas

  Pausing at a stop sign, he hit redial on his phone.

  “Karl? Corbin. Look, thanks for the information about Phil. I should’ve had an outside company scan the network for illegal web hosting months ago. I never imagined that anyone would be brash enough to run a porn site off one of the servers.”

  “No worries. It’s my job. Sweet of you to call and say thanks, though,” replied Karl.

  Corbin ignored his sarcasm.

  “I was wondering if you could do a background check for me? I’ve got this secretary. She’s up to something.”

  “Anything for you, milord.”

  Corbin sighed. “Her name is Zani.”

  “Zani who?”

  “Er, Chiswick. She lives down in Apuldram, and Zani is short for Zaniah, not Alexandra. But that’s all I really know about her.”

  “No worries, I’ll track her down easily with that.”

  Corbin hung up with a grim smile. Now that he thought about it, Zani had never been forthcoming about herself. Each time he asked her anything she adroitly switched the conversation back to him. He’d hardly noticed.

  The car windows began to fog up and he turned down the heat. For the time being he dismissed Zani. He had so many other pressing problems to think about.

  Zani watched Corbin’s red taillights disappear into the murk of the night, then, deciding that as she had nothing better to do, she scuttled to her car. Already tired, she didn’t relish the thought of the drive back to Chichester. It would take all her concentration. At least the traffic was thin. Most people were sensibly staying inside. Her eyes felt dry and gritty after the exposure to the wind and the sea salt, and she paused for a moment to take out her contact lenses and put on her trusty glasses.

  A wave of guilt and remorse made her lean back in the car seat, taking a moment before she began her journey. She blinked back tears, which were due to taking out her contact lenses and had nothing whatsoever to do with Corbin de Villiers. The mean, manipulative bully. He’d only been nice because he felt guilty about putting her through the hell trip back to the mainland. It was so obvious.

  The road was dark and lonely, and the hum of the engine was interrupted only by the quiet swish of the windscreen wipers and the endless patter of rain. Feeling drowsy, she turned on the radio for some company. At first she could find nothing but warnings against driving in the terrible weather and announcements of the birth of some movie star’s baby, but then, as the hour ticked past, the radio stations settled down and there was music to listen to.

  Despite herself, she began to analyse her day with Corbin. Why had he kissed her again? And why had she sat there and enjoyed it? She should’ve put on some schoolmarmly show of outrage and stormed off into the night. That would have been so much more dignified than being yelled at and falling out of his car.

  She sighed impatiently at herself and punched the radio tuner with a finger, irritably changing the station. Corbin de Villiers and the swirling, conflicting emotions he produced were too much effort to think about just then.

  Instead she turned her mind to her father and the predicament at Sunberri. She rolled her shoulders to ease the knot of tension which sat between her shoulder blades and crept up her neck.

  Her father would blame her. She knew it. Regardless of the fact that it was Paul’s advice and his own greed that had led him down this path. He’d blame her. They were going to lose Everwood as well.

  Her hands tightened on the steering wheel and she peered into the gloom. When they did find out who the hell had leaked the information and sold the game, she would make it her personal mission to hound them to the ends of the earth, follow every avenue she could, legal and otherwise.

  She drove through a small village. The relentless rain slanted through the glow of the streetlights, and the road shone with water. Her mobile began to ring and she automatically fumbled in her bag, taking her attention off the road. Too late she glanced up and stood on the brakes. The car had no traction on the slick surface and with an almost balletic gracefulness it skidded toward the rear end of another car stopped at the only set of traffic lights to be found for miles.

  There was metallic crunch, and Zani was thrown forward as the car stopped abruptly.

  “Fuck,” she said, and killed the engine. Then, with a sigh, she rested her head gently on the steering wheel. Frankly she was too tired to deal with car accidents. The other driver braved the weather and a dark shadow loomed at her car door, tapping impatiently on the window.

  Wearily Zani clicked the keys to on and pressed the down button for the window. The radio started as well. A comedy show had been chattering away to itself, and at that moment the canned audience laughed on and on. The irony did not escape her.

  With a kind of fatalistic resignation, she gazed up into the icy blue eyes of Corbin de Villiers.

  “Did you do that on purpose?”

  “Yes, Corbin the only way I could get your attention was to rear-end you,” she replied with weary sarcasm. “I’m fine, by the way.”

  He turned away from the window and sneezed. He was soaked through. She couldn’t help but smile. He seemed less…arrogant, no, powerful when he was dripping wet. As he turned back he caught the smile and obviously thought Zani laughed at him.

  “Well I’m glad you find it so amusing. You’ve hardly damaged my car at all, but I’m afraid it looks like my tow bar has gone through your radiator. You’ve got my mobile number, ring me with your insurance details when you make it back to Chichester.” He began to walk back to his car.

  Zani’s heart sank as she realised what he meant. Her car wouldn’t be going anywhere with a hole in the radiator. She knew only a little about cars, but she knew holes in radiators were bad news. The rain came in through the open window and soaked her sleeve. A quick peer up and down the street made it clear there wasn’t a soul to be seen. The traffic lights changed from green to amber to red.

  “Wait.” She opened the door and followed Corbin into the weather. “You can’t just leave me here, what am I going to do?”

  Corbin turned to her at his car door. “I’m afraid to say that I really don’t care.”

  “I find that hard to believe. Am I supposed to think one minute you’re kissing me and driving off into the night, and the next you’re abandoning me with a broken car at a set of traffic lights in the middle of nowhere?” Her voice rose a note as she tried to ignore her blossoming alarm. Surely he wouldn’t just leave her there?

  Corbin looked at her, looked away, sneezed, looked back and, burying his nose in a large white handkerchief, sneezed again. Despite her problems, Zani fought back another smile. Howling gale, dark, pouring rain, yet Corbin managed to find a snowy white handkerchief.

  The lights changed hopefully from red to amber to green, and Zani waited.

  “Okay,” he sighed. “Keys in the car? I’ll move it off the road and drive you back to Chichester. Happy?” he said with ill grace.

  “Good. That will give us a chance to talk,” said Zani with a saccharine edge. She’d been confident he wouldn’t leave her standing on the side of the road in the rain. She had.

  “I don’t have to help you, you know.”

  The conversation was in danger of descending into a bickering match that wouldn’t do either of them any favours.

  “Corbin.” She waylaid him with a hand and mustered her sincerity. “Thank you.”

  “Get in my car. At least one of us can stay dry. You should call a tow truck as well.”

  Ignoring a flush of resentment at his domineering tone, she did as he told her. After a short discussion with the recorded message at directory assistance, she managed to get the number of a local tow truck company. The harried owner assured her that he’d come and tow her car to a nearby mechanic just as soon as somebody had removed the three tonnes of elm tree that currently lay across his driveway. Zani had little choice but to be happy with that.

  Corbin was back within a few minutes. Opening the driver side door, he tossed her key
s on her lap and handed her a bag. “I’ve reversed it and parked up on the curb. It’ll be safe there. These were in the front. Anything else you need?”

  “Oh. Wait a sec.” She dashed back and retrieved her laptop and a few things from the boot.

  “A PA who went to design school, drives a Mercedes C-class sports coupe and who travels with a laptop computer. Really, Zani, you are an enigma.” Zani chose to ignore the dig, though her ignoring largely went unnoticed as Corbin accelerated away. The traffic lights turned red.

  He swore in French.

  The trip continued in silence. Corbin seemed lost in his own thoughts, and Zani was mentally sorting through what she wanted to say to him.

  She knew that the time had come for her to own up. No doubt the confession that she’d come to Sunberri to spy on him would have a predictable outcome. He’d never speak to her again.

  The thought filled her with a disappointed sadness.

  He wouldn’t be surprised. He’d been suspicious from the start. She’d made so many stupid mistakes. Not that it was her fault, she thought resentfully. She was a boat designer, not a spy, for christsake.

  The thought that she’d allowed herself to be involved with this scheme her father and brother had devised brought a wave of embarrassment. All of them had achieved nothing, except perhaps to prove how naïve they were.

  She opened her mouth to begin to tell him the story of how she came to be his temporary PA when, simultaneously, both of their mobiles began to ring.

  Corbin pressed a button on the steering wheel, and a strident cockney voice filled the car. “Corbin you old sod, I’ve some information for you about your little leak—”

  Zani scrabbled frantically in her bag for her phone. Finding it amongst a nest of old lipsticks and packets of tissues, she hit the off button, silencing it.

  “Un moment, if you please, Karl.” Keeping his eyes on the road, he clipped on an earpiece and the conversation was instantly muted.

  Zani tried very hard to listen without being obvious, but it was useless. Corbin was not letting anything slip and merely answered questions with bland, meaningless replies. Annoyed that he didn’t trust her, Zani checked her own phone. The two calls had been from her father. The phone twittered as she held it in her hand. A text message came through. It was from Vladimir Klebnikoff.

  Call me ASAP.

  Zani felt a faint quiver of apprehension and tucked the phone back in her bag. What the hell did Klebnikoff want? And why the hell was he sending her a text message? For a nasty moment she wondered if he somehow knew she was in a car, then realised she was being stupid.

  She couldn’t call her father until she’d fessed up everything to Corbin. In his current state of mind, that would probably see her sitting on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. She’d definitely have time to call both of them then.

  By now they’d made it onto the M27. There were very few cars around, visibility was poor and the car’s headlights showed nothing ahead except murky rain.

  “So,” she turned cozily to Corbin when he hung up, “that’s quite some boat, such a treat to sail.”

  “Who was on the phone?” he asked.

  “Oh, nobody.”

  “Nobody, huh?”

  “Look, I don’t go around asking who you were talking to, so mind your own business,” she snapped, then shut up fast. Nice one, Zani, charm really working. What was it about this man that got her so riled?

  “Fair enough,” conceded Corbin, sniffing.

  “These driving conditions are atrocious. Shall we stop for a break?” she asked as they passed a Little Chef sign.

  “Non. I need to get back to work.”

  “I really, really need to stop. It won’t be long,” she said persuasively. He muttered something rude in French, which Zani pretended not to understand. But as they came to the motorway restaurant, he grudgingly pulled over. The place was almost empty, so they parked close by and scuttled into the fluorescent blaze.

  “I’ll get some coffee,” said Corbin. Zani glanced at him. He looked tired and strained. His tanned skin was pale and his eyes were deeply shadowed with black. He looked years older than he had that morning, and her heart went out to him. Cold, wet, and his company descending into chaos around him—it was enough to make anyone age.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine, just go to the…” he barked, waving in the direction of the Ladies.

  She didn’t need telling twice. However, instead of going into the bathroom she slipped through a side door and sheltered from the foul weather outside an emergency exit. She punched numbers into her phone.

  “It’s Zani,” she said, lowering her voice even though there wasn’t a soul about to hear her.

  “About bloody time.” Her father, taciturn at the best of times, sounded like he was in an awesome temper. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you call me? God, where the hell are you? It sounds like you’re standing in a howling gale.” Zani felt the familiar feeling of inadequacy that her father usually inspired.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve been…”

  “I can’t say I care where you’ve been. I need to know what the hell is going on at Sunberri and what the hell you’re going to do about it?”

  “Nothing, Dad. It’s far beyond my control now.”

  “What do you mean, girl?”

  “Look, I don’t know the details exactly, but Corbin de Villiers told me that their opposition, Vivre, released a game today that’s almost the same as Sunberri’s. Too many similarities for it to be a coincidence.”

  Silence on the other end of the phone. Zani shivered in the doorway.

  “Dad? Dad? Are you all right?”

  “You’ve spoken to de Villiers about this?”

  “I’ve been with him all day. I found out almost as soon as he did.”

  “You’ve been with de Villiers all day?”

  “Dad, surely Paul must know about this by now, he is the company CFO. Ring him. He’s sure to have more information than me. I can’t believe he hasn’t called you already.”

  “You traitorous little slut.”

  “What? Dad. No! I was only with Corbin to…”

  But it was too late. He’d hung up.

  Shaking with anger, Zani stared at the phone for a moment, deciding whether to call him back and explain, or disown him forever. She strongly favoured the latter. A cockroach crawled out of the rain and into the dry doorway. Zani stared at it in disgust.

  She reluctantly looked up Klebnikoff’s number in her mobile’s database. Fidgeting impatiently as the phone rang, she kept a close eye on the roach. It seemed to enjoy being out of the rain and wandered around in a circle.

  He answered himself.

  “Klebnikoff.” Was it her or did that thick Russian accent ooze menace?

  “Vladimir. Zani Best. You asked me to call.”

  “Ah. Yes. Thank you, Miss Best. I am concerned that I have not received your signed copy of the contract. I take it you are not reneging on our deal. I would be…” he hesitated “…extremely disappointed if that were to be the case.” Zani choked back a gasp. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but that had sounded suspiciously like a threat.

  “No, um, the only problem is that you’ve translated the contract you signed. I don’t know what it says and, um, I’m sure you’d agree I’d be foolish to sign something written in a language I couldn’t even read. Er, and I’m just in the process of getting it translated.”

  “But Miss Best, I’m distraught. Could it be that you don’t trust me? In any case, you have accepted my deposit. I believe under your laws that means you are bound by the terms of the contract.”

  “Um, I’m not sure of the particulars…” Crap. She shouldn’t have said that. Now she sounded unprofessional. She’d call the attorney who’d written the contract in the first place and find out if that was true.

  “Really, Miss Best, you sound a little confused. I trust I have not been naïve to entrust you with such an import
ant project.” Zani knew he pressured her, but at the same time she saw a career opportunity of a lifetime quietly slipping away.

  “No, of course not, I’m one hundred percent with you. Your boat is my highest priority,” she said, hoping her confidence would allay her earlier uncertainty.

  “Excellent. I’m in London on Tuesday. Could we meet and discuss some preliminary ideas? I’m sure you’ve got some drawings by now.”

  “Yes. No. I mean that’s fine.”

  “It’d better be fine, Zani, otherwise I’ll be seriously considering requesting back my deposit. My dear, you don’t want me to fire you, do you?”

  “No, no, of course not.”

  “Because if I’m not entirely sure that my boat is your first priority then I’m afraid it will be my only option.”

  Zani wasn’t quite sure why he was banging on about it. He’d made his point.

  They made arrangements to meet in London then he hung up with a sharp “I’ll be in touch.” It seemed to be more of a threat than a promise.

  Zani wanted to scream. She hadn’t even started on the boat designs because she’d been running around after Corbin de Villiers for her father.

  Her authoritarian, distant, disapproving father, who, for once in his life, needed her. She could not let him down. He’s never going to give you the approval you crave, you know that, forget all about it and get on with your life, chimed the voice of reason in her head. It’s no less than he deserves.

  Not for the first time, Zani ignored the voice of reason.

  “Shit,” she shouted into the storm, giving in to temper, then flung the phone as far as she could. It hit the tarmac a good distance away and skittered along, coming to rest underneath a light. Turning, she kicked the emergency exit door for good measure. It hurt. She wore thin deck shoes and her toe throbbed. Nice one. Peering over to where the phone lay, she realised was going to get really, really wet fetching it.

  Resigned to a soaking, she stepped out from the shelter of the emergency exit. But, before she got more than two steps, with a low throb of a powerful engine, a huge semi-trailer slowly and inevitably made its way across her line of vision, straight over the phone.