Page 4 of Desperate Lies
I swipe the stolen membership card on the door, wait for it to open, and pass inside the grand entrance, my stilettos tapping on the tiled floor.
My body starts to hum. I’m so close to getting what I need: a really good fuck and a mind-blowing orgasm to distract me from today’s nightmarish events. I might not betrulyfree, financially at least, but this is the start. The last thing I want replaying in my mind on my first night as an untethered, single woman is my father’s furious face. In fact, I wouldn’t be sorry if I never, ever saw it again.
2
RAFE
Beneath the table, I fist a hand, imagining clinching this deal. I’ve done this so many times—sat here in the Jupiter Private Equity Boardroom and witnessed the weak flicker of my opponent as they crumble beneath my force of will—that you’d think it gets old.
But I never tire of winning.
Melanie Castow, current head of Castow Management, sits opposite. I’d put her around my age: mid-to-late-thirties, with a bob so stiff and neat it resembles a helmet. The only tell that she’s anxious is the constant twisting of her pearl necklace about her fingers as if she means to garrotte herself with it.
“We’re worth more.” Releasing the pearls, she prods the table with her index finger. “We just signed Erica Lefroy, for God’s sake.”
I take a slow, deep breath. “One celebrity isn’t enough to pull your agency out of the red.”
Melanie puckers her lips, sitting a little straighter. “Erica isn’t just any celebrity. She’s the most famous supermodel in the world.”
“Everyone knows Erica signed with you in desperation after an acrimonious separation with her mother, who has been her only previous agent.” I sit back, crossing my arms. “Otherwise, Castow Management wouldn’t have got a look in.”
“Hmm.” The confirmative rumble comes from Henry Banville, my long term best friend and regular investor, sitting to my right. I shoot him a sideways glance, taking in his sharp pinstripe suit and the gold signet ring that glints on his left hand. To conceal his burgeoning smirk, he bites down on the end of a pen so expensive that no ordinary mortal would dare put it near their teeth. But Henry would chew it up and spit out a new one as quick as blinking.
I clear my throat, taking Henry’s smirk for the signal it is:this one’s in the bag.Whether he means the woman or the deal, I can’t be sure. Knowing Henry, probably both.
“Ms Castow. Your father left the business in dire straits,” I begin. “Without our help, you cannot save it. Miss Lefroy aside, your clients are a worthless selection of wannabes and ageing stars who aren’t worth their keep.” I place my hands flat on the desk. “We can take this business apart and turn it around. Castow Management will bethe namein the industry. Offices worldwide. A-listers desperate to sign on, eager to be represented by you,Melanie Castow.” I emphasise her name as if she’s famous herself, and a greedy glint appears in her eyes. “A worthy successor to Golden Era agent, the legend, Alexander Castow.” I lean in, just a fraction. “Don’t let your grandfather’s legacy die with you.”
On my left side, my other regular investor and the third wheel in our friendship trio, Julian Maxstead, lets out a snort that’s almost a laugh.
Melanie glares at him and tugs her cashmere cardigan neatly around her shoulders. “I will not budge. I know exactly what thiscompany is worth, and your offer is a joke.” She stands, and the three of us mirror her, rising to attention.
“Ms Castow, we’ve run the numbers. I assure you, your agency isn’t worth a penny more than our offer, and no one else will come close.”
Her lips tighten. “We’ll see about that. Thank you for your time, Mr Bastion.”
My friends stand rigid, erect as towers on either side of me, chins tucked, eyebrows lifted. They’re as surprised as I am. We made a damn good offer, and she point-blank refused.
Melanie comes around the wide table and shakes our hands in turn, taking mine last, and giving me a handshake that’s firm and strong, but hot and damp too. As I accompany her to the door, I subtly wipe the moisture onto my suit pants.
When she’s gone, Julian curses and thumps his fist into his opposite palm. “I thought for sure we had her.”
“So did I,” I agree.
“We could increase our offer,” Julian suggests.
“No.” I shoot him down. “The price is the price. We’ll get it.”
Julian’s smile widens, and he raises his hands over his head and gives me a slow round of booming applause. “Yes, Rafe! That’s the spirit. Crack her like a nut.”
“I don’t want to crack anyone like a nut,” I say, but he only chuckles, far more amused than he ought to be. “I’m serious. This offer is the best thing that could happen to her business.”
“She’d be a fool not to agree,” Henry adds, straightening the knot of his tie. “That’s a dying business if ever I saw one.” He looks at me. “And I know how much you love to save a dying thing.”
“My speciality,” I say.
Julian, still grinning, focuses on me. “Didn’t know you knew so much about celebrity gossip.”
“Only what’s relevant.”
