The Billionaire's Little Secret

by Carmen Quick

  Kieron studied me long and hard for a while. I felt his eyes boring deep into me. ‘Ah,’ he said at last, ‘a nihilistic escapist. I can see why you’ve joined advertising sales. Welcome aboard. You’re one of us, now.’ He grinned again, and I felt embarrassed I’d let my guard down like that, but pleased by his reaction.

  ‘What do you say?’ asked Kieron, picking up his drink. ‘One more for the road?’

  I looked at my empty glass, and shook my head. ‘I’d better not,’ I said. ‘I’m going to be sensible. Big day tomorrow.’

  ‘Fair enough. I’ve already had double my weekly allowance this last couple of days, anyway.’

  Did I detect a hint of disappointment in Kieron’s voice?

  ‘Alright,’ I said, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll walk you to the station,’ Kieron said.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I replied. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. When I get back from Global.’

  I picked up my bags, and walked away from the table, leaving Kieron finishing his drink. I wasn’t sure why I’d just walked away so suddenly like that. I think it was because I sensed something.

  Kieron was about to make a move on me. I’m sure of it.

  And I just don’t know if I was ready for that.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Going Global

  The Global Media building was on the other side of New York – the good side – in Midtown Manhattan. It was one of many skyscrapers, so tall that if you looked right up at the top of them from the sidewalk you felt dizzy. The Global skyscraper was particularly special. It stood out from all the other skyscrapers, even the iconic landmarks such as The Chrysler Building and the Empire State. The Global building was based on the idea of Chinese boxes. I remembered reading about it in the papers a couple of years ago, when it was unveiled. Chinese boxes come in sets, graduating in size, each box fitting inside a next, larger box. They’re a bit like Russian dolls. Imagine a set of seven Chinese boxes, stacked on top of one another, towering into the sky, and you’ll get an idea of the shape of the building.

  But it was more than just the shape that made it special. Within each stacked box, the façade was made up of two layers. The space between the two layers was used for lush landscaping. Bonsai trees and bamboo could be seen growing behind the huge, crystal-clear panes of glass, along with Japanese cherries and wisteria. In effect, the outer layer of the building was one giant glasshouse, containing the most exotic plants I’d ever seen, in greens and pinks, yellows and indigos.

  And it was a clever technique. The building was so startling to look at that you forgot you were looking at the home of a major news corporation. You couldn’t see the tired journalists pulling all-nighters. The covert interviewees selling their life’s secrets. You just saw a hub of lush, eastern promise. Even the Global Media logo had been given an oriental makeover since Sheldon Forsythe had become CEO of the company. This man had revolutionized everything.

  I crossed the road, heading up to the building, pulling at the hem of my green dress. It felt oddly frumpy in the face of such opulence. I was dreading whatever this morning’s meeting was about to bring. I honestly had no idea what anyone at Global Media could want with me, a newbie at advertising at The Chronicle, with just three week’s experience and a bog-standard English Language Degree behind me. I’d been wracking my brains about it all of last night, after I left Kieron at the bar, and all of this morning on the way here. I could only conclude that I was probably in trouble for something. Or being maybe Christina was right. I was being asked to give away some company secrets. They’d seen a weakness in me at the awards, tears rolling down my cheeks, and they’d thought: she’ll do it. She’ll sell her own people out. She’s got nothing to lose.

  I walked into the sliding doors, impressed by the sudden scent of greenery. It was like stepping into a Botanical garden, not a workplace. It made me feel a little calmer. I could smell the flowers on the trees, too. It was spring, and the cherry blossom was out in here. Beautiful.

  I stepped forwards, towards reception.

  Behind a large, polished mahogany desk, sat a perfectly made-up and manicured woman, bearing a name tag inscribed with Judy. Her hair was scraped back into a bun, showing off her razor-sharp cheekbones, and her lips were painted a bright, glossy red. ‘Yes?’ she asked, kind of moodily.

  ‘H-hello,’ I stammered. ‘I work at The Chronicle–’

  Judy stopped looking at her nails and looked up at me, paying me attention now, flashing me a wide smile. ‘You must be Lilly Smith,’ she said.

  ‘That’s right,’ I said, amazed.

  ‘No need to look so shocked,’ she laughed. ‘I’ve been told we’re expecting you. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Champagne?’

  Champagne! At nine in the morning?

  ‘No, I’m okay thanks,’ I said, marveling at the difference between this place and my own workplace. I felt like I was getting movie star treatment!

  ‘Here, let me take your jacket,’ Judy said, stepping out from behind her desk, revealing her long legs, encased in immaculate, sheer, (five? ten?) denier pantyhose, and high heels.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, handing over the beige and pink blazer I’d worn every spring for the last three years. The green dress had capped sleeves, revealing a lot of my upper arm, and I felt suddenly naked beside this well-dressed woman. I should’ve bought myself a shirt and pants at the mall yesterday. At least that way I’d have been covered up.

  ‘You can go straight up,’ Judy said. ‘Top floor. Room one.’

  Top floor? Room one?

  ‘The elevator is over there,’ she said. ‘Just press number seven, for the seventh floor.’

  I thanked her and got into the elevator. Even the elevator in this place was spectacular. It was made of transparent glass, taking me right up through the core of the building. I could see what was happening on every level. The first floor contained a maze of desks, and workers separated by small partitions. Some were scurrying around, rushing clipboards of information from one area of the building to another. Others were sitting at their desk, eyes glued to their screens, typing away at what had to be speeds of over a hundred words per minute. On the third and fourth floor there were closed off rooms, with doors and windows – private interview spaces, no doubt, and meeting rooms. The fifth floor looked like a conference space: a red-headed woman with glasses was pointing to a huge electronic display board behind her, containing a graph with a steeply rising line going across it. The woman looked pleased. She was nodding a lot, and there were people in the room sitting with their hands raised, and a row of photographers kneeling at the back, taking pictures.

  The sixth floor looked by far the most executive. It contained large leather sofas, impressive drinks cabinets, and a group of (mainly) men, sitting and discussing something with serious expressions and a drink in their hands.

  Finally, the elevator reached the seventh floor, and I was faced with just one door in front of me. This room, the only room on this floor, curved all around me, like a doughnut. It had no windows, so I couldn’t see in. All I could see was the number one, on the door, in large gold type.

  So this was it. Whatever was about to happen to me, was about to happen right now.

  I smoothed down my dress, stepped forward, and knocked.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Unmistakeable Eyes

  I heard footsteps approaching the door, then the sound of a key turning in the lock.

  ‘Come in,’ said a deep voice.

  I looked up for the source of it. I felt like I was looking up to the top of another skyscraper, this man was so tall. Finally, I got the the shoulders, the neck, the chin, the lips… the eyes. Those eyes. One blue, one green. They were the unmistakeable eyes of Sheldon Forsythe.

  ‘Lilly,’ he said, waking me out of my reverie. ‘This way.’

  He locked the door behind me, then led me into the room, an enormous cube, with just a small circle in the center, where I had got out of
the elevator. In every direction, around me, I could see the botanical plants in the glasshouse between us and the outside world. They were beautiful, at just the right height so that they did not so block out the sun, meaning the building was still bright and airy. Beyond the foliage, I could see snatches of blue sky, a swirl of cloud, the clean edge of the nearest skyscraper. It was magnificent.

  ‘Take a seat here,’ he said, pointing to a small, black stool containing a Chinese design. It had a thick lacquer finish, with detailed engravings underneath. I couldn’t tell what the engravings were at a glance. I thought I saw etchings of a man and a woman, but I sat down before I’d figured it out.

  The stool was lower than a chair, and Mr. Forsythe remained standing up, towering over me. ‘Do you know why you are here, Lilly?’ he asked. My stomach got butterflies at the sound of his voice. It was like the lowest strings on a double-class, being plucked with each word he spoke, the vibrations traveling deep inside me.

  I shook my head. ‘No, sir,’ I said.

  Sir?

  Mr. Forsythe paused, looking down at me for a moment, and then smiled. ‘Let me get you a drink and explain,’ he said. ‘Green tea?’

  I nodded, not really sure what green tea tasted like. He walked over to a large desk and pressed a button on the intercom system. ‘Two green teas, Nisha,’ he said.

  I wondered if Nisha looked like Judy. Another perfectly-dressed catwalk-model-esque employee. Someone else to make me feel dowdier still in my cheap, starchy outfit. I dreaded to think what Sheldon Forsythe thought of me.

  ‘I saw you onstage at the awards ceremony,’ he began, beginning to pace up and down the room, his shoulders back and hands calmly at his sides, as if his walking up and down the room was some kind of posture exercise. I remembered taking an ‘etiquette’ class once, when I was a lot younger, and doing a similar activity while trying to balance a book on my head. I stubbed my toe, if I recall correctly.

  ‘I saw the way your colleague, Jen, treated you,’ he continued. ‘And I saw the startling effect it had upon you.’ He stopped pacing now, and turned to face me. The way he’d said the word ‘effect’ sent a chill down my spine. ‘There are many things about business I like, Lilly,’ he said, gesturing at his lavish office, his own slice of the sky, the exotic glasshouse behind him. And then his expression changed, mouth downturned, eyebrows furrowed, as if tasting something sour and unpleasant. ‘And there are some things I do not like.’

  I felt my knees begin to tingle. At first it was just the faintest twitch, and then, suddenly, they were full-on trembling, awaiting the confrontation that I felt might be about to come. The tingle was all too familiar. It was my body, my bladder, letting me know that if I wasn’t careful, if I didn’t concentrate fully, I was going to lose control, right here and now, in front of this man. I pressed my legs together to try and control the spasms. I didn’t want Mr. Forsythe seeing me freaking out like this. A man in his position, seeing someone turn to jelly and relieving themselves in his presence… it would surely disgust him.

  Be strong to get along, I told myself, trying to conjure up the spirit of my father’s beloved catchphrase.

  ‘One thing I particularly do not like,’ he told me, ‘is bullies.’

  Bullies?

  ‘There’s a difference between being strong and being a bully. A big difference. And that night, at the awards, Jen was a bully. What she did to you, what she made happen, was bullying.’

  I found myself getting the urge to stick up for Jen in her absence, to tell Mr. Forsythe that she was just drunk, that she’d taken the day off work yesterday, probably out of shame for what she did. But instead I sat in silence, pressing my legs together, trembling.

  ‘So I’ve had her fired,’ said Mr. Forsythe.

  ‘Fired?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to Christina, your boss, made it clear that we don’t need people like that working for the newspapers in our city. People like that give the media a bad name.’

  I felt a rush of excitement, that Mr. Forsythe had the power to fire people - even people that worked outside of his own company. But that excitement was also tempered by guilt. Jen had lost her job because of me…

  ‘That’s not why I called you here, though,’ he said, at the same moment there was a knock at the door. ‘The reason you’re here is much, much more important.’

  Sheldon Forsythe summoned in his assistant, and Nisha entered, carrying a silver tray containing a pot of steeping tea and two china cups. She placed the tray on an elegant coffee table nearby, and then straightened herself. I suddenly thought that taking more liquid into me right now would make my bladder even harder to control, even more uncomfortable. ‘I’ll get your chair, Mr. Forsythe,’ she said. Although she was polite, there was something moody about her. She scowled as she pushed a plush, red leather chair, across the carpet. It had the look of a dentist’s chair, with a back portion that lowered, and a front portion that raised, so I imagined, if Sheldon Forsythe so desired, he could lie perfectly horizontal on that chair.

  Nisha left it upright though, and pushed it into the center of the room with apparent ease. I was relieved to see that Nisha wasn’t another six foot tall, leggy blonde, and that Mr. Forsythe did in fact employ a range of body types. Nisha was plump, with short, brown curls, big breasts, and wide hips. She was wearing a tight cerise dress, which accentuated her curves, and I couldn’t help but notice Mr. Forsythe’s eyes flick briefly towards her ass as she walked away from us.

  ‘Will that be all, sir?’ asked Nisha, stopping at the door, still scowling.

  ‘That’s it, thank you, Nisha,’ Mr. Forsythe replied, and she left.

  He took a seat on the red leather chair, which was so high he still towered over me, and then he looked at the silver tray on the coffee table. ‘We’ll give that another couple of minutes to steep,’ he said, softly. ‘In the meantime, I can get to know you a little better.’

  He turned his full attention on me, his strikingly-colored eyes piercing me, as if they were penetrating my soul. ‘Tell me, Lilly,’ he said. ‘What do you want from life?’ His expression became more severe. ‘Tell me the truth.’

  My legs could no longer control themselves, and they began to shake, terribly, while I prepared myself to begin some nervous rambling. I was on the absolute edge of disaster, and I could feel it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Bone China

  I began to give my usual speech. The one I gave my parents when I returned home from university. The one about seeing the world, learning new things every day, building new connections with people and places. The same old stuff I’d been telling myself, and everyone else, that I wanted for the last decade. The stuff I felt so afraid of actually doing.

  Mr. Forsythe kept his eyes on me the whole time I spoke. The more he looked at me, the more nervous my rambling became. I could feel my cheeks getting redder too.

  ‘What do you really want, Lilly?’ he asked, interrupting me, firmly but with a certain warmth. ‘Don’t tell me what you think you’re meant to want. What do you really want from life?’

  I bit my lip, and looked around the opulent room I was sitting in, at the objet d’arts Mr. Forsythe had collected on his no doubt magnificent travels. What looked like a whole row of ceremonial drinking horns in a cabinet otherwise full of gleaming, golden trophies. Small, carved ivory figures on a plinth in one corner of the room. A small, but perfectly carved Ancient Greek style statue of a boy in the other corner. This was certainly nothing like Christina’s office. And not a speck of dust in sight.

  ‘What I really want from life,’ I began, aware that I was about to say something I’d never dared let myself speak before, ‘is peace.’

  Mr. Forsythe nodded, kind of bored-looking, as if I’d just told him I wanted ‘oxygen’ or ‘carbohydrates’.

  ‘No,’ I said, growing a little braver. ‘I’m not talking about world peace. I mean, of course that would be nice, but I’m not just giving the stock phrase Miss America might give at s
ome lame beauty pageant.’

  Mr. Forsythe raised his eyebrows, amused.

  ‘I’m talking about inner peace. I’d like the noise inside me to calm down, to settle; to be able to close my eyes and hear nothing but peace… I want to be able to sit in a silent room, and simply let the sensations wash over me. I want to be looked after.’

  Suddenly, Sheldon Forsythe was sitting up straight, watching me with intensity. It egged me on to go further.

  ‘I want every ounce of anxiety, nerves, the I-can’t-do-this inner monologue to drop away from me,’ I continued, ‘and to just be able to surrender…’

  Mr. Forsythe coughed, and then reached over to the teapot and poured us both a green tea. ‘Lilly,’ he said, handing me a china cup. It looked so dainty, almost translucent. It looked like real bone china too, which I knew was actually made of bone ash. It was also extremely strong, in spite of its appearance, and very difficult to chip.