Vengeful Love: Black Diamonds (9 page)

“Half a million?”

“Half a million pounds to create a platform that allows you to grow.” I can feel Gregory relax into his seat beside me but my eyes are on Markus, my counterpart. Even a half-assed, shabby lawyer won’t let his client take the first offer.

Sure enough, Markus leans into Stuart’s ear and after nods, shakes and shrugs, Stuart confirms, “No deal.”

Gregory cocks his head to one side and smiles, then leans in to the middle of the table and pours himself a glass of water before sitting back in his seat and resuming his cross-legged position. I watch his reflection in the windows. His body moves against the dark night sky as he sips the water, strategically dramatic in the silent room, his eyes fixed on Stuart. He replaces the water glass on the table then shuffles his leather chair back just enough to say,
we’re done here.

Or so I think.

“One million, and that’s my final offer.”

He looks straight ahead at Stuart, who is somewhere between gobsmacked and smug. I have to dig my nails into my palms. This is Gregory’s show, I’m just his lawyer, I’ve given him my advice and I need to keep my cool.
But doubling the offer, what is he thinking?

More mumblings pass between Stuart and Markus. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ryans, my client and I need to discuss your offer. May we take five minutes outside?”

“By all means,” Gregory says, his tone almost bored.

Once the door clicks shut, I whip around to face him. “Are you kidding me? One million? That’s insane.”

“Actually, Scarlett, it’s not. The kid’s got something and I stand to lose a lot more than one million if he succeeds in line with projections or if a bigger company takes Black Diamonds from him and gives it the right kind of support.”

“Even so, you doubled your offer, Gregory. That tells him your first offer was a joke and your second offer probably was, too.”

“Seriously, Scarlett, you’re going to tell me how to conduct a business negotiation?”

“I’m going to tell you how
not
to conduct it.”

“Scarlett, this is my world. This is what I do.”

“You could have fooled me!” I rise and walk to the window, feigning looking out to the towers and twinkling lights but watching him regard me through the reflection, his smug smile frankly pissing me off.

He scoffs like I’m a teenager taking a tantrum and
that
pisses me off even more. “I’m intrigued by him, Scarlett. I want to see where this goes.”

I turn and lean my back against the window, arms folded across my chest. “And you’re willing to blow one million pounds to find out?”

“It’s small fry. If it doesn’t work out, it’s an expensive mistake, but I didn’t get where I am today because I shy away from risk.”

You shied away from one risk for long enough.
I’m glaring at him as the door opens, adding to my temper by forcing me to fake a smile.

Standing, I can appreciate just how un-lawyer-like Markus looks, with his unkempt appearance and all-round general manner and poise. He starts to speak before his arse even hits the chair. “My client believes his product is worth more than one million, Mr. Ryans.”

I bite down so hard on my gums I can taste iron in my mouth. Gregory raises one hand to his chin and I know he’s going to make another offer. I can’t let him. I won’t. “Mr. Jones, it’s a shame your client doesn’t seem capable of speaking for himself. If he could he might be able to justify to my client why in God’s name this technically basic game that’s similar to a lot of games already on the market and that has almost non-existent IP protection is worth even half a million pounds, let alone more.”

“Miss Heath, I would—”

I turn my attention to Stuart. “Do you understand the real reason Constant Sources wants to buy your game? We want to remove your game from the market. Not because it’s worth money now, but for the off chance that a company with enough time and energy might buy it and turn it into something more. Specifically, a company who knows how and has the money to protect the rights in the game properly. As a piece of technology, your game is practically worthless. But with no registered intellectual property portfolio, Black Diamonds could be recreated if it fell into the wrong hands. And do you know what you could do about that? Nothing. Unless you have a bottomless pit of money to step into a ring with wealthy businessmen, you can do absolutely nothing. Has your lawyer told you that?”

“My client doesn’t need this. We’ll find a new buyer. Come on Stuart, let’s go.”

“Yes, of course, you’ll find a new buyer. Let me tell you how that goes. You sit around a table like this for hours, again, and the person you sit across the table from will know your offering is built on sand. That your international intellectual property portfolio is non-existent. So, let’s say that person offers you half of what my client is offering and you accept because you’ve realised, finally,
finally
, that your offering isn’t as valuable as you’d thought. Mr. Ryans will go to your buyer and buy the game from him for ten million pounds. So, your buyer wins two times and you have half of what you have on the table right now.”

“Stuart, let’s go.”

Stuart leans back in his chair. “Wait, I need to think.”

I shuffle in my seat so that I’m looking right at Stuart and in the most nurturing voice I can conjure, I reason with him, the final, gentle nudge across the line.

“Look, Stuart, your greatest asset right now is your mind. You can create something better than this game and with one million pounds you could have the time and resources to do exactly that. Can I be honest with you?”

He nods.

“I advised against Constant Sources making this deal at all. In my view, the risk is just too high—I can’t see beyond your not having registered your rights in the game. Now it’s after nine and I’m wondering whether you want to sell this game at all. If you don’t, that’s fine. I’ll gladly see my client walk away from this deal but I can promise you one thing—Mr. Ryans’s offer will not increase and you will not get a better offer elsewhere.”

I take the sale agreement out of my document folder and write one million pounds into the commercial schedule then rest my pen on top of the contract and slide it across the table.

“Take the deal, Stuart.”

Stuart looks at Markus, who nods without a word. Stuart takes the pen and turns it in his fingers.

“I had a figure in mind when I came into this room,” he says. “You haven’t met it.”

Gregory sits forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Mr. Culliton, my lawyer has told me to walk away at one million.” He casts an eye to me and beneath his business facade, I can tell he’s pissed that I’ve trampled his negotiation. “I will walk away. But first, let me put something else on the table for you. You can take one million, that’s my top offer. Or, you can take seven hundred and fifty thousand and come to work for me. At Constant Sources, from this office in London.” He leans back and re-crosses his legs. “I think you’ve got something, a hunger in your eyes, business in your mind, and I like that. I also think that, with guidance, you could be a solid creator. You’re nineteen, take this opportunity and come to me whilst you work out which you are, an entrepreneur or a designer.”

Stuart’s entire body visibly softens and his eyes widen, surprised and, I think, in awe.

“I was once in your position, stuck between wanting to create something and making money. Making money was the right path for me but I had to find out the hard way. I’m offering you a chance to take five years to earn some money and make that decision in a risk-free environment. If in five years you want to set up on your own, great, you’ll have the world at your feet with a good CV in your pocket.”

“I’d like to think about it,” Stuart says, his voice catching in his throat.

Gregory shakes his head. “That isn’t part of the offer. Sign now or walk away, Mr. Culliton.”

The pair stare at one another for seconds that feel much longer. There’s something in the air between them. Admiration? Mutual respect?

Eventually, and as his lawyer looks on, Stuart says, “Where do I sign?”

* * *

Once the documents are signed, handshakes are exchanged and I show Stuart and Markus to the lifts. I watch as the numbers descend,
27
,
26
,
25
,
24
, delaying Gregory’s inevitable wrath. I stole his show and now there’ll be some well-earned fireworks.

I take another lift to the twenty-eighth floor and reluctantly walk, contract in hand, to Gregory’s office. He’s standing by the window, shoulders back, hips slightly forward, calves taut in his tailored trousers. He’s braced for war. With a deep breath, I step into the lion’s den.

He keeps his back to me but watches me through the window, his jaw tense. At first he doesn’t speak. I know how hard he’s trying to control his temper. Then he snaps. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

I sigh. “Gregory, it’s eleven thirty, I’m already tired and I have to finalise this deal, can we talk about this later?”

“We’ll talk about it now!” His South African twang is stronger than ever.

I consider apologising and walking away but I know I was right. Instead, I fold my arms across my chest and stand tall in my black patent heels. “Fine. Talk.”

“You had no right jumping in like that.”

“Oh, really, I had no right? I was stopping you from making a bigger mistake than the one million pound mistake you were already making! You were about to offer him more, and for what?”

“You could have lost us the deal.”

“And if I had I wouldn’t be sorry. That deal is high risk and my advice to walk away was sound.”

He takes two steps towards me. The sinews of his neck are stretched tight beneath his late day stubble.
Christ, he’s sexy.

“To succeed in business you have to take risks, Scarlett.”

I take one step forward.

“I’m not opposed to taking
reasoned
commercial risks, Gregory, but I can’t advise a client to take nonsensical risks.”

“Advise, Scarlett. Exactly. That’s what I pay you to do. I pay you to advise me of the legal risks but it’s my decision,
mine
, whether to accept that advice or to take the risk.”

I move another step forward until only inches of air separate us.

“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re not my client. Constant Sources is my client for this gig and I’m here to act in the best interests of the company, not yours, or those of your overly endowed ego.”

He leans forward so I can feel his hot breath on my face.

“I
am
Constant Sources
.
I
am
the GJR group.
I
decide who you do or don’t work for.”

“No. I decide who I work for and if you don’t like the way I work, I’ll close this deal and you don’t have to hear my legal advice again.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

I stare into his eyes, my heart pounding with fury. I won’t back down because I’m right. I’ll stare and stare into those big. Brown. Hot. Magnetic. Captivating eyes.

Like a pouncing South African cat hungry for its prey, his lips are on mine, fast and ferocious. He pulls up my dress and lifts my legs around his waist.

I want him.
My mind tells me. My body shows me. My nipples harden, craving his contact, my bud swells, crying out for him to take me.

I ball my fists in his hair as he carries me to the sofa, his mouth continuing his wild attack.

“I’m going to fuck you. Hard. Because you deserve it.” His words are husky, laced with desperation.

“Gregory, I need to complete the deal,” I say through ragged breaths, already knowing I’ll relent.

“Not now.” His teeth clamp down on my neck. “Your client is a dick anyway.”

I pull my head back from his. “Too true,” I say, with a smug grin.
I win!

He crashes my back against the sofa and forces my legs further apart with his knees as he moves between them. He sits back, leaving me bereft, then he stretches the thin lace of my knickers with both hands until he can puncture the material with his thumbs and he tears it away from my aching sex.

He leans forward and roughly takes my mouth, twisting his tongue in mine, pulling my lip harshly in his teeth as he cups my breasts through my dress. My hips rise to push against his erection, forcing a growl from his chest. He moves his hand from my breast to thrust two fingers into me, teasing my swollen insides.

“Gregory.” His name leaves my mouth on a pant.

His fingers withdraw, then they’re in my mouth and I suck my own wetness from him.

He moves quickly, sitting back on his heels and freeing his hard shaft from his trousers and boxers. “Turn over.” His words are dripping in sex.

I do as I’m told, turning to kneel on all fours, bracing my body with my hands on the arm of the sofa. With one foot on the floor, one knee on the sofa, he rams himself deep inside me, making me cry out. With his hands on my hips, he holds himself buried inside me.

“Please, Gregory.”

“Please what?”

“Fuck me.”

He moves, out and in slowly, then quicker and faster again, until he’s rousing me to the brink of a powerful orgasm. He keeps one hand on my hips, bracing himself and making sure he can crash into me, hard. The other moves to my clit and sends my pulsing muscles into spasm as he swirls with his finger and continues to drive into me from behind.

“Jesus!” he barks.

His hoarse voice is the final push I need. As his rhythms speed up, back and front, I yell his name and climax around him.

“That’s right, baby.”

Both hands move back to my hips and with two more gruelling thrusts, he releases into me.

Chapter Ten

My iPhone rings for the second time in as many minutes. Amanda’s face dances across the screen to her designated Whitney Houston ringtone.

“Scarlett! Scarlett! Scarlett!” she screams through the handset. “It’s holidaaaaaay tiiime!”

“I’ll be two minutes. I need to finish this.”

“What are you doing? Give it to a trainee or something.”

“I’m finalising a plan to register the international intellectual property portfolio of—”

“Urgh, forget it, I don’t care. Just hurry up!”

“I’d be much quicker if you left me alone.” I giggle despite myself. “Is Gregory with you?”

“No, it’s just Ed and me, we’re in the car outside. Hang on. The driver is pissed. Says he’s on double yellows.”

“Alright. Alright. Jackson wouldn’t behave like that.”

“But Jackson is on holidaaaaaay!”

I laugh again, truly happy because not only is Jackson on holiday, he’s in St. Lucia preparing for his wedding to my favourite woman, friend and stand-in mum.

“Okay. Okay. I’m coming. Two minutes. But where is Greg—”

The line goes dead.

I drink the last mouthful of latte from the take out cup on my desk and click send on my email of instructions to the associate I’ve asked to manage our foreign counsel whilst I’m away. Despite being tired from my all-nighter, I smile as my computer shuts down for two whole weeks. Two whole weeks of Mr. Sexy Bazillionaire CEO.

I wanted so much to go home with him after our showdown on the sofa in his office but I had Kenneth drop me back at Saunders, knowing I’d be leaving from here to go direct to the airport. It’s been a long night but the plan to register the intellectual property rights in Black Diamonds is set. We’ll start with Europe, China, the US and Australia and fill in the gaps once those biggies are finalised. Then it’s up to Gregory and Constant Sources, they can develop the game and keep it on the market, or they can box it, but one thing’s for sure, his company profits will be safe now and, on reflection and after a good tension-releasing screw, maybe seven hundred and fifty thousand wasn’t too high a price for the benefits Constant Sources could reap.
Not that I’ll be letting Mr. Arrogant know that.

I fasten the button of my damson blazer over my dress and pull on my grey mac, releasing my hair across my shoulders. It’s soft and a little wavy after the rush job I made of showering and drying my hair in the firm’s facilities a couple of hours ago but at least I’m clean.

Not having packed myself or watched my suitcase being lugged into a car to go to the airport is making me slightly anxious. I don’t know how Gregory delegates all these things. I really hope Amy didn’t forget anything. A little flutter of excitement comes over me. Lots of people who love Sandy and Jackson in one place to witness their marriage.
Eeek!

Before I leave, I hand a manuscript amended document to Margaret in the secretary’s station.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the airport by now?”

I glance at my watch,
nine-seventeen
.

“Seventeen minutes ago. This is the last thing. Please would you make these changes then save the document to the Constant Sources file and email it to Hugh. He’ll be managing things whilst I’m away but if you get the faintest scent that he’s in over his head please call me. I’ll have my Black—”

“Scarlett, go, now!”

“Okay, I’m going. But call me if—”

“I’m not calling you, Scarlett. Go!”

* * *

A black stretch-limousine, freshly polished for the occasion, waits outside the revolving doors. A grouchy-looking, muscular man who’s making a really poor show of wearing a black suit, white shirt and black tie steps out of the driver side.

“Miss Heath,” he grumbles with a dip of his head.

“Hi, erm?”

“Scott.”

“Nice to meet you, Scott. Sorry for the delay. Where’s Kenneth?”

Scott moves to the back door of the limousine. “He’s driving Mr. Ryans to the airport.”

“Gregory isn’t coming with us?”

“No, Miss Heath.”

Feeling like I’ve exhausted Scott’s desire to converse, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the giddiness inside the car.
Oh, how I’d love to sleep.

“Finallyyyyyy!” Amanda leaps from the limousine and wraps her arms tightly around my neck. “Hurry up and get inside, I’ll get hives from being too close to the office.”

Amanda looks, as ever, a million dollars. She’s had shellac put on her finger and toe nails and an extra conditioning treatment on her glossy red hair, “to stop it from suffering in the sun.” Her long flowing striped maxi seems out of place for the beginning of February in England but less so than the over-sized floppy hat that she repositions on her head as she sits back into the black leather of the limo.

“Here,” she says, shuffling a weekend bag my way. “I think it’s stuff for you to change into on the plane.”

I peek inside the bag to see material in summer colours and Harrods tags poking through tissue paper.
Julia and Lucas, my knights in Jimmy Choos.

Williams leans forward as we pull away from the curb, airport bound. “You could probably use this,” he says, handing me a glass three quarters full of champagne and dropping a kiss to my cheek.

“Bollinger?” I ask after the first sip, receiving an impressed confirmatory glance from Williams. “Where’s Gregory?”

“He had things to do. Work, I think he said. He didn’t really give me any details.”

“That sounds like Gregory.”

Williams gulps his champagne. “You know what he’s like. He’s as bad as you at switching off.”

We drive past the Royal Courts of Justice, along Strand, then Fleet Street and out towards London City Airport. By the time my glass of champagne has settled on my empty stomach and tired head, I begin to relax.

Amanda holds out her empty glass for Williams to fill with sparkling elderflower water. “Right, so tell me the plan.”

I lean my head back against the seat as Williams appeases her.

“We’re flying out at ten thirty. It’ll take about nine hours to get to St. Lucia.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, at ten thirty? We’re going to be late! If I miss this holiday I swear I’ll, I’ll—”

“Relax,” says Williams. “You can’t really be late for a private jet.”

“A what?” Amanda’s jaw hangs loose, her emerald eyes wide.

Williams and I share a laugh.

“Are we really going on a private jet?”

“Yes. Gregory doesn’t take commercial flights,” Williams explains.

“Holy shit! Ha! Right, so we get to St. Lucia today, late afternoon St. Lucia time?”

Williams nods.

“Girls’ night tonight, then the wedding is tomorrow and we’re all staying at the resort where Sandy and Jackson are now?”

I suspect Williams nods again but I’m resting my eyes.

“Then we have twelve days of St. Lucia beach time. Fabulous!”

“Not exactly. We have one day on St. Lucia after the wedding, then we’re taking the jet to St. Maarten.”

“Right. What’s St. Maarten?”

“Another island.”

“Is it nice?”

“Of course.”

“Why are we going there?”

“Because that’s where the yacht is.”

“The what?”

“Gregory’s yacht. It’s anchored at St. Maarten.”

“Holy shit! We’re going on a yacht? Ha!”

We’ve just passed Canary Wharf and I’m struggling to stay awake when Scott’s mobile rings and Gregory’s voice comes over the limo speakers.

“Mr. Ryans.”

“Scott, I’m at the airport and you aren’t here.”

“We’re on our way, Mr. Ryans. We’re coming past Blackwall station now.”

“Why are you late? Is there traffic?”

“No, sir. Miss...er...we had a delay before we left the city.”

“Make time.”

And then he’s gone but my stomach is still turning like a seashell wind chime in a gale. Sun, sea, sand and Gregory Ryans for fourteen nights. I sit up straight and rummage around in my handbag for my pocket mirror. I force my eyes open with my fingers then tap my cheeks in an attempt to bring some colour. As the limousine nears the airport, I can’t stop a smile from rising on my lips. We finally pull onto the tarmac and Amanda bursts from the car before Scott can make it to the passenger door. Williams gestures for me to go next.

There he is, strong and tall on the top step at the door of the jet. He’s wearing fitted beige chinos and a crisp white shirt, open by two buttons. He watches me and turns his mouth into his familiar, melting half smile. Bell ringers chime tunes in my abdomen.

Amanda bounces up the steps, plants a fleeting and less than heartfelt kiss on Gregory’s cheek, then runs inside the plane.
They haven’t exactly made up yet.
Scott hands over control of the luggage to a member of the jet crew, the same crew I met on our amazing night at the opera in Rome. I force from my mind thoughts of the day that followed, the pain of discovering Gregory’s betrayal in sending me away.

Williams climbs the steps, shakes Gregory’s hand and says something that makes them both laugh. Then, unusually, the pair share what can only be described as a man hug: their right hands stay in a shake position, their right shoulders lean in to one another, and with their left hands they each pat the other on the back.

“Have a nice holiday, Miss Heath,” Scott says as he walks back to the limousine.

“Oh. Yes. Thank you, Scott.”

The engines purr to life, pulling my attention to the jet. Gregory stands alone on the top step. He flicks his head and mouths, “Get here.”

I cross the tarmac and climb the steps towards him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

I gaze into his eyes, my tiredness making me, if possible, even more in love with this man. My breathing has quickened, my heart rate has risen. He presses his lips against my brow, then rests them on the soft tip of my nose. I breathe in his warm, familiar scent, then he lifts my chin with his index finger and places his lips on mine. I mould to the shape of his body as he pulls me into him and I get lost in his kiss.

“Christ, you two, get a room!” Amanda chimes.

Gregory steps back and drops his forehead to mine. Through grinding teeth and a stiff neck, he says, “We could have another murder charge on our hands if I have to spend two weeks in that woman’s company.”

“Stow your Glock for a fortnight, Ryans.”

As soon as the captain announces we’re at cruising altitude, we unfasten our seatbelts and the others make their way to three tall stools that are rooted to the floor around the small bar.

“Virgin mary, sir?” the steward asks Gregory.

“Actually, Michael, let’s make an exception to the rule. Somewhere in the world it’s after lunch already.”

“Bloody mary, sir?”

“Sounds good. Scarlett, bloody mary, baby?”

“Not for me, thank you. I’m going to change into something more comfortable and I’m sorry to be a pooper but I really need to take a nap.”

“Noooo! Scarlett, it’s holidaaaay tiiiime! These next two weeks I task you to drink whenever I can’t.” Amanda squees whilst patting her rounding tummy fondly.

“Amanda, if we’re all going to get through this trip in harmony, you need to calm down.”

She laughs. “Alright, alright, I’m just trying to make the most of my last child-free holiday.”

“By behaving like a child,” Gregory mutters.

“Alright, you two, play nice,” Williams says, pulling Amanda to his side as he perches his long, athletic legs onto a stool.

I shake my head. “I’ll be back.”

“There’s sleepwear on your pillow, baby.”

My pillow?
“Naturally, I have my own pillow on your private jet.”

“High and fast,” he says with a smirk.

“I’m beginning to think that’s your trademark, Mr. Ryans.”

“Speaking of my intellectual property rights...”

I rush to him and nip his lips shut with my fingers. “Please. I’ve been dealing with your intellectual property all night. Not now.” I drop a quick kiss to his cheek and make my way through the curtains into the section of the jet that hosts four beds, each with its own set of red curtains, the same colour as the carpet.

On the last of the four, I find a black silk night shirt. Casting my blazer on the opposite bed, I close my eyes and creak my neck, then flip my long hair across one shoulder, struggling to locate the zip at the back of my dress. A strong arm wraps around my stomach, two luscious, full lips meet the naked flesh of my neck, and my zip is drawn teasingly down my back. I could sleep for an eternity but my mind still jumps immediately to lascivious thoughts of the tall, lean, god-like man pressed against me and rolling his hardening length against my arse.

“I wanted to tuck you in,” he whispers, his words a warm mist over my ear.

“Tuck me in, or tuck into me?”

I feel his lips curl as he nibbles my lobe. “The latter.” His mouth moves to my shoulder blade as he pushes my dress down my arms, letting it hang on my hips. “But I’ll be kind.” His tongue traces a lazy line up my vertebrae. “I’ll let you lay back and think of Scotland.”

“England. Lay back and think of England,” I say with a giggle.

“I love that sound. Never stop making that sound for me.”

“I’m going to have to.” I turn and press my chest into his. “If you intend to take me on this jet, I won’t be able to make any sound.”

He drops his head to one side. “Why, Miss Heath, if I didn’t know better, I’d say the thought of voyeurism turns you on.” He moves his hand under my dress, my head rolling back as his fingers push my thong aside and leisurely stroke my entrance. “In fact, I’d have to say it
definitely
turns you on.”

“It’s illegal in England. Section sixty-seven of the Sexual Offences Act 2003.”

He leans back, keeping one hand tantalising my sex whilst the other strokes my face. “I love it when you talk lawyer to me.”

A muffled groan escapes me as he pushes his fingers into me, bending them, sweeping my sensitive wall.

“I’m going to make this quick, baby, then I’m going to let you sleep.”

“You’re so thoughtful, Ryans.”

He tugs my lower back, pulling me against him, and grinds his pelvis as his fingers mirror the action against my insides. “Thoughtful would be letting you sleep.”