Everything You Need: Everything For You Trilogy Book 1

by Bailey, Orla

  His face lights up in appreciation as he ends his call. “Now that’s the sort of sharp clothing a powerful CEO should wear.”

  Despite my best intentions I can’t help commenting. “What I wear to work Monday to Friday is my own business, Jack. I didn’t agree to let you dictate my entire professional life.” My voice tails off seeing Jack’s instant frosty expression. The Boss returns.

  “But this is a mentoring weekend, Tabitha.” The warning note is back. He approaches and pops open a few buttons at the neck of my shirt surprising me when his fingertips skim my skin. “You’ve got to stop dressing like the intern and dress the way you want your management to perceive you.” He yanks the edges apart exposing a little cleavage. “And to impress the clients you hope to do business with.”

  “And you, Jack?”

  “You have potential.”

  “That’s a no then. When you act like I’m incapable of even knowing how to dress, it doesn’t exactly give me confidence. I know I can do better. But all this is happening so fast. One minute I’m at university. Then Harry dies. Then all of a sudden I’m trying to run CaidCo. I haven’t had time to think about everything.”

  “That’s why I’m helping you. I want to prepare you as much as I can but then you’re on your own. No-one will say I gave you an unfair advantage but I won’t have you thinking you never stood a chance. This is it. What you learn is down to you.”

  Put like that, I feel mean for being so suspicious. “Okay, I get it. Thank you for organising the clothing. I’ll pay for it. I just got a tiny bit wary that you were trying to take over.”

  “Managing you to help improve things. When I drive you to work on Monday morning you should wear that suit. Some of the clothes can remain at Belvedere while our agreement lasts and the rest can be delivered to your home. Whether you choose to wear them or not is your concern, but I promise you, it will make a difference to how you feel and how others perceive you.”

  Jack flips another button until the opening is deep enough for a lot of cleavage and the pretty lace edges of the bra to be on show. It’s a bold move which makes me gasp but he holds my eyes steady with his. “Know when to be a bit provocative. Unsettle them. Show them you’re not scared of anything.” He lowers his voice. “But be wary of me. I’m not sharing you.”

  That works. I am wary. And excited. I’ve never felt so alive.

  The tension dissolves when Meredith pops back into the room. “Do you wish to try others?”

  Jack answers keeping his gaze steadily on me. “The fit is faultless, as always, Meredith. Miss Caid will be wearing one of the summer dresses immediately and you can courier the rest out today. My driver will take charge of the Valentino.”

  “And I thought I was the only possession that travelled under armed guard,” I say flippantly, brushing past them both.

  Jack glares at me. I march into the fitting room and remove the business suit, handing each item back to Meredith to re-hang, retrieving my own skirt and blouse which now seems doubly frumpy. For the first time I acknowledge I dress like a penniless undergraduate who hasn’t given much thought to her appearance.

  “Mr Keogh suggested you might like to wear one of the summer dresses,” Meredith reminds me, tactfully.

  Little point arguing the matter. I won’t win. Meredith holds two aloft for me to choose between.

  “That one.” I’m not about to reward him with a particularly considered selection but as they’re both lovely the gesture is token.

  I pick a crystal studded shift dress in ecru by Alice Temperley with short sleeves and a high neckline. It looks fresh and demure against my pale skin and dark hair. However, it’s only by the time I’ve got it on that I realise how short it is and with the wedge-heeled sandals Meredith produces, it’s assumed innocence looks rather more provocative than I imagined. Still, it’s the weekend and as he’s reminded me, at the weekend, Jack gets what Jack wants.

  As I emerge, he’s standing outside on the pavement next to the car speaking to Blackstock. I turn and thank Meredith for her help before joining them.

  “Take the gown to Belvedere, then come and pick us up in a couple of hours. We’re going for lunch.”

  “Yes, sir.” Blackstock grins at me before disappearing inside the shop. Even he can see the difference.

  “Did I approve that dress?” Jack’s eyes expand, his jaw slackens as he stares at the length of my bare legs. His expression battles between disapproval and delight. “You look entirely too edible and on that note, I’m more than ready for a large glass of wine and some lunch.”

  I suspect he’s working hard not to damage my fragile confidence, no matter what he really thinks. “Whatever sir wants.”

  “Don’t be childish, Tabitha.”

  Jack grabs my hand and marches off down the road, seemingly unaware I’m not used to walking in platform wedges especially wearing an uber-short posh frock. I have no idea what’s suddenly made him so tetchy but no doubt, I’ll pay for it sooner or later.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jack strides in silence to a little restaurant a few streets away. His fingers band my wrist as he tows me along like some miscreant he doesn’t dare let out of his sight.

  I try to gauge the sudden change of mood. He isn’t exactly angry with me but seems sort of exasperated. Maybe irritated is a better word. I have no idea what I’m supposed to have done but instinct tells me not to complain, so I concentrate on keeping up in my new shoes. I can’t for the life of me imagine what has changed between us since leaving the shop. Jack’s so volatile, I don’t begin to understand his mood swings.

  In the restaurant, he holds my chair out while I sit, back to being the perfect gentleman; leaving the waiter redundant. I simply can’t keep up with him. I look at the menu while Jack orders a chilled white Montrachet, a wine I’ve never drunk before, but I’m not about to show interest. He started this cold war so he can break the silence. Whatever’s narking him, I have plenty more reason to be annoyed than he does; like the whole clothes buying imposition for a start.

  “What would you like to eat, Tabitha?”

  “Don’t you want to tell me?”

  Jack raises his eyes to mine over his menu. Ouch. Shards of frozen blue ice burn me. “I can if you want me to.” His voice is a caution.

  I cave immediately. It isn’t easy to keep up a tough façade when Jack looks at me like that. “Sorry.” I decide it’s better not to push him when he’s in such a strange mood. After a moment his shoulders relax. Mine follow. Does my mood really depend so much on his?

  “I’d rather avoid a demonstration of how to discipline insubordination. Please don’t goad me into it.”

  Did he just say that out loud? Is what he suggested even legal? I can’t get my head around this whole mentoring dynamic. The waiter arrives at that moment with wine for Jack to taste. He, at least, knows instinctively who not to piss off.

  “Just leave the bottle.” Jack’s eyes never leave mine and it’s an uncomfortable feeling. The waiter is dismissed without a word spoken. Jack has that rare skill. He simply freezes people out.

  And I can’t let go of Jack’s subtle threat. He would. He really would. He might be referring to workplace disciplinary procedures but what exactly would he do to exact the ultimate control. Behave as I expect you to. Don’t question me. Don’t challenge me. Or there’ll be consequences. It was the same warning for Anderson in the boardroom. I’m increasingly conscious I’ve signed up for three more weekends of the same. Is this what he means by mentoring by example?

  I’m still suspicions all this help is exacting some form of revenge. Even if he does owe Harry, he doesn’t owe me a thing. And he’s not the sort of man to suffer from a guilty conscience over moving on.

  “Have you chosen yet?”

  “Risotto.” It’s a snap decision.

  “Good choice.” Jack signals to the waiter to approach. “Risotto and a steak. Rare. Green salad for two and some decent bread. Thank you.”

  “Sir.
” The waiter retreats.

  “Your perfect employee.” I try to keep a straight face as I hold Jack’s stare, I really do. But I can’t help seeing the funny side of the waiter’s jump-to address to Jack. I laugh in spite of my intention to stay mad at him. I think I’m a bit hysterical.

  Jack’s lips twist into a grin, thankfully. “I like it when you smile.”

  “I hate when you’re angry with me.” Wow. That’s some admission to make.

  He looks at me long and slow. “You haven’t even seen me angry. You’ll know the difference.”

  I believe it enough to change the subject. “What are we doing after lunch?”

  “Going home. You’d be wise to get a rest before the ball this evening. All that late-night networking can be pretty exhausting and you have an appointment at the salon first. Blackstock will drive you as I’ve a lot of work to do.”

  He explains the details and we manage a relatively normal conversation until lunch is served.

  Halfway through, Jack throws me a curve ball. Perhaps he’s been chewing over his response along with his meat. “Perhaps a demonstration of how I discipline insubordination would be useful to you.” Jack forks a piece of steak into his mouth and grinds on it.

  I nearly choke on my bread, immediately on the defensive. “What now? You said you weren’t even angry.” I realise I’m trying to talk my way out of something already and shut up when he stares.

  “I don’t need to be angry to realise the spirit of our agreement is being broken.”

  I take a few slow, steady breaths to prevent starting down the path towards a full-blown panic attack. The lump of bread in my mouth starts to taste like dog biscuits but I choke it down, take a mouthful of wine and stare at him incredulously. “Maybe you get off throwing your weight around.” I just have to go and speak my thoughts out loud. I’d bite my tongue off but it’s a little too late.

  “Add that one to the list.”

  “There’s a list? Mixed messages going on here.” My tone is dangerously snarky. The expression that floods Jack’s face leaves me in no doubt he thinks so too and doesn’t appreciate it one little bit but what does he expect? The shock of hearing him say he’s going to discipline me, like it’s nothing, has my breath shortening. Even growing up without parents I didn’t do rule-breaking. Apart from the alcohol thing, I live my life with self-imposed boundaries. And now he’s suggesting I need discipline. “Are you kidding me?”

  “And again, Tabitha?” I have crazy visions of Jack in a Roman toga on the steps of the Senate being stabbed by someone he believed to be his friend. Et tu, Brutus?

  Perhaps a little hyperventilation might be useful. Maybe he’d be nice to me like he was when I got dizzy in the shop. I reach for the wine again.

  “Breathe. You can master these feelings of being under pressure. You don’t ever have to lose control. It’s one of the most important things I’m trying to develop in you.”

  “Easy for you to say.” What if someone twice his body weight calmly threatened to punish him? Although he didn’t exactly say punish. Some inner voice of reason clutches at straws. I down another mind-numbing slug of wine. If I get enough down me maybe I’ll be as numb as he wants me to be. And doesn’t that make my usual weekend remedy the right one in the first place?

  Clearly not. Jack removes the glass from my hand. “Try water instead.” He fills another glass and passes it to me. “We have to work on these panic attacks.”

  “Disciplining me won’t do that.” My heart rate is in adrenaline overdrive.

  Jack puts his knife and fork down on his plate with a clatter. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head but delivered appropriately, discipline is an effective tool for change, Tabitha.”

  “You want to change me?” My voice drops to a whisper.

  “Not you, exactly, but some of your learned behaviours can be moderated.”

  I can’t get my head around what he’s trying to do here.

  “Eat up. I won’t let it hang over you. That’s just cruel.”

  “You prefer the short, sharp, shock method.”

  He fixes me with a stare. “Keep it up, Tabitha. Each time you act in that manner you make your situation a little bit worse.” The warning rumble in his voice returns.

  “Will you tell me exactly what I’m meant to have done?”

  “Of course. Disappointingly there’s a whole catalogue of transgressions to take into consideration.”

  “I tried on a dress and a suit and had lunch. What can you possibly find wrong in any of that?” I shut up and wait for him to continue, sipping repeatedly at my water. It seems each time I open my mouth I only make things worse.

  Jack lips stretch sideways. I wouldn’t exactly call it a smile. “Good, Tabitha. I’m encouraged. Behaviour adjustment seems to be happening naturally. If, in my capacity as mentor, I decide it’s in your best professional interests to organise more appropriate clothing, you should accept the advice gracefully.”

  “Didn’t I?” My voice is a waterlogged squeak.

  “No, Tabitha, you did not. What were your words? ‘I didn’t agree to let you dictate… what I wear to work Monday to Friday.’ Yes, I think that’s it, isn’t it?”

  I’d said that to him when I’d got all riled up over the suits. Those were my exact words in fact. He has a mind like a computer. I nod.

  “That’s a direct challenge to my decision-making and it’s appropriate for me to respond to it. As a mentor I can’t sit back and accept being challenged in that way, any more than I would as CEO of Zee-Com.”

  My eyes feel like they’re popping out of my head. I can’t argue with his logic. He should have been a lawyer and I’d signed up to the whole stupid deal. “It’s going to take a while to understand your rules.” It’s my only defence. That and the fact I’ve completely underestimated what a crazy control freak he can be.

  “They’re quite simple and I believe you understand them already. You simply have difficulty following them. Discipline is a tool that will help you to remember.”

  “It was only one tiny little slip.” My voice croaks but I feel if I point that out he might go easier on me.

  He laughs gently. “If only that were true. I gave an instruction to Blackstock to remove the gown personally for safe-keeping. It’s a very expensive item of clothing and I want to be certain nothing prevents you wearing it tonight. No mistakes. So what do you do? You make a cynical comment – ‘under armed guard’ – which disrespects my orders and mocks Blackstock’s professional role. It certainly made Meredith feel awkward.”

  “And we wouldn’t want that, would we. You’ll need her on side for years. Your sex life depends on it.”

  His vaulted eyebrow shows I’ve compounded the damage but I’m already in so deep I might as well wade on. “That can’t be all I’ve done wrong, surely?”

  “No, Tabitha. It’s not.” He gets visibly sterner by the minute.

  “It seems I’ve spent the whole morning annoying you.” No wonder he appeared put out when he hauled me off to the restaurant. It starts to make sense now.

  “Lunch appears to have given you similar problems.”

  “I have no problem with lunch, except you. It’s you who has all the problems with me.”

  “Can you even recall your words, Tabitha? I’m sure you remember the sarcasm.”

  Okay, so I’d been a bit derisive about lunch. I sigh. “I said ‘if sir wants’ and asked if you wanted to choose my food for me.” I might as well confess. The sentence is always lighter when you own up, isn’t it?

  “Not exactly, but the gist is the same. ‘Whatever sir wants’ is what you actually said, and your reply when I asked you what you wanted to eat was ‘don’t you want to tell me?’ That I believe is more accurate. The set of his jaw invites me to challenge his version of events.

  I’m incredulous. “You remember everything.” His memory for detail is phenomenal. “Why didn’t you tell me at the time, if it was going to cause such bother?”

>   “Do you want to come across to your colleagues and acquaintances as a spoiled, immature young woman? You have to manage your own public image, Tabitha. If needs be, I will step in to help you remember.”

  It seems I’ve been mixing up our professional relationship with a personal one. I get the message, loud and clear. “Anything else?”

  “I want to make you think about the consequences of all your other little insecurities and jealousies. It’s unbecoming in a woman and repugnant in a CEO. Confidence is everything.”

  “What insecurities?” Jealousies? I won’t even say that word out loud. I’m definitely not jealous.

  “Come, Tabitha. Don’t try to tell me when I took you into the shop you didn’t wonder how many other women I’d taken there.” He steeples his fingers in the usual fashion, raises his eyebrows and waits for my confession.

  Is that why he did it? “It’s obvious you’ve brought other women there but I didn’t say a word.” The thought pains me but I’m damned if I’ll let him know that. He clearly isn’t planning on putting my jealousies to rest by countering my claim either. He neither confirms nor denies it. I click my tongue at him. “No wonder I have insecurities. You’re giving them to me.”

  “It shouldn’t matter either way. You should be more poised than that. And it’s ridiculous to be jealous of the personal attentions of a shop-owner.”

  Too bloody personal. Her tongue was practically hanging out. “I wasn’t.” I call his bluff the way he’s calling mine. I wonder for a moment if he’s trying to provoke my jealousy. Maybe that’s his insecurity at work. “You can’t discipline someone for things that aren’t true.”

  “I can do anything I wish unless you take control of the situation.”

  I realise it’s the Brent Tapper scenario and Jack doesn’t even know about that yet. He really has a handle on the power game. And I’m going to keep my mouth shut now.

  Jack continues. “You should expect respect by service staff and employees alike, not question it. And certainly not ridicule it.”