Dina hugged her. ‘Oh, seriously, that’s perfect, Natalya. Take it slow. I’m thrilled for you.’
But there was an ache under the words, because Dina didn’t have anyone, couldn’t have anyone. The mad work of setting this company up was slowing, her days were slowing, and now, when she wanted it least, Dina was thinking about Joel Gaines once again.
There would not be anyone else. And when Natalya talked about her doctor, Jesse, it sent the old longing rushing back through Dina’s veins.
She hadn’t called him, hadn’t been weak. But he hadn’t called her, either.
There was nothing, just silence. No emails, no texts. It was as if none of it had happened, or as if it had happened to someone else, long ago. In another life.
She dreaded the days after the launch. When things settled down, and she had time and space to herself, and Dina Kane, Inc. was growing, but more slowly, then how would she stop thinking about Joel? How would she manage to get a grip on herself?
But, for now, she just hugged her new friend.
Tonight, she was glad to be with Natalya. It had been a very long day. At nine p.m., her deputy forced her to put away her cellphone and stop talking to the beauty bloggers and fashion PRs and editor types who were all due in Times Square at nine a.m. tomorrow; their little space would be full to overflowing. Dina had to parcel out invitations, and that made it better. She now had a b-list of smaller bloggers and magazines, due in an hour later, at ten.
‘Starting small is unfortunate. But you made it into a virtue,’ Natalya said.
Her English was almost perfect now. The two girls chinked glasses.
‘I think it’ll go well.’ Dina shrugged. ‘Scrub that. I know it will.’
‘Your cash on hand is very low. Your apartment is the security?’
‘I’m not worried,’ Dina replied. She took a long, cool drink of the champagne, playing with it, letting the bubbles crackle around her mouth. ‘Dina Kane, Inc. is going to work. We will double our financing within the month.’
Natalya shook her blond head, admiringly. She was wearing a chic little brown dress and comfortable ballet flats in burnt orange: perfect for the coming days of fall, for New York’s warm September. Style was something she was learning, along with her English; she felt accomplished, beautiful – reborn, almost. Dina believed in her, and she was starting to believe in herself again.
Every day, she thanked God for her cousin Piotr, who had brought her to this woman.
‘How can you have such certainty?’
‘The products are good. The design is good.’ Dina drank a little more. ‘I’m good. We’ve worked the insider beauty press relentlessly. It’s a story because of Ludo and Torch, and the products and the store back it up.’
‘They ran a server test on the website. Do you really think you’re going to get all those hits?’
Dina nodded. ‘We have to be ready. If we crash on day one, it will be a disaster.’ She thought for a second of Edward Johnson. ‘And there could be a cyber attack, who knows?’
‘You’ve spent so much on that website.’
‘It matters more than the stores. That’s beauty now, Natalya – global. Somebody could log in in Auckland and get our stuff. We will ship it to Reykjavik. Every girl has a dream; we want to inspire them. Even those who can’t afford it: we want them on that site, playing our videos –’ her eyes lit up – ‘learning how beauty works, the canvas of the face.’
‘But if they can’t afford it—’
‘Maybe one day they will grow up and be able to. Or suddenly get a better job. We want them to sink into beauty with Dina Kane.’ She drank a little more, feeling a sudden rush of pleasure, of triumph. Her dream was here – and she had made it, against all odds, against everything. The launch, the money – it seemed like an afterthought. This was her dream for other women, and it was coming true.
‘I understand.’
‘Beauty was my escape. I want it to be their escape, too.’
Natalya drained her glass. ‘You will be very successful with it, Dina. And I can’t wait to work with you.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I should go; Jesse’s shift is ending. I’d like to be back for him.’
‘Of course.’ The girls hugged. ‘See you tomorrow,’ Dina said. ‘Be there at eight?’
‘Seven thirty,’ Natalya promised her.
She knew she should probably get up and leave, too. But Dina didn’t want to move, not just yet. She was tired, happy, enjoying her champagne.
‘Have a great night.’ She kissed Natalya goodbye, and tipped the glass to her mouth, savouring it. And then she took out her phone. Maybe there were some bloggers she could call, some last minute work she could do . . . just while she finished one more flute of the ice-cold, glittering froth of a wine.
There were no messages on her phone. But there was a text.
From Joel Gaines.
Where are you? We need to talk.
Dina breathed in, hard. Her hand gripped the side of the bar; her head swayed. Carefully, she steadied herself so the others around her – the couples, the businessmen standing around in knots, socialising – wouldn’t see it.
She paused, then tapped out a reply.
I can’t bear it, Joel. Please. It’s a big day for me tomorrow.
His reply came through almost immediately.
Ten minutes, that’s all. Where are you?
Dina took her glass and swallowed a large gulp of the champagne, tossing it quickly down her throat, letting it burn.
She shivered. What if she said no? She would be off her game, thinking about him, obsessing, on one of the most important days of her life. If Joel was here, she had to deal with him. Talk to him now. Get it out of the way.
Tomorrow she needed to concentrate.
He could come to her. She was on Central Park South, right in the heart of Manhattan. Not her apartment, where her bedroom was. Where she might do something stupid.
I just said goodnight to my friend. I was leaving, but I’m in the bar of the Victrix. Call me, or I can wait for you for fifteen minutes.
There was a pause. Dina held her breath, wishing it didn’t matter so much. But it did. She was in suspended animation, staring at the screen.
My garage is a block away. I’ll be with you in five minutes, Dina. Don’t leave.
She texted back OK and sat there, sipping slowly. Time passed like treacle. She could not think, could not concentrate, could not act her age. When Joel appeared, would she have any dignity?
Frenzied work had distracted her, but they were close now, almost at the end. She had nothing to hide behind. And her feelings for Joel were beating at her resistance, relentless as the tides.
She was past dignity, maybe. One text from him and her body was on fire. Joel Gaines had only kissed her once. If he wanted more tonight, Dina had no idea how the hell she was going to turn him down.
And then, there he was, walking in through the door from the lobby, paying no attention to the wait staff talking to him. He was moving fast, the hugeness of that body, the spread of his chest, the power of it, striding towards her in his suit, like nothing could stop him; purposeful, intent.
Dina was immediately wet and aroused, absolutely responsive to him. Her body crackled with adrenaline, as though she’d been shocked.
‘Joel,’ she whispered.
She could hardly speak. Joel was right in front of her. His body was close to hers, in her space again. Towering over her. Looking down on her. She trembled; she couldn’t say a word.
‘Dina –’ he grabbed her hand, fiercely – ‘I love you. I’ve loved you for a year, maybe more. I want you. I cannot stop thinking about you. You’re stronger than everything. I have to be with you. That’s it. I have to be.’
Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘But you’re married.’
‘I asked Susan for a divorce. It’s done. I left the house. I told the boys. They’re grown, and I want to be with you.’ He clutched her hands. ‘As soon as the papers come through, we
can get married. Yes? Tell me yes.’
The tears brimmed over, running down her cheeks. She swayed where she sat, and Gaines put out an arm to support her. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes. Why?’
‘Because I couldn’t take the rest of my life thinking about you, and not seeing you. Wanting you, and not having you. Because I never met a woman like you. Because you are the girl I should have married first. I don’t want a roommate; I want a lover, a friend, a challenge. I want you, and none other. You understand?’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’ Her face was in her hands, sobbing.
‘Let’s go home.’
‘I have to get the check . . .’
Joel gestured to the barman. ‘Put this on my account.’
‘Yes, sir, Mr Gaines.’
The small display of power thrilled Dina. She couldn’t help herself. Her body shuddered at his touch as he slipped her off the stool. The rest of her champagne lay on the counter, but she already felt drunk, almost high.
‘Where shall we go?’ she asked, as they stood at the coat check, and Gaines slipped his hands around her waist, her shoulders, touching her everywhere as he put the garment on her. ‘Your place or mine?’
‘Yours,’ Gaines replied, immediately.
His apartment would need to be cleaned out, all of Susan’s things returned: the framed photos of them together, the detritus of a failed marriage. Dina’s neat, ambitious little place was perfect; she had won it on her own, succeeded on her own. It was small, beautiful, an up-and-comer’s apartment. Everything he’d wanted to be, once, a long while ago. Everything he admired in her.
‘Fine.’ She kissed him, melted into him.
He felt himself stiffen, harden. He had to get her into a taxi. ‘Dina. Not here. Let’s go.’
Edward knew he was drunk. But that was fine, because he had cut it with cocaine – lots of cocaine. It made you see things clearer. He felt big now, confident; he could do exactly as he liked. And mostly what he wanted was to deal with Dina Kane.
Once. For all. Forever.
He’d sent Lena home, and the night housekeeper. And then he’d looked, and read, and drank, and pulled it all close into him. Dina Kane, Inc., the new wave, the next big thing, was launching tomorrow. Times Square. Tickets like gold dust.
Once he got good and drunk, it seemed he had to cut it. That was what the coke was for. It had been a while, but Edward still kept his stash. And, tonight, he needed to use it.
The bad feelings left him; he woke up, became powerful and strong again. Dina Kane, a ten-minute diversion, had derailed his whole life. He saw that clearly now. And, even as he was getting back on track, the bitch was returning from the grave to fucking haunt him.
It was time to be done. To get it over with.
He barely registered what he was doing as he walked upstairs to the bathroom cabinet and took out the Klonopin and the plastic gloves – little cheap plastic gloves, the kind that came with a packet of hair dye. He found a small bottle of whiskey and a long, sharp knife. He had a gun, too, but that was messy, that led to all kinds of annoying things, like splatter patterns on the wall; the FBI worked things out that way. Edward was smarter than them; he had seen the TV shows, all the cop series. He was no fool.
He’d killed Philippe, and Johnny Kane – or helped them on their way, at least. Both the assholes had got drunk themselves, taken pills themselves. So Philippe didn’t know what he was doing, but Johnny did – fool; weak little fool.
Both of them, far too trusting. He knew that Dina Kane wouldn’t be making that mistake. He’d have to be careful with her.
There was a key – that was the thing. Olivia had provided him with a copy – no questions asked. He could let himself into her new apartment, wait for her, jump her. One hand over the mouth, force the pills down her throat, pour the alcohol in after it. Maybe he’d leave her in the bath, knife in her own hand – her prints on it. She would slit her own wrists. He giggled; that was a neat trick to do when unconscious, but Edward would be happy to lend a little assistance before she was fully passed out. Olivia told him the apartment building had a security guard and cameras in the lobby, but they were turned off at night; they were just for show.
Why hadn’t he done it before? It seemed crazy now. Stupid fears about getting caught. He wouldn’t be caught. When Edward Johnson took care of them, they stayed down. No questions after Johnny, none after Philippe. Why would some bitch from Westchester be any different?
He snorted more coke, got a cap and muffler and a large coat, and walked out in to the night. It was only twelve blocks to Dina’s apartment. He entered the front door purposefully, grunting at the guard and walking straight ahead. The man was reading a magazine, not paying attention. There were corridors and an elevator bank. She was on floor sixteen and, with the drug pumping through his veins, Edward Johnson rode up to the right floor.
Adrenaline mixed with the coke. What if she was there? In? And by the door? She was a hermit, that bitch, a fucking hermit; she hated men; never saw anybody. She was probably there, working, waiting . . . He’d have to move fast, jump on her. That was OK. That was fine. Edward didn’t want to think it through. He took out his key, opened the door, entered the apartment and shut it behind him.
He listened. He didn’t call out – didn’t want the neighbours to hear anything.
It was silent. Silent as the grave; silent as her grave. He giggled. Funny. There was nobody here.
Just to make sure, he walked through the place, checked it out. Empty.
There was a large wardrobe in the bedroom. That’s where he would go. He had more coke, of course; it was with him in a silver vial. And he could afford to swallow a little of the whiskey.
He had a celebratory swig and a snort. Then he opened the wardrobe door, climbed inside, and sat down comfortably on its base. Using his phone for a light, he put on the gloves, opened the pillbox and laid the knife next to it.
Everything was ready.
Dina felt like her hands didn’t work. She couldn’t find her keys; she was opening the bag, fumbling, kissing. Joel’s hands were on her, possessively, running up her legs, her thighs, under her skirt, cupping her ass. She was wet, helplessly aroused.
‘God – help me. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .’
He took one hand away from stroking her through the thin, damp cotton of her panties, found her key, unlocked the door and shoved her through it.
It closed, heavy, behind them.
‘My bedroom’s this way,’ Dina said.
He was already lifting her shirt over her head, popping the bra undone with practised ease, feeling her full breasts that tumbled out into his hands, her nipples painfully erect. She was so hot for him, he could feel the blood rushing into her belly, her womb literally heating under his hands.
‘Fuck the bedroom.’ Gaines thrust her on to the floor, ripping the clothes from her, tearing the skirt down, the panties off. ‘You aren’t getting that far.’
Dina moaned. He tore off his clothes, too, impatiently, buttons ripping, his tie yanked from his neck. He kicked his shoes off, kissing at her neck, her face, raking his teeth and lips across her throat. She split her legs, wide, willing, desperate to feel him inside her. There was nothing but desire now, pure lust – not love, not friendship – just his power, his might, the strength of his body moving over her.
‘Joel!’ she gasped. ‘Oh, God! Please. Please.’
Inside the wardrobe, Edward Johnson thought fast.
There were two people in this apartment. And one of them was a man. They were fucking, so they were naked.
He had a knife.
But the man seemed sober. And, underneath the glittering bravado of the coke and booze, Edward was a coward.
His body was skinny, even lanky. Any halfway decent guy could take him. That was the problem. And the voice outside sounded familiar.
Joel Gaines.
Fucking shit scared, Edward started to shudder. Gaines, the goddamned billionaire. Gaines, who was
built like an army tank, who pumped weights like a Marine drill sergeant on a good day.
He ran through scenarios in his mind. Lurching out, drunk, high, with his little knife. It had seemed big when he was planning on slashing Dina’s wrists while she was passed out in the bath. Now it was a fucking penknife. He would stab at Gaines, maybe hurt him. Then the big man would grab his wrist, break his arm. That was the thing with women: they were so soft, so weak. All those TV shows with karate-kicking female detectives – Edward laughed at them. Even a puny man could grab a woman, subdue her, wrestle her to the ground. It was muscle mass; it was power.
But against Gaines? No. Gaines would fight, and Dina would scream, and get to a phone.
He was trapped. He had to do something. If he left the wardrobe, they would hear him, probably. They were distracted, but they would notice someone trying to get out the door. There was a fire escape, if he could open the windows . . .
Terrified, Edward peeled off the thin plastic gloves and stuffed them in his underpants. The ludicrous smallness of this hit him. He wept with self-pity in the closet. The clonazepam was in its bottle. Maybe he could get to a window, drop that outside . . . For now, he hid it in an inner jacket pocket. The whiskey . . . It wasn’t a crime to have whiskey. The knife . . . Jesus, the knife. He grabbed a cardigan and used it to scrub the knife clean, then, holding it in the fabric, he opened the door as slowly as he could and tossed it under the wardrobe, all the way to the back of the wall.
It was no good. If he stayed here, she’d find him in the morning. He had to get out. He needed to get out . . .
She felt him against her – hard, urgent, forcing her legs apart still wider. Dina groaned with pleasure; she felt dizzy, almost unable to hold herself back. She was gasping every time he touched her, no matter how light, how soft . . .
Gaines pulled back. Dina felt the air on her skin, the rush of it where his body had been.
‘What?’ she whimpered, and not with desire. ‘What is it?’
He sprang back from her, naked, crouching. His body was incredible – strong, knotted with muscles. Even in her dismay, Dina was stunned by it.
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