Intoxication

by L. S. Slayford

  But no curse was going to stop him from sealing a multibillion dollar venture.

  There was nothing in the world that could stop him from making money. It was all he lived for. Each project closed caused satisfaction to flow through him like a cool breeze on a summer’s day. From researching various companies, to unravelling the secrets of their CEOS, their portfolios, to setting up meetings, it was a rush. Of course, the greatest rush was when everyone’s signatures had been signed and the money was in the bank. So to speak.

  Yes, there was nothing quite like it. Not even the most beautiful women in his arms – or between his sheets, for that matter – could rival the rush that flowed through his veins when all that money was firmly his.

  It may have sounded cold, heartless, maybe even ruthless, but what did it matter? It wasn’t as though he had anyone for him to be a mentor to, to provide a good standing for. No wife, no kids, parents and grandparents’ dead. No, all he had was himself to look out for.

  Well, almost.

  Shaking his head as though to cast away the flashes of the past before they could even take hold, Cong reached down for his luggage. Damn, he hated travelling when it was busy. Everyone wanted to talk about nonsense, or they kept bothering you for stuff. Even in first-class everyone wanted to chatter. Surely first-class was there so you didn’t have to deal with the hassle of talking to perfect strangers.

  Just as he was turning to go, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Stepping to the side so he was out of the way of a middle-aged woman reaching for her bags, Cong set his down and withdrew the device. “Yes?” he asked, the tinge of tiredness evident in his voice, even to his ears.

  “Hey, boss,” came a raspy voice down the line. “You off the plane yet?”

  Rubbing a hand over his weary eyes, Cong nodded. “Yeah, not long got off. Just grabbing my bags then heading home. Did you get the fax I had Angela send over?”

  “Yes, got it. I didn’t like the looks of it though.”

  “Oh. Why not?”

  “The lawyer for the Japanese company is one smart cookie. Put a lot of details into the contracts he thought we’d overlook.”

  “But you’re smarter, Zhihuan,” Cong replied, the corner of his mouth turning upwards.

  A chuckle flowed into his ear. “Damn straight I am. That’s why I work for you. No one can beat you in the boardroom, and no one can beat me when it comes to contracts.”

  “What little surprises were they attempting to throw at us then?” Cong asked, knowing that the Japanese firm would try their best to relinquish all their assets to him. They could attempt it, but they wouldn’t succeed.

  Zhihuan snorted in disgust. “You wouldn’t believe the crap they tried to include. I could barely control my laughter when I read it.”

  “Well, we expected that they would try a few things. It’s a multibillion dollar business; they don’t want to give up too quickly.”

  “They’re going to have to. Fujimara Industries are heading down shit creek without a paddle as my wife says.” Although Zhihuan had almost as much love for money as he did, Cong couldn’t help but smile at the man’s love for his wife etched into his tone. For the last eighteen years, Zhihuan had been his lawyer. Over the years, both had enjoyed an endless string of affairs with women – some for a few months, others for a single night – but six months ago, the lawyer had finally allowed a woman to drag him up the altar. Melissa was smart, gorgeous, and took a no-nonsense attitude with her man. Born and raised in Beijing to American parents, she knew what she wanted and ensured she got it. Poor Zhihuan, he never stood a chance, Cong laughed to himself.

  Not that he would ever allow himself to succumb to that. Oh, hell no. He wasn’t falling for that. Love was acceptable for others, for books, for movies and songs, but in real life? No way. I’d rather be single, thank you very much, he thought. Falling in love was not on his schedule. Love was a distraction. Sure, women were essential once in a while – a relief from a constant ache in his groin – but one woman, on a full-time basis? Nuh huh.

  Over the years, and especially since he started making a name for himself, Cong had enjoyed the company of countless women. Chinese, Korean, Japanese, American, Canadian, Australian, Indian, African, all beautiful, sexy, with grace and poise. Actresses, models, singers, the wives or daughters of his business rivals. Yeah, he had them all. In spite of how gorgeous they all were, or how skilled in bed, none of them could tempt him to deal with them for longer than a month or two. He couldn’t afford to deal with them for longer than that. He just didn’t have it in him. So it was flowers, chocolates, an expensive piece of jewellery, and a ‘thank you for all our time together but business calls and all that,’ and it was back to work.

  Mind you, I could give up a night of work for that red-head. The thought popped up in his head without warning. Those curves under the red top were there, and he hadn’t seen a ring on her finger. Not that a wedding band would stop him. If women were happy with their husbands, then they wouldn’t cheat. But those green eyes of hers sparkled in a way he had never seen before. It was as though two rings of creamy jade had been positioned on her face, and her lips were full and perfect for his own mouth to sample. By the gods, what was happening to him? She was gone, and he didn’t get her name, so it wasn’t as though he had any means of pursuing her. When was the last time he got laid? Maybe that’s all he needed.

  “Cong? Cong? You there?”

  Shaking his head once more, Cong realised Zhihuan was waiting for an answer.

  “Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, it’s been a hell of a few days. What were you saying?”

  A sigh flowed down the line. “I think we’d better go over these reports and contracts and you can tell me what you want to do. If they’re going to play with the big boys, let’s show them who they’re dealing with.” Satisfaction and arrogance coated Zhihuan’s words.

  “Fine,” Cong replied. “Be at my place in an hour. Let’s get this sorted. I’ve got a ton of stuff to get done this week. The quicker we sort the Japanese project out, the better.”

  “Damn. Melissa had plans for tonight,” Zhihuan said, hesitation now replacing the earlier satisfaction.

  The man really didn’t like pissing his wife off. “The quicker you get there, the quicker we can get this done, and you can get back to your wife. At least I know who rules your house,” Cong teased.

  Laughter sang in Cong’s ears. “I keep telling her that I’m the head of the house, but all she says is that she’s the neck and will turn me any way she damn well wants.”

  Cong chuckled. Melissa was a petite brunette, standing only five-foot-tall, but she could take a grown man down with only a few words and a ladle. “I believe her. See you in an hour.”

  “One hour,” Zhihuan repeated before hanging up.

  Releasing another long sigh, Cong slipped his phone back into his pocket but made no effort to pick up his luggage. Instead, he remained where he stood, watching the crowd, something he didn’t usually do. Light streamed through the many windows that lined the building, and despite the air-conditioning that blasted chilly air throughout the terminal, he could already feel the heat from outside. It had been surprisingly cooler in Tokyo for that time of year, and Cong longed for the same temperature there. Hundreds of people flowed around him, some clutching their bags tightly as they hurried through customs and towards the exit, while others languished, taking their time. Endless voices in various languages flowed throughout – Cantonese, Mandarin, Japanese, English – the din was constant, yet strangely comforting.

  Every few weeks Cong found himself traipsing through the terminal, off to some city somewhere to close a deal. Never had he been this tired on arrival though.

  The sounds of luggage dropping beside him shook him out of his reverie. A young Asian girl stood close to him wearing a yellow sundress, and rubbing her wrist. Sweeping her long black hair out of her face, the girl looked resolved as she reached down for her bag. For a second, Cong held his breath as he watched her
pick up the suitcase and walk away, straining with the height of the bag. She held his attention while his brain struggled. It’s not her, Cong repeated in his head, almost like a mantra. There were striking similarities, but the girl wasn’t her.

  Eyes closing, the image of a young girl sprang before his eyes. At first, all he could see was a yellow dress, and long black hair fluttering in the breeze. Then a face came into view. Dark hooded eyes peeked out behind tendrils of jet-black tresses, then a rounded nose, and finally, a sweet smile. The blue sky behind her was clear, the mist melted away by the morning sun. Suddenly, she was gone, running away from him, towards the bank of the river, the water deafening in his ears.

  “No,” Cong muttered, the word a harsh growl to his ears. Opening his eyes and clenching his jaws tight, he reached down and picked up his luggage. The sensation of leather in his grasp was comforting. This was real. This was real. Images were not real.

  He strode towards the exit where he knew his limo would be waiting. It was time to go home. Grab a shower, get something to eat, maybe call up Ling. Her husband was out of town for another week, and she was always up for a secret liaison or two. God knows, the fat bastard she was married to had enough women on the go, the poor girl needed her own sexual outlet. Yeah, that wasn’t such a terrible plan. Get his bodily needs seen to, and then he’d be able to concentrate on wrapping up this project.

  After all, that was what mattered the most. Not a gorgeous redheaded woman he’d caught in his arms, or an image in his mind. The deal was all that he needed right now.

  Nothing else.

  Tara

  There were a lot of things in life worth waiting for – ice cream at midnight while watching a scary movie, a sunrise after waiting up all night – but a long hot shower after a twelve-hour flight beat everything hands down. As soon as the water cascaded down her back, Tara moaned with pleasure.

  Remind me why you had to choose a long-haul flight for your first time away? moaned the voice in her head. Ignoring it, Tara concentrated on the sensation of hot water sliding over her skin. Raising her head towards the shower head, Tara allowed the water to pour over her face. Inhaling the steam, Tara relished as the droplets soaked her hair and trickled down. For a few minutes, the sensation calmed her, images of home fading under the lull of the water. Her mind swirled, and it was as though she stood under a waterfall that went on forever.

  After what seemed like an eternity, and washing her hair, Tara reluctantly turned the shower off. Reaching for the towel, she quickly dried it as best as she could, and wrapped the scratchy material around her body, before walking into the main room.

  Sunlight streamed in through the sheer white curtains that hung over the sliding doors. A balcony with a small table and two chairs provided beautiful views over the city. A large king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room, while a desk was positioned along the far wall. Opposite the bed were a chest of drawers, a mini bar, and television. Tara briefly considered switching it on but discarded the thought. Faint noises wafted the open doors from below, but for the most part, the atmosphere was one of quietness and peace. Just what she needed.

  Glancing at the nightstand, Tara spied the phone. I should let mum know that I’ve arrived safely, she thought. Picking up the phone, and ensuring she dialled the right code for international calls, Tara waited for her mother to pick up.

  “Hello?” came a voice after a few minutes.

  Tara’s breath caught in the back of her throat as she realised the voice didn’t belong to her mother. “Aunt Clare?” she finally croaked out. “Is that you?”

  “Oh, Tara, it’s you,” the other woman replied cheerfully. “Sorry, wasn’t expecting it to be you.”

  “Who were you expecting to call here at this time of day?”

  Tara heard the sharp intake of breath and hesitation on the other end of the line. “No one, not really. How’s China? Had any dim sum yet?”

  “No, I’ve not long got into my hotel, but I’ll be heading out to explore soon. Is mum around?”

  “Sure, hold on. Your mum is just making tea.”

  Tara heard the thudding sound of the receiver being placed on the side, followed by her aunt’s calls for her sister. Why on earth did she have to pick up the damn phone? Suddenly, all her defences she had erected around her were just paper, paper already soaked by the tears forming behind her eyes. Why did she have to have another reminder of Carly? She had come to Macau to get away from everything her vile cousin put her through. Tara’s emotions turned jagged, and her insides tightened as she forced herself to breathe slowly.

  “Tara? Is that you?” her mother’s voice resounded in her ear.

  “No, it’s the Pope,” Tara muttered drily.

  “Don’t be sarcastic at this time of the morning,” her mother scolded, her voice sharp. “It’s far too early for me. Heavens, I haven’t even had my tea yet. I’ve been so rushed off my feet!”

  “Why are you so rushed today?”

  “Oh, Clare and I are off to do some shopping!”

  As a rule, her mother wasn’t a big fan of shopping unless there was a special event, so something was up. “What’s going on?” she asked, suspicion coating each word.

  A moment’s silence stretched into eternity, or at least it seemed so to Tara. The sharp intake of breath down the phone informed her that her mother was hiding something she didn’t want to tell. “Tara, look, there’s something I need to tell you. It’s … well … Carly is meeting us here in a few minutes. Clare thought you were her, calling to tell us she was running late, but no, it was you instead.”

  “Mother, you’re rambling, and I can’t believe you’re talking to her after what she did to me!”

  “Tara, calm down and listen,” her mother replied, her voice going low and soft, as though trying to calm an upset child. “I know you don’t like your cousin very much at this time -”

  “Like her very much? Mother, she’s been sleeping with Greg for the last six months. In my bloody bed!”

  “Yes, I know, I know all that, but …”

  “But what, mother?” Tara demanded, her voiced ripping icicles.

  “Greg and Carly are getting married next week. Clare wants to get a new dress for the occasion. That’s why we’re going shopping.”

  Every muscle in Tara’s body stilled with her mother’s words. The world grew colder as every hair on her arms stood up as though reaching for the heavens. But there was no heaven here. Just hell. Tara expected to feel angry, hot with rage, but instead, she just felt numb. Her heart continued to beat – she could hear the faint pulse of it vibrating within her ears – but it was against a chest that felt hollow. Her eyes could still see the room around her, but the world around her seemed a million miles away. Her mind shut down, refusing to think anymore.

  How could they do that to me? Tara lamented as the first hot tear spilt out of the corner of her eye and trailed down her cheek. The pain started to push through the numbness. She’d only found them in her bed a week ago, and now they were getting married next week? How could her mother go dress shopping for the woman who had been screwing her own cousin’s boyfriend for the last six months?

  “Tara? Tara? Are you there?”

  The repetition of her name snapped Tara out of her reverie. “I’m here. It’s not as though I’m going out dress shopping for an adulterous whore,” she spat bitterly.

  “Tara Marie Benson, don’t use that language with me,” came her mother’s sharp reply before she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Listen, it’s not my idea of a good time. I’m just doing this for Clare. She’s happy that her daughter is finally getting married.”

  “Yeah, to a man that I was dating for the last five years, or has she forgotten that?”

  “I know, I know. But you know your aunt’s view about women getting married before they turn thirty. Heaven knows how she managed to survive the seventies is beyond me, but there you go.”

  “There you go,” Tara repeated, bitterness layering th
e words as she spat them out.

  “Tara, for heaven’s sake, it’s over and done with. He was a jerk, and you found out about the affair. Now get on with your life. There’s no sense in wallowing in the past.”

  “I’m not wallowing,” Tara said, although the whine in her voice suggested otherwise. “I just can’t get how you, as my mother, are going dress shopping for a wedding between my ex and my cousin who he was sleeping with behind my back. And you’re shopping with the skank herself! Where’s the loyalty to me, your daughter?”

  A sigh flowed through the line. “Tara, I am not having this conversation with you while you’re acting like this. She’s my family, too. It’s time to get over it. Life goes on.”

  “And so do your excuses,” Tara responded in a cold voice. “I’m going. I don’t want to listen to any more of this. Goodbye, mother.”

  “Goodbye, Tara. Enjoy your holiday.” Her mother’s voice was flat, as though she couldn’t be bothered with the conversation any longer.

  “Trust me, I will. It’s not as though I have a wedding to go to where everyone cheats and lies.” Without wanting to hear anything else that came out of her mother’s mouth, Tara slammed the phone down. Yes, it was childish, but Tara didn’t care.

  Except, if she were truly honest with herself, she did.

  What the hell was going on? It was only a week ago that she found them in bed together, and now they were getting married? How could Aunt Clare and mum be so goddamn happy for them when Greg and Carly were screwing around behind her back? Tara lamented. Oh, but then again, it wasn’t their backs they were screwing behind. It wasn’t as though Greg and Carly were lying to them. What was wrong with her family? First, a cousin who was happy to have a long-term affair with her boyfriend, then an aunt and mother who was happy to go shopping for their marriage?

  Where was the damn loyalty, the outrage on her behalf? After all, she was the victim here, the one who got played.