Everything You Need: Everything For You Trilogy Book 1

by Bailey, Orla

  After all this time, I can’t help responding to him. The twist of tension in my nerves; the quick blood coursing through my veins making my fingertips itch to fondle and touch; my swollen breasts with their taut nipples chafing against my damp blouse. God, did he notice that before I left?

  I observe my face in the rear view mirror. Flushed, of course. Pupils dilated. Dark. I couldn’t be more obviously gagging for it if I tried. No wonder he was so amused.

  My brain wants me to disappear in a wisp of smoke but my body wants to run back in, shove his PA aside, lock the pair of us up with that little tease of a brass key and rip his expensive clothes off, push him down on top of his huge boardroom table and rub myself up and down his naked flesh like I’m an unfed cat and he’s the guy with a hot chicken.

  I groan in self-loathing.

  I’m no nymphomaniac but if half an hour alone in an office with Jack can reduce me to that, how the hell am I going to manage a whole night without humiliating myself badly? I’m convinced he knows it. Every look, every smile says he’s reading my body language like a Kama Sutra first edition.

  I try a series of cleansing breaths to empty my mind of thought like I learnt in yoga class but give up when it tumbles with thoughts of tantric sex with Jack instead. I think about dinner. And breakfast. And everything that could possibly happen in between. With no way of masking my own throbbing engine, I start the car and head back to my office. I feel ashamed now I tried to skip off home early.

  When I arrive I find the parking space assigned for the CEO’s exclusive use, occupied. The dark grey Range Rover is only too familiar. It casts its gas-guzzling shadow over my little eco-car like its owner, Brent Tapper, does over my non-starting career as head of CaidCo. My heart sinks.

  I pull into visitor parking. I have enough to worry about retaining this contract with Zee-Com and with what I’m being asked to do to keep it. My encounter with Jack has me shaken. The last thing I need is a pissing contest with my senior manager. And, as Brent would no doubt delight in pointing out to anyone who cares to listen, I don’t have the equipment for it.

  My friendly email reminding Brent it used to be Harry’s parking space, and what was his is now mine, doesn’t seem to be working. Frankly he doesn’t give a toss. I have no idea what I’m going to do about it except keep on getting in to work earlier than everyone else and refuse to budge. It’s no way to head a business. I walk inside with a heavy heart.

  “Tabitha, you’re back. I’m just getting a hot drink for everyone. Want one?”

  I warm to the sight of Libby. “Are they still asking you to make their coffee?” She’s my assistant and isn’t being paid to wait hand and foot on those lazy creatures in management.

  “I don’t mind, really.” She gives me an awkward grin.

  “It’s not fair,” I point out. “They should get their own damn coffee.” It isn’t fair to drag Libby into my management inadequacies either. She’s trying to be diplomatic, to keep the peace, for my sake as well as her own. “No-one ever asked Harry’s PA to get coffee for them but it seems now I’ve taken over, we’re both fair game.” Taken over? That’s a laugh.

  “Brent will create problems just about any way he can.” Libby shakes her head.

  “He’ll never accept answering to me.” I just assumed Brent would mentor me as I took over. No deal. He’s going to make this as difficult for me as he can. And if CaidCo goes down the tubes in the meantime? I honestly don’t think he cares anymore. “At first I thought his bizarre behaviour was because he missed Harry. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “You’ll sort it.” Libby’s constant faith is touching yet makes me feel guilty about my lack of progress with Brent.

  “Brent’s mission – and he’s chosen to accept it – is to destroy me.”

  I join Libby in the kitchen and help her fix the drinks. I try to set an example to the other managers and do what I can for team building.

  “That’s okay,” she says, taking the jar from my hands. “I’ve got it covered. You really don’t need to worry about me. You look like you’ve got more than coffee on your mind.”

  “I might just have a chance to turn things around.”

  “That’s brilliant.” Libby’s optimistic outlook isn’t in her job description either, bless her. “What happened, Tabs? Did Mr Keogh listen to you or is he really set on taking his business elsewhere?”

  Ensuring we have no eaves-droppers, I close the door and tell her what happened.

  “None of this dinner thing is about business,” I tell her, leaving out a lot of the more private moments.

  “Oh my God. He expects to have sex with you?” Getting straight to the heart of the matter, Libby’s jaw drops open and hangs there.

  “Well he can expect. I’m just using this as an excuse to keep the lines of communication open. Besides, someone like him must have women all over the place. It’s not about sex. It’s about power. Putting me in my place. He’s another Brent Tapper. Only more dangerous.”

  “Do you still find him attractive?” There’s no fooling Libby.

  I huff with impatience. Years ago I’d done everything I could think of to get Jack’s attention. She’d seen me make a fool of myself over Jack on more than one occasion. There’s no point lying. “A bit.” Okay, so I’m stretching the truth a bit too.

  She sees right through me. “Oh my God, Tabitha. Does he still find you attractive?”

  We look at each other.

  Jack had some interest in me. Even as a teenager, who knew nothing about men, I’d known that. He always made time to hang out whenever he came to my uncle’s office. We shared lunches, talked about stuff and exchanged small gifts. But I thought he reserved that look of his just for me, the one that sent hot flares racing up my spine. I’d had the same feeling in his boardroom, not an hour ago.

  I was kidding myself on both occasions. “If he found me so attractive, he never did anything about it.”

  “Like ask you out?” Libby got it.

  Why hadn’t Jack done anything about it back then? I can only believe I frightened him off by being too open. What on earth had possessed me to be so earnestly frank about my feelings? So much for a woman’s mystery, her allure. In my naïve innocence I threw myself at him.

  I groan. No wonder he started avoiding me. He barely spoke to me after that. Stopped looking, if I was honest. Although I avoided him too by then. When I came home from university for the holidays I made sure I was out of the office whenever he came in. How could I face him? My skin crawls with embarrassment even recalling the awkwardness.

  “Perhaps he wants to make up for lost time. Oh my God.”

  “Will you stop saying that, Libby? You’re making me nervous.”

  I open a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream meant for visiting clients and toss a good slug into both our coffees.

  Stuff my promise not to drink too much. That only applies to being alone in my apartment. “If I’m going through with tonight, I’m going to need as much help as I can get. Oh Libby, what on earth am I doing?”

  She rubs my shoulder. “Whatever you have to, honey.”

  I nod. I’m not a gullible child anymore and this is for the survival of CaidCo. “It’s just the shock of seeing him after all this time that’s unsettled me.”

  “Bound to. He’s pretty hot.”

  I put her straight. “He was about to screw the company over. It’s as simple as that.”

  Libby, bless her doesn’t resort to innuendo. “If it wasn’t for that anonymous text sent to my phone this afternoon we’d be none the wiser.”

  “Probably someone who cared about Harry.” The last-minute timing hadn’t given me even a moment to consider the consequences or I’d probably never have got up the nerve to confront Jack at all. I was just going to have to endure the next twenty-four hours.

  “You’ll get through it. Don’t be a push-over.”

  “Sending me a dress, indeed.” He must think I’m still the same silly young girl I was before.
“He’s an arrogant jerk.”

  “It might be a nice dress,” Libby suggests. “And you can always sell it on eBay afterwards.”

  “One careless owner. Ever so slightly soiled.” I think hysteria is already setting in. “Tell me something to make this better.”

  “You’re young. You’ll get over it. He must be all of thirty-two, if he’s a day.”

  I eye her. We’re both twenty-two. “Not helping.” I’ve always been particularly attracted to the fact he’s older and more experienced than me.

  Libby tries again. “Free dinner, bed and breakfast?”

  “I know it’s against employment law to hit a member of staff but I swear to God, Libby, I’m going to beat you to death in a minute.”

  She laughs and it makes me feel brighter somehow. We finish the coffees and I leave her to distribute them whilst I get back to work.

  “When you’re done here, could you call the senior team to a brief meeting in my office? After coffee,” I add, waggling my doubtful eyebrows up and down. “Better not spoil their caffeine hit. Say half an hour. I’ll outline events then.”

  “Sure thing, Tabitha. Try not to worry. Everything will work out.”

  I know she’s worried too. Why wouldn’t she be? If CaidCo folds, guys like Brent with their fat pension plans will be alright. It’s the younger staff like Libby that will really struggle. I have to do this for all of them. I throw her a quick reassuring smile. I have half an hour to work out exactly what I’m going to tell them.

  At least it takes my mind off Jack Keogh for a bit. God, it’s hard working around some guys. You can never just get on with the job. You have to constantly negotiate your way past all the competitiveness, ego and downright macho bull-shit. Or is that only my experience?

  Harry’s guys liked me well enough when I was intern. As far as they’re concerned, that’s my rightful place. But as their twenty-two year old CEO? It’s a giant leap too far for some of them, although I suspect if Brent wasn’t leading the wolf-pack, the rest might be easier to get on board. He has clout and as far as he’s concerned, I and I alone have lost them Zee-Com, now the word about the cancelled contract is out.

  Half an hour passes as I sift through paperwork and finally open emails. There’s one from Jack. My hand trembles ridiculously as I open it but I know I have to see what he wants before I brief the team, in case he’s changed his terms or his mind.

  Confirming arrangements. Special delivery 5pm. Car, 7.30. Seeing you today was quite an uplifting experience. J

  Cryptic enough if it should fall into enemy hands. Except for the last bit. My cheeks are burning. Uplifting? What does he mean by that? Is he deliberately trying to embarrass me? More macho bull-shit.

  If I abandon work early to be there for the five o’clock delivery, it’ll give Brent yet another shortcoming to throw at me. I can’t even tell him I’m doing this for everyone.

  After forty-five minutes passes with no sign of movement, I put my head through the door and speak to Libby. “They know about the meeting, right?” Of course, they know. Libby’s nothing if not efficient. They’ve chosen to ignore me deliberately.

  “Sorry, Tabitha.” She pulls a pained expression.

  “Not your fault.” Now what? I clearly can’t let this go. Why must they put me in this position?

  I turn into the corridor and wonder whose office I should tackle first. The ring-leader would be the hardest battle. The easier ones to pick off would be the coward’s way out. Right now I really only have enough energy for the coward’s way but I’ll lose more face.

  I storm across to Brent’s office and fling open his door before I change my mind or my anxiety does it for me.

  He’s lounging back in his chair with his feet on the desk and a phone in his hand. Another two managers are relaxing on the other side. He appears to be having his own little meeting. Brent gives me a patronising smile and waves to indicate I should wait as he’s on the phone.

  I crackle with nervous energy. My heart pounds, I shallow breathe and am in danger of going into a full-blow hyper. If I wait until he ends his call, I play right into his hands. If I don’t I could be interfering with a client phone call.

  Suddenly I remember Jack and the way he stopped Anderson in his tracks without a raised voice or anything. The intensity of his blue eyes materialises right before mine. Although I feel a tight knot in my stomach, I step up to the desk and grab the phone from Brent’s hand.

  “Urgent matter of business,” I say into the speaker. “Brent will ring you back.” I hang up and place it on the desk. The other guys watch with interest.

  Brent is stunned into silence for all of a second. I’m pretty surprised myself.

  “Put your tin helmets on boys, Brunhilde has a strop on.” Brent laughs. The rest have the good sense to look uncomfortable but not one of them puts Brent in his place or defends me.

  It’s his latest tactic. He’s taken to calling me by the name of a Visigoth princess. I gave up treating it with the contempt it deserved and Googled it. A queen of mean, notorious for her cruelty and avarice which I think is pretty rich coming from Brent Tapper.

  “I called a meeting half an hour ago.” I already dread his response.

  “We’re far too busy keeping this place afloat to sit listening to your chit chat.”

  They don’t look busy. I’m sure they’re just sitting listening to each other’s chit chat. But the implication is clear. He thinks I’m adding nothing to the business. My business. If Harry was alive he’d kick his butt but I can’t risk losing him and his contacts to my competitors at this transitional stage and he knows it.

  “We need to begin preparations for a presentation to Zee-Com. I may just have got us another shot.” I want to kick myself. I’ve effectively brought my meeting to Brent.

  “Whatever you say.” Brent doesn’t even bother to hide the look he gives my managers. It shouts humour the mad bitch. He’s so patronizing I could scream.

  I turn and walk out knowing standing there won’t change anything. It might prevent me from hyperventilating all over Brent Tapper though. I’m not going to provide an excuse for him to make jokes about having that effect on all women.

  I feel like the pathetic loser he thinks I am. So far this has been a really rotten day. I retreat to my office and go over the brief for a local restaurant’s advertising campaign. I jot down a few ideas and make an appointment to see the client next week. I email some notes to the creatives department.

  At least I’m trying to improve matters, not make them ten times worse.

  I leave in good time taking Libby with me for moral support. I can’t do this alone but I’m annoyed at myself for pandering to Jack’s whims. For the moment I see I have little choice. No matter what I do to talk myself into it, it will take more than a hot shower to prepare myself for spending the night with him. And not because I don’t want to.

  Libby does her best to calm me down but I’m pacing when the doorbell rings on the stroke of five. I’ve been watching the clock.

  “Jack Keogh is going to be nothing, if not thorough,” Libby states. She’s a good judge of character.

  “What that means for me tonight, I have yet to figure out.”

  I open the door to a man dressed in a sharp black suit who stands there holding up a long dress carrier. Actually, he looks more like a marine in a business suit. All crew cut and taut, reactive muscles. He only needs a pair of dark shades and I would think Secret Service. I spot them pushed up high on his head.

  The carrier is the sort that expensive couturier houses transport gowns in. I’ve watched enough episodes of Sex and the City to realise that. I spot the label. God, he’s sent me a Versace.

  “Miss Caid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr Keogh asked me to deliver this to you.”

  Somehow, seeing a man, obviously one that works directly for Jack, rather than a courier, makes it all the more excruciating. Does this guy do all his boss’s sensitive personal work? I wonde
r how many expensive dresses he’s delivered to other women destined for Jack Keogh’s bed.

  “Thank you.” I act like this is nothing out of the ordinary for me either. Except I don’t know what to do next. Should I tip him? Ask him to come in and put it on the bed? I just can’t bring myself to do that.

  He sorts the problem for me. Making no attempt to enter, he drapes the garment across his outstretched arms and holds it towards me. It reminds me of a swooning female and the symbolism is apt. The guy, on the other hand is the consummate professional. He doesn’t betray what he thinks by so much as a flicker.

  I grab at it, no longer caring if I crease it after its long, careful journey.

  “Thank you.” I’m beginning to feel like a parrot but I awkwardly hold the delivery guy’s steady look. I refuse to be intimidated by any minion of Jack’s.

  The man removes a card from his inside jacket pocket and places it on top. “If there’s any problem with the fit, phone this number. They’ll send a tailor straight away. Good afternoon, Miss Caid.” He turns and leaves, not prolonging my agony.

  Jack obviously isn’t giving me any get-out clause like pretending I have nothing to wear or nothing fits. Libby appears from her discrete hiding place as I stretch up and hook it over an adjacent door.

  “Are you going to open it? Oh my God, it’s Versace.”

  I roll my eyes at her. “I know.”

  Do I want to glimpse Jack’s plans for me this evening? Or do I really not want to know?

  “It doesn’t matter what you wear, does it? You’re doing this for CaidCo,” Libby suggests. I know she’s dying to see the dress.

  My hands shake slightly as I unzip the bag. As soon as I see it I understand why.

  “Wow. It’s perfect.” Libby says, stroking it.

  “Perfect for seduction. What there is of it.” Simple, elegant, understated and very, very expensive.

  “It must have cost thousands.”

  “What’s it going to cost me?” I look at Libby and she hugs me. I’m suddenly very conscious of what the evening has in store. Of Jack Keogh’s plans.