Guilty Pleasures (40 page)

‘Well, you can’t say I don’t know how to show a girl a good time,’ said Rob. ‘Believe me, I’m usually better than this on a first date.’

‘First date?’ replied Emma, feeling a chug of butterflies.

‘To think I brought you here to help you de-stress out,’ he said, avoiding her question.

‘We’re in one piece,’ smiled Emma. ‘Plus I’ve been to the famous Camel Studios. All in all, a good day.’

Rob sat on a threadbare chaise longue in the corner, looking drained.

‘Ste loves you, you know,’ said Emma, putting down her shoe.

Rob smiled.

‘He’ll be one of the world’s biggest stars within the next three years if the drugs don’t kill him.’

‘He seemed OK today.’

‘Hmm. For now.’

‘Why did you come all the way from New York to meet a band you’d only ever heard on MySpace?’

‘Is that what he told you?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘He also told me that he won’t move record labels while you’re still in charge.’

‘He told you
that?’
said Rob, looking brighter. ‘I wish all my artists would share his point of view.’

‘Are you having problems?’ said Emma gently. If she recognized anything, it was the voice of an anxious senior executive. Rob shrugged.

‘The industry is really tough at the minute. It’s one of the reasons I’m off to New York tomorrow: a showdown with my dad about the company’s bottom line.’

‘Profits are down?’

He nodded and moved over to the bed, slowly telling her of his
annus horribilis;
defections, redundancies and loss of morale. How he was under pressure from New York – and his father – to continue with more cost-cutting to keep profits stable. And of his feeling of isolation, and of how he felt he was a lone voice championing the music.

‘Because it’s suddenly all about the money.’

‘But it seems to me …’ Emma hesitated before she spoke, out of her commercial comfort zone, but eager to help if she could. ‘It seems to me that you need to invest not cut corners. Your industry relies on talent. Creatives,
the artists,
don’t care about the bottom line, they care about companies caring about
them.’

Rob looked at her curiously. ‘So what do you suggest?’

‘You’re not a money-man Rob, you’re passionate about music. Ste knows it and I bet the industry knows it. Hollander should become the company that champions the artist, encouraging creativity, investing heavily in new talent, not cutting back on it. Perhaps you need to decentralize the company; form new semi-independent labels for new talent, hothouses if you like. Because if you can get back your reputation as the company who loves the art not the profit, chances are you’ll attract the best new talent
and
a decent proportion of the established talent. Think about it; you
say disgruntled bands are leaving other labels, well they’ve got to go somewhere. Incentivize them to sign to you. In bad times, good companies with good management can profit. It’s like the clever property developers buying up all the great land in a recession. CD sales may be down, but now’s the time to invest to increase your market share. Besides, from a purely business point of view, a shift from CDs to downloads is surely a good thing because there are no production or distribution costs involved. All you have to do is pay the artists and the shareholders – and I bet they’ll both like that idea.’

She sat back and took a breath. Rob just gazed at her.

‘You’re incredible,’ he said quietly.

The atmosphere in the room had suddenly changed. Emma shifted awkwardly on the edge of the bed, wishing she had the sexual confidence to know what to do next. In every other aspect of her life she knew how to lead, but now she felt as if she was floundering out of her depth; she was afraid to take the next step.

‘Just ignore me. I don’t know anything about the music industry.’

‘Just like you didn’t know anything abut the fashion industry and now you have one of the hottest luxury goods labels in Europe.’

‘Now I’m embarrassed.’

He paused and looked softly at her. ‘You do know I’ve spent most of this year trying to impress you?’

Emma laughed quietly. Compliments made her nervous, especially when they came from someone she’d spent all afternoon thinking about.

‘Believe me, I was never the girl that boys wanted to impress.’

‘Well, I was never the boy who kept getting turned down.’

Emma laughed again. ‘I’ve never turned you down.’

Their eyes locked across the bed and Emma forced herself not to look away. A nagging voice told her to leave the room now, she couldn’t trust him; he was a womanizer and a rogue. OK, so he was sexy and fun and kind but all she would be was just another notch on his bedpost. But still…

Oh, let yourself be happy,
she cursed herself.

Rob stood up and began to walk around the bed towards her. Emma let him come. He put his hand out and took her fingers, pulling her in until their lips met in a soft, gentle kiss, growing deeper in intensity until she was aware of nothing else except the warmth of his body against her and a flood of delirious happiness
washing over her. His hand slipped under her cashmere sweater to caress the curve of her back. She lifted her arms so he could slip the garment off, wet lust stirring between her thighs. He lowered his head to kiss the soft skin of her shoulder, before unhooking her bra so her breasts sprang free. He cupped one, caressing her hard nipple with his tongue as she almost laughed out loud in pleasure at his expert, exquisite touch. She unzipped his jeans while he hastily removed his navy cotton sweater. Sinking onto the bed they moved more urgently, touching and kissing each other, their need rising.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he murmured, his hot breath against her neck. For once she didn’t challenge him, happy to let him peel off the rest of her clothes until they were both naked. As his lips went down on her, she almost flinched at his touch, and when she thought she could take no more he drew his firm body on top of her, savouring the moment as he slid himself into her, parting her thighs wider and wider. She came before he did, biting his shoulder as the sweet violent pulse tore through her body. He followed a few seconds later, collapsing on her, a smile of satisfaction on his lips and she lay back in his arms exhausted, surprised and contented. It was Rob who spoke first. ‘What the hell took us so long?’ he laughed.

Emma woke slowly. Weak sunlight forced its way through cracks in the shutters and for a moment she had absolutely no idea where she was. Turning, she could feel a warm body breathing gently beside her and the events of the previous night flooded back.

‘Good morning,’ said Rob, his voice all croaky with sleep.

Anxiety flooded over her as she waited for his next move. Would he move away from her or shuffle closer in? She examined his face, waiting to see the flicker of regret. But there was none. ‘What a night,’ he said.

‘Not every night you have to land a helicopter in a blowing gale.’

‘That’s not what I’m talking about,’ he said with a lazy smile.

He pulled her into the crook of his arm and she was flooded with relief, lying there as he kissed her hair.

‘How cold do you think that bathroom is?’

‘Very. Maybe we need some more of that hot cider.’

He pulled away and propped himself up with a pillow. ‘Listen, I’m flying to New York this afternoon. I’ve got some business over
there to sort out, then it’s Thanksgiving.’ He rolled his eyes and grinned. ‘If I don’t turn up to the family gathering my dad will cut me off without a cent.’

‘We wouldn’t want that, Rockefeller,’ replied Emma, feeling happy and relaxed.

‘So I think we’d better think about getting back.’

That was the test she thought to herself. He would be nice to her lying in the bed where they had just had sex, but what would it be like when they got back to Chilcot? Would they forget it had ever happened, or would it be something more significant? Looking at his ruffled bed-hair squashed against the pillow she knew which one she wanted.

‘I’m back next Monday. How about we do something?’

‘Maybe something a little less rock and roll,’ she smiled.

‘I’m all for that. How about dinner?’

‘Hot date at the Feathers?’

‘If you’re lucky!’ he laughed, then hesitated and, for a minute, his bravado had gone.

‘Or how about you come up to London for the night?’

He touched her cheek and she felt the reassuring complicity between them.

There was a knock at the door and a grumbling of keys.

Joan the farmer’s wife bustled in with a tea-tray.

‘We didn’t make arrangements for breakfast last night,’ she said, ‘so I thought I’d bring it to you. I know you lovebirds like breakfast in bed.’

Rob and Emma grabbed the quilt around their bodies as Joan put a tray of croissants and apple juice on the bedside table.

‘Don’t be so coy, lovies,’ she smiled, taking her time to pour the tea. ‘I’ve seen it all before.’ As she turned, she gave them a long wink. When the door closed, Rob and Emma looked at each other, then roared with laughter.

‘I have Glenda on the phone for you,’ said Lianne, calling through to Cassandra.

Cassandra twizzled her Eames chair so she was looking out of the window and picked up the receiver.

‘Glenda. What can I do for you?’ she asked, rolling her gold pencil between her fingers.

‘You’ve got Georgia Kennedy,’ said an irate, barely controlled voice down the receiver.

Cassandra was momentarily floored.
How the hell did she know?

She paused before speaking.

‘We’ve entered into a dialogue with her people,’ she said coolly. ‘But frankly it’s unlikely. As we both know, it’s a pretty impossible get.’

‘Entered into a dialogue?’ repeated Glenda, sounding astonished. ‘Don’t give me that crap! You shot her in Sulka. She’s your March cover. I
know
what happened.’

Cassandra felt her face flush with anger, wondering furiously how there could have been a confidentiality breach. Laura was too timid to ever disobey Cassandra’s instructions; Giles she could trust. As for the photographer and hair and make-up team, she had made it perfectly clear they would never work in fashion again if word of the shoot got out. Was Glenda bluffing? Cassandra knew she could carry on denying it, but there was a certainty in Glenda’s voice that suggested the woman was telling the truth – she knew.

‘Glenda. This is our exclusive. We have gone to a great deal of effort, time and money sorting this out. It came through a personal
contact and Georgia only wants to do UK
Rive,
that was part of the deal.’

‘We’ve both been trying to get her for two years. How come you’ve suddenly got the coup …’

‘You’re wasting your time, Glenda. She is our cover. End of story.’

‘I hope you know this is career suicide!’ yelled Glenda, causing Cassandra to jerk the phone away from her ear. She was well known for ruling her office with fear. Glenda was no
grand dame
of fashion who operated with icy
froideur;
she could scream, shout and intimidate like an Eighties Wall Street trader.

‘Perhaps you could use Georgia for your April cover,’ said Cassandra, unable to resist the barb. She knew Glenda would rather stab herself in the eye with her Blahnik heel than run the same cover as the UK edition a month later. But Glenda had already put the phone down on her.

Forty minutes later Cassandra checked her emails. There was a message red-flagged from Glenda.

We need to talk. My PA has arranged for you to be on the 8 a.m. tomorrow morning to JFK. A car will pick you up to take you to Isaac’s. Town not Country.

This time, Cassandra knew she had to obey.

The limousine met her at JFK to take her to Isaac Grey’s Upper East Side home. As she sat back in the leather seats she ran through the inevitable showdown in her head, predicting how Glenda would scream and bawl and threaten, resolving that she would stand her ground and then when Glenda had blown herself out, make Isaac increase the clothing allowance she received with her salary. It was the least he could do to make up for the dreadful inconvenience.

Isaac’s home was one of the most spectacular on Fifth Avenue, a stunning triplex in one of the most prestigious condos in the city with direct views over Central Park. During their affair several years earlier, Cassandra had been there many times. His Anglophile tastes were reflected in the décor; it was done out to resemble Chatsworth in miniature.

A maid in a grey uniform answered the door and Cassandra was irritated to see Glenda had arrived first. She could hear her laughing in the drawing room with Isaac. The head of the company was in his off-duty clothes; a pair of navy blue trousers, white shirt and a
shapeless brown cardigan. He looked like a retired metro worker from Brooklyn, not a media tycoon worth over two billion dollars, a man who had recently sent his private jet from New York to London to pick up a briefcase he’d left in Claridges. Although he was over sixty, he walked across the room like a tiger, his shoulders rolling.

‘Come in, Cassandra. Sit down. Miki has fixed some lunch.’

A walnut table by the window looked out over the park, the noise and energy of New York a whisper on the street below.

‘You don’t need me to tell you what a good job we all think you’re doing at UK
Rive.’
He glanced at Glenda as if to include her in the reference.

‘And we’re amazed yet again at your resourcefulness in getting Georgia Kennedy At Home. I don’t know how you got it.’ He held up a hand. ‘I won’t ask. However you know the US has to run first with exclusives of this magnitude.’

He paused to let Miki serve them razor-cut beef carpaccio as Cassandra silently fumed. She thought that Isaac was her ally.

‘The US edition has been after Georgia for a long time,’ said Glenda. ‘I have even had lunch with the ambassador. When they acquiesced to your cover request we feel sure that Ms Kennedy’s office was under the impression she was doing the cover for us.’

‘I can assure you that’s not true,’ snapped Cassandra. ‘And where is the written rule that says the US has to run first with exclusives? We generate our own covers practically every month and I don’t see you clamouring to pick those up.’

‘They weren’t Georgia Kennedy,’ said Glenda flatly.

Isaac turned deliberately in his chair to face her. His head was slightly cocked as he spoke to her as if he was directing his speech to a small child.

‘US
Rive
is the flagship magazine of this company. We have to send a message out to the industry. The best writers, the hottest exclusives. Where US
Rive
leads, other editions follow.’ His sharp, dark eyes seemed to penetrate hers.

‘Great, thank you,’ said Cassandra sarcastically. ‘Thanks for supporting our efforts.’

‘You should also be aware, Cassandra,’ said Glenda, leaning forward in her Biedermeier chair, ‘that
Style
magazine has launched and to be frank, it’s faring a little better than we expected. US
Rive
needs to be head and shoulders above the competition if we are to
ring-fence our position with advertisers. I feel you have stolen our thunder on this one a little, Cassandra.’

Miki came to fill Cassandra’s cup with Lapsang Souchong.

She put the cup on the saucer, touching her finger against the Sèvres porcelain to stop it from rattling.

‘Given the circumstances,’ said Isaac, coughing lightly, ‘perhaps you could run the cover simultaneously. Why don’t you both have Georgia on the March cover?’

Both Glenda and Cassandra glared at him.

‘That’s simply not acceptable,’ said Cassandra coolly. ‘Georgia Kennedy’s people won’t allow it.’

‘Actually I spent all last night on the phone to her private secretary,’ said Glenda. ‘The Royal Palace are happy with the arrangement.’

Cassandra bit her lip trying to keep her cool. She knew she had pushed her luck as it was and that Isaac could fire her on the spot if he chose. Anyway, she thought, if her plan came to fruition, this entire meeting would be irrelevant. It wouldn’t do any harm to step back gracefully.

‘So you will pick up half of the cost of the shoot?’ said Cassandra eventually.

Glenda nodded. ‘I’ll arrange for that straightaway.’

‘See, I knew you ladies could come to an agreement,’ smiled Isaac.

They finished their lunch making stilted small talk and said their goodbyes.

‘So, Glenda,’ said Isaac, seeing them both to the door. ‘Will I see you at the opera tonight?’

Cassandra fell silent as they talked, knowing she was biding her time.

She and Glenda walked to the lift together, tension prickling between them.

‘No hard feelings?’ smiled Glenda coolly.

Cassandra shrugged as she pulled on her fox fur coat.

‘I’m obviously not delighted.’

The lift pinged open and they walked inside, both studiously avoiding each other’s gaze.

‘Out of interest,’ said Cassandra, still looking forward, ‘how did you find out about the Georgia shoot?’

‘Oh, you know, industry gossip.’

Cassandra turned to face her.

‘I doubt that.’

‘If you must know,’ smiled Glenda sweetly, ‘it was Giles Banks.’

Cassandra looked back at the lift doors to hide her surprise and fury.

‘I doubt that also,’ she said, keeping her voice level.

‘Really? I spoke to him in the summer about a job. We’ve been in touch ever since. I don’t think he meant to tell me,’ said Glenda with relish, her mouth twisting cruelly. ‘But you know, I can be very persuasive.’

The lift doors slid open and Cassandra turned to face Glenda, her eyes blazing.

‘Now
that
I believe,’ she said. ‘But you know, Glenda, I can be very persuasive too.’

As she turned to leave, her heels clicking on the marble of Isaac’s lobby, Cassandra was sure she could hear Glenda laughing softly.