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  “Thank you, sir. It sounds like we have a way to move forward,” he says, rising from his seat holding out a hand, first to Neil and then to me. “Three weeks. No more.”

  I have no idea how much of the conversation I missed, lost in thought. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Abdulla.”

  “And you, Scarlett. I will hopefully see you in Dubai soon.”

  “You may well,” I say, feigning confidence in my words.

  We watch Abdulla climb into the back of a limousine then a Savoy Butler whistles through his fingers for the next cab in line. “Actually, Neil, I’m going to stay here and work for an hour. I have another meeting not far away.”

  “Okay, well give some thought to Dubai and we can discuss it further once Abdulla has given me a more detailed scope of work. You know, Scarlett, it would be a good experience for you and great for you to get so close to a new client. It wouldn’t hurt your chances of partnership one day to build a relationship like that. And I don’t mean to speak out of turn but with what you’ve been through recently, losing your father, it might be a good time to take a break from London too. I’ll leave it with you for now. Think about it.”

  “I will,” I say, knowing too well that he’ll expect me to go.

  Once the car has pulled away from the hotel, I wander back into the bar and nurse a latte for fifty minutes, neither drinking the coffee nor doing any work until Apple’s standard ringtone chimes through my iPhone.

  “Sandy. I’ve been meaning to call.”

  “But you haven’t,” she snaps. “How are you? I’ve been worried sick.”

  I sigh. Sandy’s been more of a mother to me than my own mother ever was. She stayed for more than five years of my life, for a start, and when the going got tough, in my father’s worst days of Alzheimer’s, she stuck with us and nursed my father so I could keep my career, keep making him proud. Neither of them would be proud of me now, not if they knew what I’m capable of.

  “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to say.”

  “Girly, I ought to slap your backside. Your father would kill me for not looking after you properly.”

  I smile. “He really wouldn’t.”

  “No. He wouldn’t. But I ought to look after you better.”

  “How are things at Lara’s? Do you like the new job?” It’s still strange to me that Sandy now keeps house for Gregory’s mother.

  “Demanding. We’re still cleaning up after the party. Stop changing the subject. How are you? I mean really, not what you’re feeding other people. Tell me the truth.”

  “Shit.” The word leaves my mouth without any real intent or conviction.

  “Watch that potty mouth!”

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “So Jackson told you what happened, how it happened?” It’s also odd to me that Sandy is striking up a relationship with Jackson. And terrifying that, on some level, Gregory’s dark web has caught her too.

  “Yes, he told me.”

  I hold my breath and nervously wait for seconds that feel like an eternity. “Say something, Sandy, please.”

  An enormous exhale comes down the line. “Genesis 9:6. Whoever sheds man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed.”

  I’ve no idea whether that’s acceptance or confirmation that I’m damned but that’s not what’s playing on my mind. “Sandy, please don’t hate Gregory. I can stand other people having an opinion of him but not you.”

  “Sweets, hate Gregory? I’m saying in his shoes, in the circumstances, knowing everything he knew about his father, what he did, who he was, I can only hope I’d have the strength to do what he did.”

  Relief overwhelms me and fills my eyes with tears I can’t hold back. I dip my head, aware of my surroundings, and rub my eyes with the back of my hand, conscious that I don’t want to smudge black into my cheeks. “Thank you,” I sniff.

  “Scarlett, please don’t cry. I want to give you a big fat Sandy snuggle.”

  Sniffing a laugh, I try to compose myself, feeling like everyone in the bar is watching me unravel over my now cold cup of coffee. Christ, I never used to cry.

  “I’ve been asked to go to Dubai with work,” I blurt, desperate to change the subject and my melancholy thoughts but actually introducing only my latest dilemma to the forefront of my mind.

  “Dubai? That’s near all those fighting countries isn’t it?”

  “Hmm, kind of, it’s not one of them. It’s for a big client and it could be a good opportunity but...I don’t know...I don’t think I can go.”

  “What do you mean, silly? When is it?”

  “I’d need to leave in December.”

  “For how long?”

  “Six months, maybe longer.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh. The timing couldn’t really be worse, what with, well, you know. And then there’s Dad and the house to sort out...and...oh, I don’t know.”

  “And you don’t want to leave Gregory?”

  I groan, frustrated and increasingly aware that the ache at the back of my head is turning into a throb. “Let’s not talk about it now. I’ve got to go, Sandy, but I’ll call you later in the week.”

  “Alright, sweets. You call me whenever you need to or want to and if you don’t want to in the next forty-eight hours you’d better call me just because.”

  I imagine her fake angry face and wagging finger, the same wagging finger she would shake at me when I was seven years old. “Okay. I love you.”

  “Love you too, sweets. Keep safe and tell that man of yours thank you from me. If anything had happened to you...”

  “It didn’t. I love you. Speak soon.”

  Chapter Six

  The lift doors open to the gold GJR Enterprises wall plaque. The usually quiet floor of Gregory’s office block feels occupied. Two men holding what look like camera accessories, both dressed in khaki combat trousers and black T-shirts, are hovering in the glass-lined corridor.

  “Mr. Ryans’s office is just this way.” I follow Sue, a new receptionist of Gregory’s. Her brown bob bounces as she toddles along the corridor in kitten heels.

  “Yes, I know, thank you,” I say with a smile. I prefer Sue to the usual leggy blondes who flaunt the halls of this floor and the lower floor of Eclectic Technologies, one of Gregory’s many companies housed in the tower he’s really too young to own. Quite why he needs different floors for each of his businesses is beyond me but that’s just one of many Gregory Ryans’s indulgences.

  “Oh, of course, you said you’ve been before,” she says on a nervous giggle, sliding her square-framed glasses back to the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, it’s my first day and my last job wasn’t half as corporate as this. I’ve been up and down to Mr. Ryans’s office all morning, helping out the staff from The Times, photographers, camera men. Gosh he makes me so...so...flustered, I’m not used to him yet. The other girls warned me but...” She shrugs and casually wafts a hand by her flushed cheeks.

  “The other girls warned you about what?”

  “Ha, well, you’ve seen him,” she says, her hair bouncing in all directions. “He’s so...so...hmm, I need to learn to cope with it, like the girls said. He’s my boss after all. He just looks so...so...oh my giddy, good Lord, I’m being very unprofessional. I won’t even last until day two at this rate.” She snaps her head around to face me and stands still on the spot, almost causing me to walk right into her. “You won’t tell him, will you?”

  If my head wasn’t banging like I’ve just fallen down a set of concrete steps and cracked my skull off each as I fell, I might be narked at Sue’s obvious crush on my Sexy Bazillionaire CEO. Instead, I feel sorry for her and the state of frenzy she’s worked herself into.

  “Tell him what?” I ask, attempting a reassuring smile.

  “Thank you. It’s this one,” she says,
gesturing to Gregory’s open office door.

  “Thank you, Sue.”

  Gregory’s been positioned at his desk, the foot of one leg crossed over the thigh of his other and his interlaced, manicured fingers held in front of him at his waist. Cameras, umbrellas and screens cast a purposeful soft light across his olive skin. My feet forget how to walk and I stand, gormlessly, gripping the sides of my ring binder files to make sure they don’t fall to the floor with my jaw. One day, I might get used to this perfect man enough to not be blown away by the sight of him but right now, blown away is exactly how I’m feeling.

  “Miss Heath, good afternoon.” The tall, leggy blonde I’m used to seeing behind the reception desk at Eclectic Technologies in her too-tight pencil skirts whispers a greeting. “You can take a seat on the sofa over there, Mr. Ryans is expecting you. They’ll be taking a break shortly.”

  “Thanks.” I tiptoe to the leather sofa and place my files down on the glass table to the side as quietly as I can. I undo my coat and rest it over the back of the sofa then take a seat and watch as Gregory replies to another question from a man whom I assume is a reporter for The Times Magazine.

  As if he feels my eyes burning into him, he shifts a little in his chair and finds me. His straight lips turn ever so slightly up, then he winks in a way that’s most unlike the CEO Gregory. Despite myself and despite my usual ability to remain at least outwardly professional, I beam back at him, quickly biting my lip in an attempt to rein in my obvious delight. Too late. Every pair of eyes in the room just landed on me. Shaking my head quickly, I watch my fingers twisting nervously in my lap.

  “So, Gregory, the youngest technology billionaire in the United Kingdom. To what do you owe your success?”

  Gregory straightens the arms of his blazer, pulling the cuffs of his shirt just slightly in front of the hem of his jacket.

  “Many things, Mr. Lewis. Hard work, ambition but more than anything, in such a fast-paced sector, it’s important to make your market your life. I live and breathe technology markets around the globe. I know what exists, what doesn’t exist and what ought to exist. I understand what businesses and consumers need.”

  God, I’ve missed him. My watch tells me it’s half past three. Eight hours I’ve been away from him and I’m desperate to run to him and fold myself onto his lap. This can’t be normal. There’s no way I could stand to be away from him for six months. Christ, when did this happen to me? When did I become reliant on a man? For years I’ve thought of nothing but work and my father and now one man has derailed everything I know in a matter of weeks. My father. I lean forward on my forearms and drop my head into my hands, massaging my temples with my index fingers as images haunt me. My father, pushed down the stairs, frail, bandaged and strapped to machines, fighting for his life from a hospital bed. Alone when Kevin Pearson came back to finish what he started and pull the plug. The image of Gregory as a boy, sobbing as he watched his mother being battered half to death. Gregory just two nights ago, struggling beneath the chain wrapped around his neck.

  Eight hours, six months in Dubai. Either would be nothing compared to Gregory serving a life sentence. Abdulla wants a decision in three weeks. In less time than that the CPS will make an even bigger decision.

  “Are you unwell?” Gregory is on his hunkers in front of me, gently prising my hands away from my temples.

  Oh God. Every person in the room watches as I stare at my beautiful CEO. The curt manner he reserves for work is gone and it’s just Gregory, my Gregory, his face drenched in concern. I feel my eyes begin to glaze and I’ve no idea whether it’s the thought of being away from him, the throb in the back of my head or the strings being pulled taut in my abdomen that make me feel like I could cry.

  “I’m fine,” I whisper. “I just have a headache.”

  He silently questions me, his focus falling to my lips. Knowing I can’t, won’t, kiss my client in a room full of cameras and a reporter, I pinch my eyes shut and when I open them, his expression is replaced with professionalism.

  “Francesca, please get Miss Heath some painkillers and a glass of water.” The leggy blonde snaps into action but Gregory remains focussed on me. “Would you like to postpone our meeting?”

  “No. I’m fine. Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

  “Let’s see if I can make you feel better tonight.” He whispers so only I can hear, then stands, straightens his jacket and fastens one button in the middle as he walks back to his desk. “Perhaps we could start to draw to a close, Mr. Lewis,” he says, taking a seat and returning to his cross-legged position.

  “Well, I was about to move on to your status as one of the world’s most eligible bachelors but—”

  “I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mr. Lewis. This is an article about business. My personal life isn’t the concern of the readership.”

  “Err, erm, right. No, of course not.”

  “Do you have another question, Mr. Lewis, or are we done here?”

  His tone is so abrupt I actually feel for Mr. Lewis. The rare flash of relaxed Gregory is replaced with the brusque white-collar mogul.

  My headache wanes under the influence of paracetamol, not in the least bit aided by the flashing bulbs of cameras as Gregory is set in poses at his desk and in the window.

  “Can we try that with a smile?” a cameraman asks.

  Gregory cocks his head to one side and arches a brow.

  “I’ll take that as a no, then.”

  “Do so,” Gregory says, brushing one side of his blazer which I’m almost certain is purely for effect.

  Another series of flashes illuminates the room before Gregory announces, “We’re done. Help yourselves to food and drinks, gentlemen. I’m afraid I have another meeting.”

  * * *

  “How did your meeting about handling PR go with Sydney this morning?” I ask when we’re tucked in the sanctity of one of the meeting rooms.

  Gregory crouches down in front of my oversized leather chair, turning me away from the large glass table to face him. He runs his fingers down the side of my cheek then drops his forehead onto mine.

  “Kiss me,” I whisper.

  He presses his lips to mine and I hum, breathing him in. He nips my bottom lip between his teeth and slowly opens his hooded eyes.

  “I’ve been desperate to do that since I left you this morning.”

  “Why didn’t you say you aren’t a bachelor?” The words leave my mouth before my brain has even processed them.

  Gregory pulls his head back, his face still level with mine. “Like I said, it’s not their business.”

  “But...do you...”

  “Do I consider myself a bachelor?”

  I shrug, suddenly feeling like a silly little girl.

  “No.” His tone is matter of fact but I’ll take it. I try not to smile but I’m not convinced my attempt is successful. “Now, shall we get on with this meeting? I was told this morning in no uncertain terms that we absolutely must discuss Shangzen Tek.” He steps back against the table and folds his arms across his chest as he presses those perfectly pert arse cheeks onto the edge. He really does make it incredibly difficult for me to be professional.

  Clearing my throat, I take a notebook from the front of my document folder, keeping my eyes down to lessen the distraction. “You mentioned a new company.”

  “Yes. I’d like to structure the joint venture through a new subsidiary of GJR Enterprises.”

  “Have you already agreed the approach with Mr. Cheung?”

  “I wanted to discuss the feasibility with you first. I want to fully understand the tax implications and how the ownership of the products we develop would work. If this idea comes off, it could provide the software necessary to significantly increase the flight speed of a drone, something that could be very valuable to businesses looking to use drones com
mercially.”

  We’re both fully in professional mode. He moves to take a seat on the opposite side of the table from me.

  “I assume you’re aware that there’re fairly tight limitations on the use of commercial drones?” I ask.

  “Yes but there are parts of Europe trialling their usage and by the time we’ve developed the software, I’m expecting those trials to have concluded and usage restrictions to have lifted or at least reduced. In fact, my thoughts are that the software would probably be seen as more desirable once companies have had an opportunity to explore some of the... development areas, shall we say, of the drone.”

  I nod, making notes. “And you understand things are a little trickier in other jurisdictions? The US is particularly unfavourable as things stand.”

  “Yes. We’re also looking into how we could make the drone safer and more visible. Or at least the new company will. There are always hurdles to surmount where something is innovative.”

  “Okay. Well I can come up with a briefing paper for you, specifically covering tax and intellectual property. If you think of any other areas you’d like me to explore in more detail let me know, otherwise I’ll give an overview of the pertinent points.”

  “Excellent.”

  “When do you need it?”

  “Tomorrow would be ideal. Wednesday morning at the latest.”

  Picking my head up from my notepad, I try to remind myself he’s a client but I can’t help my eyes from rolling. Does he really think I have no other work to do besides his?

  “I’m not trying to be difficult,” he says, reading my mind. “I’m flying out to Hong Kong early Wednesday morning to discuss the deal with Shangzen. I’d like to have had the opportunity to digest the paper before my meeting with Mr. Cheung and his board.”

  Oh! “I didn’t realise you were planning to go away.” I could slap myself for sounding so unbelievably needy.

  “Scarlett, you know I work away a lot. I thought you understood that?”