Vengeful Love: Black Diamonds Page 9

  She totters out of my office in her nude, hip-granny kitten heels. Her peach A-line skirt swishes as she walks.

  I’m sifting through last night’s emails when a mass of bright white enters my peripheral vision. An absolutely gargantuan bouquet of flowers shields Margaret from my view, her head poking around one side to see where she’s headed.

  “These came for you not long ago.”

  She places them down on my desk with an expectant look on her face. Rising from my chair to appreciate the bouquet in its full glory, I take the small red envelope and slip out the card.

  I’m going to remind you every day

  how much I love you.

  Always.

  G x

  Beaming, I lean over the flowers and breathe in the mix of white roses, lilies, Queen Anne’s Lace, chrysanthemums and a heap of other beautiful white flowers I don’t recognise but which smell divine.

  “Looks like you had more than one reason to come home early,” Margaret says with a mischievous glint in her eye.

  I try not to confirm that she’s hit on the biggest reason I wanted to come home, but I’m pretty sure my face is a dead giveaway because she raises her shoulders on a sweet giggle and sings, “Young love.”

  Rolling my eyes playfully, I move my flowers to the window ledge. “We need to discuss my schedule, Margaret. I’m going to have a lot to juggle before I leave for St. Lucia. I still have work to do for Mr. Ghurair and Mr. Ryans has sent across a new deal for one of his companies, Constant Sources. Now, I’ll be taking my Blackberry and laptop so it’s not a complete shut down for two weeks but I will be trying to work as little as possible whilst I’m away.”

  “Yes, of course. Well, luckily you were never supposed to be in the UK so you don’t have any face-to-face meetings planned. You do have a couple of conference calls but they appear to be catch-ups more than anything so I’ve already looked at times to rearrange for when you return.”

  Margaret comes round to my side of the desk, standing over my shoulder and I open the Outlook calendar to my screen. “Who are they with?”

  “Hugo Delaney of DDI International a week today.”

  “Ah, yes, his father’s retiring and Hugo is replacing him on the board of DDI. That can wait, I just want to make sure he knows who I am.”

  “The other was Spencer Cromwell.”

  “MD of Charleston Beverages. Hmm, I would prefer not to rearrange that one actually, he won’t take too kindly. When is it supposed to be?”

  “Monday at twelve.”

  “GMT?”

  Margaret nods and moves my mouse to locate the appointment in my calendar.

  “Right, yes. Let’s keep that one. Could you double check whether I need a conference line and, if so, set it up for me to dial in from St. Lucia.”

  “Do you want visual?”

  “No. Call is fine.”

  “Of course. Mr. Ryans would like to schedule a negotiation meeting at his offices before you fly out. He’s asked for tonight or tomorrow morning.”

  “Hmm, I can’t do today, I have to draft a due diligence report for Mr. Ghurair’s final deal. Could you speak to his PA and arrange something for late afternoon or evening tomorrow?”

  “Yes, of course. Is there anything else?”

  “Not just now. Thanks, Margaret.”

  As Margaret exits, Amanda swoops into the room in a fitted electric blue dress, her red hair bouncing and thick, her skin truly glowing.

  “Look at you! You’re showing in that dress.”

  She rubs her dinky bump and her eyes fill with affection. “Well, I don’t have to hide my little princess anymore.”

  “Princess?”

  “Meh, today she’s a she.”

  I giggle as she flicks a hand flippantly through the air. “I take it you’ve told Neil then?”

  “Just. I figured he’s so pissed at you over coming back from Dubai and going on leave that he won’t care so much about me being pregnant.”

  “Well, what are friends for if you can’t use their grave to dance on, right?”

  “Exactly what I thought,” she says. “I am so excited for St. Lucia. My out of office reply is already turned on.”

  “For Thursday?”

  “No, silly. I have a half day today and I’m off tomorrow, too. Packing time. When are you finishing?”

  “Hmm, about five hours before the flight?”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Insane I may be but I’m trying to keep Neil and Mr. Ghurair happy and pick up a new deal for Gregory.”

  “How is the neurotic arsehole?”

  I cock my head to one side. “Amanda, could you not, please?”

  “Listen, I’m the one who had to see what he did to you. When you were together and when you were apart. I can drop neurotic if you like but he’s still an arsehole.”

  “Amanda, you don’t know what happened. Not everything.”

  “Yes, well, I know all I need to know. If he wants my trust, he can earn it.”

  There’s an unlikely happening.

  “Do you at least think the pair of you can be civil in St. Lucia? For my sake, and for Sandy and Jackson. It is their wedding, let’s not forget.”

  “I’ll behave if he does.”

  I roll my eyes as she turns on her velvet stilettos and leaves.

  Chapter Nine

  Amy has packed—God knows what she’s packed for me, but she has packed. Julia and Lucas have apparently made sure I have the complete holiday wardrobe and all travel arrangements are taken care of. I’ve sent the due diligence report to Mr. Ghurair and a list of additional enquiries to the other side, which means I should have bought myself a hassle-free week on that deal whilst they find the answers.

  I take the final swig of the lukewarm coffee on my desk and shutdown my computer.

  “Margaret, I’m heading to the negotiation meeting at GJR’s offices. Is my cab ready?”

  “It’s outside. Mr. Ryans arranged it. Should I set your out of office reply?”

  “Not yet, I’ll be back in the office late tonight to finalise the details of this negotiation before I fly out in the morning.”

  “Well, have a wonderful time, won’t you?”

  “I’ll do my best. Remember, if you need me—”

  “I know, I know, you have your Blackberry. I won’t be calling you unless I absolutely have to.”

  I smile. “Thanks, Margaret, you’re a star.”

  As I ride the lift to the ground floor I check my makeup, adjust my fitted black pencil dress at my thighs and pull my hair over one shoulder.

  “Hi Kenneth,” I say when I step into the street. Gregory hired Jackson’s standby security guys for a few days whilst Jackson is away. God forbid we should be forced to ride a cab or public transport.

  The cold strikes me even harder than usual after the heat of Dubai and I pull my coat closed at the chest. I cast my handbag and laptop case onto the backseat of the Mercedes and slip into the car, Kenneth closing the door behind me. He’s either started to get this or Gregory has had a word about procedure. Something tells me the latter is more likely.

  I flick through the information Jon, the trainee, managed to pull together for me on the game Gregory wants Constant Sources to acquire. I can’t personally see what all the fuss is about. In substance Black Diamonds looks like a million games I’ve seen before. A robber in jailhouse stripes runs across the bottom of the screen, occasionally jumping over traps set to catch him and avoiding the batons of red-faced raging policemen. Meanwhile, black diamonds fall from the sky when buildings miraculously get blown up. The robber has to catch the falling diamonds in a shopping trolley-type thing. Jon tells me it’s great but I translate that to mean he enjoyed playing on it all afternoon then ca
lling it research and billing his time to GJR.

  One thing that’s undeniable however, is that mind-numbing though it may seem to me, this game’s download figures are already showing big promise. The creator is a guy in his late teens, Stuart Culliton. He’s new on the scene but there are one or two articles online, marvelling at his age, questioning whether he could be the next Mark Zuckerberg. I’m interested to meet him.

  “Thanks, Kenneth.” I step onto the pavement outside my knight’s glass tower.

  I ride the lift to the highest floor for Gregory’s office. When the doors open, I’m confronted by a young, skinny man in dark-blue janitor trousers and a black polo. I recognise him from somewhere but I can’t place him. Moving out of the lift, I pass him, pausing to do a double take, my mind struggling to connect the dots.

  Then he beams at me. “Scarlett.”

  “Paul?” I’m used to seeing him sitting on the pavement outside my office block, pale and shaky, but now he has a little colour. His eyes have more life and his hair is clean. “What? How?”

  “I’ve been hoping for weeks that I’d see you again so I can say thank you.”

  “Thank me for what?”

  “Asking Mr. Ryans to give me a job.”

  “He... Gregory employed you?”

  He nods, his cheeks flush. “You didn’t know?”

  “No. I...when?”

  “Six weeks, four days ago.” He plants his mop in his red bucket and leans on the stem with pride. “He sought me out, in the shelter. I knew his face from when he dropped you off at your office and the morning he was looking for you.”

  Oh, yes, I remember, when you gave up my hideout in Café Nero. “I suppose I can forgive you for that.”

  He chuckles, his happiness infectious. “He told me he was doing it for you. He took me on. It’s like a dream. No one ever gets a job from the streets. He gave me an advance on my wages so I could rent a room, said I have to earn it back, of course, but it covered my rent for six months and left some over. I won’t let him down. I won’t let either of you down, I promise.”

  “I, gosh, Paul, I don’t know what to say. I’m pleased for you. Really, really, pleased for you. You look well.”

  He shrugs, bashful. “Might pay my soup angel a visit now that I’m getting back on my feet.”

  He used to tell me about a woman who served him in the soup kitchen. He swore she was giving him the eye and he called her his soup angel. “I think you should. Listen, I’ve got to go but it’s lovely to see you. And, Paul, don’t stick to this for Gregory and me, do this for yourself.”

  He nods and gives me a soft, proud smile that makes my entire body warm.

  I pass Sue at reception and walk with purpose straight into Gregory’s office. He lifts his head and stands as I cast my bags and documents onto one of the sofas. As soon as he steps out from behind his desk I throw myself at him, my hands locking into his hair, my mouth pressing roughly against his.

  “What have I done to deserve that reaction?”

  “You, Gregory Ryans, are quite simply wonderful. That kiss was because I just passed Paul in the corridor. Thank you. What you’ve done for him is incredible. You’ve put your faith in him.”

  He strokes a hair from my brow behind my ear in that way he does. “No, baby, I put my faith in you.”

  I lunge again, taking his mouth and twisting my tongue around his until he matches my pace and pulls me into him. We’re both panting when we separate. “That one was for the flowers.”

  He drops his forehead to mine. “You’re more than welcome.”

  “Erm, sorry, sir.” We both turn to see Sue clearing her throat in the doorway. “I’ll close this for you.”

  “Do so,” he says, turning my chin back to face him, his complete attention focussed on only me. “I wish I could take you home to my bed right now.”

  Closing my eyes, I try to push those thoughts away. “Me too but we’ve got work to do.”

  He bites the tip of my nose. “We have.”

  We settle onto the two leather sofas in his office and a blushing Sue brings through coffee, setting out the pot and two saucers on the table between us. I offer her an apologetic smile, both because she walked into our embarrassing PDA moment, and because I remember she has a crush on my man.

  After a chat through the background information on Black Diamonds Gregory fills me in on what Tim and Jean-Paul have pulled together for Constant Sources. Gregory doesn’t want to keep Black Diamonds available for gaming, he wants to buy it and take it off the market to stop it from putting a dent in the profits of his game, Jail Run. Tim, Jean-Paul and Williams have all looked over the finances. Black Diamonds is still in its infancy but if it continues on the current projections, it could take fifty percent of Jail Run’s profit in twelve months.

  “Is it so similar to your game that there could be an intellectual property claim?”

  He twists one side of his mouth and shifts his head. “Not similar enough. It’s a popular concept. It’s just a case of having the best.” He leans back into his sofa, spreading an arm across the back of the leather seat. “It’s pretty amazing though, what this kid’s done. I mean, he’s nineteen and from what I can tell from digging, this is his first venture.”

  “Very entrepreneurial.”

  “Indeed, but I wonder whether he’s just the face of the game, to give it a story. The way he’s got the game on the market and selling, it’s like he’s had support from someone experienced.”

  “Or a case of first time lucky.”

  “Perhaps.” He glances at his Omega. “Right. It’s five to seven. They’ll be here any minute. Let’s get this done, then I can take you home and fuck you until you scream my name into tomorrow.”

  I gasp, then he winks at me and I laugh, hard. “I’m going to call your bluff on that, Mr. Ryans.”

  “I sincerely hope you do.”

  Sue’s voice comes over the intercom on Gregory’s desk. “Your seven p.m. has arrived, sir.”

  “Showtime, lady.” He stands and fastens one button of his blazer then lifts his head and corrects his lilac silk tie.

  “I like you in a three piece,” I confess, straightening my dress.

  “I like you naked.”

  Despite myself, I giggle. “Gregory, that’s not professional.”

  “Apologies, Legal Counsel. I also like you in that tight little black dress. I like thinking about how I can take you out of it.”

  “Game face, Ryans.”

  “Sorry.” His lips straighten.

  “Better. Now, before we go in there, I want to know your tactics.”

  “Don’t worry about my tactics, Scarlett, this is what I do.”

  “I do worry, Gregory. This product might be selling now but as far as I can tell there’s no registered intellectual property in the game. If you intend to buy it and take it off the market, there’s not much protecting you. If someone gets their hands on the source code and brings a replica to market, you could be right back to where you are now.”

  “Alright, alright. I get it. I’m going in at five hundred thousand.”

  I contemplate that figure. Seems reasonable. “And your upper limit?”

  He leans his head to one side with a look that tells me I’m not going to find out the answer to that question.

  He holds open the door to the office for me. “You’ll know if I reach it.”

  I have to grit my teeth to suppress my irritation. “Wonderful. Good to know we’re a team here.”

  We make our way to the boardroom on twenty-seven. “This one is bigger and more intimidating,” Gregory explains.

  “You made me pitch in there the first time I came here.”

  “I’m fully aware of that, Miss Heath.”

  We enter the boardroom and make int
roductions. Stuart and his legal counsel are sitting at the far end of the large mahogany board table. Stuart looks even younger than his age would suggest. His hair is almost black and ruffled. His eyes are a dark, deep brown. Striking. There’s something about them, something I can’t place. I can feel my brows furrow as I shake his hand. Firm but not overly so. I watch him sit back in his chair and cross the ankle of one leg over the knee of the other. He’s arrogant in a too familiar way. But when Gregory takes a seat opposite him, Stuart uncrosses his legs and his cocksure posture folds back to young boy as he sips from a glass of fresh orange.

  The legal counsel, Markus, is tall. His slim shoulders are hunched forward, his potbelly resting over his belt. His black suit is cheap, a fact which is accentuated by his almost see-through white cotton shirt and clicked wool tie. He wears a white vest under his shirt and I suspect there might be a shabby pair of cotton pants under his trousers, no doubt with a hole around the crotch.

  Markus begins. “Stuart, why don’t you share some background about Black Diamonds. I’m sure Mr. Ryans will be impressed with the figures, to say the least.”

  Stuart opens his mouth to speak but Gregory holds up a flat palm. “No need, gents. I’ve done my homework. Let’s just get to it. I’m going to make you an outstanding offer for Black Diamonds. Given the product is still very much in phase one of the marketing cycle—I call that the introductory phase—it really hasn’t proved much worth. Do you know the percentage of first twelve month start-up failures in the gaming sector, Mr. Culliton?”

  Stuart shakes his head and nervously takes another sip of his juice. I actually feel sorry for him. Gregory can be intimidating at the best of times but tonight he’s in full throttle.

  “Over eighty percent. That’s full engine failure, complete crash and burn. And here’s the thing, Mr. Culliton, young entrepreneurs like you throw everything you have, financially, physically, emotionally, into making a success of your venture. What that means, is your crash and burn stands to leave you grovelling to Mummy and Daddy or lining the streets with fellow failed entrepreneurs.”