‘Michael, look,’ Diana said, suddenly stopping him dead.
She pointed.
He saw.
Two of the other six people at their table were Felicity Metson and Ernie Foxton.
Michael squeezed Diana’s hand. As far as business
went, they had no reservations about each other. ‘Ready to show them what we’re made of?’ ‘Absolutely,’ Diana said, winking back at him.
Arm in arm, they walked over to the table - well, Michael walked, but the only word for what Diana was doing, he thought, was sashaying. Man, he wanted to grab her by that tiny waist and pull up those green folds and slide his hand in between her creamy thighs and start palming that silky little pussy until he melted her ice-core, had her begging him to fuck her like she used to… With difficulty, he lifted his eyes from her rear undulating just beside him and fixed them on his enemy. The men automatically stood as another lady approached the’
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table. Michael noticed how Ernie’s eyes half bugged out of his head.
They shook hands and slipped into their seats. Michael examined Felicity Metson. Her hair was worn up in an ornate French bun which glittered with some kind of wiring. Her hairdresser had done it tightly enough to stretch the skin on her face. She was bony and the hair made her look angular. He noticed that she was wearing a short black sheath, a plain dress designed to make her look even skinnier. A set of blood-red talons rested on the table and she wore a thin diamond necklace. She was made up with great care: heavy mascara, two thin red lines of blush on her cheeks, and a cat’s moue of a mouth in fire-engine scarlet.
Damn, Michael thought. Ernie Foxton had to be insane. He married the girl with the best body in England and then swapped her for a richer version of trailer-park trash.
‘I’m Michael Cicero,’ he said, offering Felicity his hand. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’
‘I don’t, either.’ Felicity looked him over haughtily. ‘I only mix in society circles and publishing, of course.’
He smiled at the rebuke, watching Ernie greet Diana frostily. Whoever had drawn up this seating plan had a sense of humour, that was for sure.
‘Then perhaps you’ll be seeing a bit more of me. Our games sell to booksellers too.’
Ernie turned on him without preamble. What a thin little weasel the guy is, Michael thought. What a goddamn pity we live in a sue-happy society. I would just love to take him outside and kick his fucking ass.
‘I don’t think so.’ Ernie addressed the other guests at their table, a books editor for Time magazine and his wife, who were relaxing in their chairs, preparing to enjoy the fireworks. ‘Michael used to be a junior
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executive working for Blakely’s. We didn’t see eye to eye so I had to let him go.’
Michael felt Diana tense beside him and gently put one hand on her thigh to stop her from blasting off at Ernie. People knew what the score was with Green Eggs. He silently willed her to understand. Let the idiot dig his own hole.
‘Michael runs a small games company. I think it was
going to float at one time, huh, Michael?’
Cicero nodded. ‘That’s true.’
‘But then it didn’t happen. Funnily enough, Blakely’s new software division rolled out its own line,’ Ernie said, grinning.
Felicity gazed over at them triumphantly.
‘Yes. No hard feelings,’ she purred. ‘Actually I think it’s just wonderful to see the small businessmen and their staff’ - here she shot a look at Diana - ‘at industry events.’
‘I hope you’re not thinking of going back into publishing.’ Ernie slipped an arm ostentatiously around Felicity as he said this. He was ruffled by how classy Diana had managed to look. Felicity was starting to annoy him with her endless shopping and jewellery buying. His fucking useless staff weren’t coming up with the sales and the board was starting to ask him pointed questions. But what the luck. He was still a giant compared to this jock sitting in front of him. ‘There’s a non-compete clause in your contract. Or have you forgotten? I can have my lawyers give you a call, if you like.’
Diana held her breath. Ernie was going to go after them with all guns blazing.
‘I assure you I have forgotten nothing,’ Michael said, with a precision that made Diana shudder. ‘Not the fact that you lied to me and stole my company from me and cheated me out of a million dollars. Nor the fact that you
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started a games company and poached my people at a cost that cannot possibly have been profitable for you—’ ‘Hey. Business is business.’
Michael ignored him and continued, quite calmly, ‘And certainly not the clause that forbade me from going into publishing for a year. But that’s not too much of a problem for Imperial. Because I don’t want anything to do with the books any more. Imperial Games is surviving, and we’re going to thrive. With the help of Diana Verity, your ex-wife, and our director.’
Diana smiled at Ernie and watched the emotions cross his face; stupefaction, rage, apprehension … she watched Felicity freeze in her seat as though somebody had dropped an icecube down her neck.
‘I didn’t know your company was so small,’ Keith Fanning, the Time journalist, said curiously.
‘Oh, we’re not.’ Diana turned the full wattage of her smile at him. ‘Actually, with the way our second range has been selling, especially our e-business, we’re the leading educational games software provider in the city. In fact, we’re the largest private company of our kind in the northeast.’
‘You can’t grow much more, though,’ Felicity blurted, unable to contain herself. ‘Ernie told me you needed more money for expansion.’
‘Oh, he did?’ Michael grinned at Ernie as his woman exposed his weakness. ‘In fact we are considering a new IPO in a year or so. It seems as.though Blakely’s games division isn’t actually selling that well. I’ve got no idea why. You guys have good talent over there. It used to be ours.’
Ernie scowled. ‘Our division is doing just fine.’ He gave a crocodile smile to the powerful journalist. ‘I wouldn’t believe everything you hear from the competition.’
‘Sound advice,’ Diana said sweetly. ‘I’d say, if you’re
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interested, you should check with the retailers and Net suppliers. They should be able to give you some accurate numbers.’
Felicity looked with dismay at Ernie.
‘But really, enough business.’ Michael lifted the wine bottle. ‘Would anybody like a little Merlot?’
Michael was amazing, Diana thought.
He led her onto the dance floor after dinner, his arm round her waist and, to her amazement, started to do an expert tango with her. Her skin blazed when he dipped her in his arms, her weight as nothing. My God, she thought, he’s so strong. His muscles were like steel knots compared to Brad’s. She felt the slow, betraying pulse of blood fill her nipples. Thank heavens the velvet was thick. She tried not to look into his eyes as he spun her round. He had made mincemeat of Ernie, just cut him up into little shreds and left him there quivering. When Michael had extended his hand to Diana and asked her to dance, Ernie and Felicity had been quarrelling publicly.
‘You took me out here to talk business?’ she whispered.
He shook his head. ‘Just to dance. If that’s OK by you.’ Diana felt her breath coming a bit raggedly. She was burning up for him. Was there any chance, she wondered, that he still wanted her? That he could actually fall for her?
‘Diana,’ a voice said.
Michael pulled her upright rnd close to his chest, close enough to feel those full breasts press against his shirt, then let her go. He felt a wave of anger rock him, but held himself in check. Brad Bailey, in the flesh. He noted the diamond pinkie ring, the very expensive shoes. Bailey was tall, tanned and it looked like he actually bleached his teeth.
‘Brad, this is Michael Cicero, my boss,’ Diana looked
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flushed. Michael wondered why she would react to this vanilla pudding that way, ‘my escort tonight. I didn’t know you were coming.’
‘I wasn’t, but you told me you’d be here, so I picked up a table at the last minute,’ Brad said. He turned to Michael. ‘Cicero, wasn’t it? Nice to meet you. I’ll be
taking Diana home now. Thanks for looking after her.’ ‘We were in the middle of a dance,’ Michael said. Brad shrugged and he caught a whiff of aftershave. ‘Diana doesn’t really enjoy dancing. She prefers quiet dinners.’
Diana started to open her mouth and Michael snapped. He really wasn’t interested in hearing her back up Mr Moneybags.
‘I know what you mean. I got to go myself,’ he said. ‘My girl needs to get intimate a couple of times a night.
Most of them do. I don’t want to keep her waiting.’ ‘I … see,’ Brad said, discomfited.
Diana flushed. ‘Could you take me home, please, Brad?’
She held out her hand and walked away from Michael without another word.
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My girl needs to get intimate a couple of times a night. Why not just say you’re going home to fuck her? I hate him, I hate him, Diana thought, the way he tricks you into feeling something for him and then instantly hits you with that attitude to women. I hate to keep her waiting. Was that the way he’d talked to his buddies about her when they were dating? She prickled with embarrassment. She still wanted Michael a couple of times a night and a couple of times each day, too. All he’d had to do was to walk into her office and cup his hands over the globes of her ass, sometimes less than that, sometimes just shoot a look at her pussy, for Diana to feel primed for him, hot, almost panting.
He cheapens everything, she thought, bitterly. I thought I was special. He acts just that way with Tina when nobody’s looking, I bet.
‘Where are we going?.’ Brad asked.
Diana looked up with a start. She had been thrusting through the crowd, smiling tightly at the movers and shakers, seething inside. She had forgotten Brad was with
her.
He was looking down at her. A’man that treats me with ultimate respect, Diana thought. Good-looking. Good family. Prestigious. And hugely rich.
‘Let’s go back to your place,’ she suggested.
She swooped down on a waiter walking past with a fresh tray of champagne and grabbed a flute, tilting it back down her throat in a single gulp. Funny, she felt like
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Cinderella at the end of the ball, even though her finery had not turned to rags and she was leaving with the handsome prince.
But this needed doing. It was time. After all, she had been dating him for months.
‘Really?’ Brad asked, his blue eyes lighting up. ‘My driver is waiting outside.’
He looked like a kid who had been told Christmas was coming, as eager and enthusiastic as a puppy dog. Then he checked himself with a visible effort of will. ‘Of course I mean … we’ll have a nightcap.’
‘That’s right,’ Diana said, firmly. The champagne warmed her the way it always did. She felt courageous. ‘A nightcap and maybe something more.’
Brad’s limo was not a hired ride like the one Michael would be taking back to that little tramp of his. It was a twenty-four-hour, seven-day-a-week convenience whose drivers worked in shifts.
‘He’ll be ready to take you home whenever you want,’
Brad assured her, as the man bowed, holding open the
‘door for Diana.
She smiled gently at him. ‘We’ll see when that is.’ Brad’s home was immensely luxurious. In a cramped city barely five miles long and three miles wide supporting millions of people, space was at a premium; yet Brad Bailey had a large garden, an entrance hall with an ornamental fountain playing over real Italian marble, and a servant’s apartment in the basement. There were five bedrooms and three bathrooms, a library - how Diana had always longed for a house with a real, old-fashioned library - a beautiful roof terrace with a Japanese-inspired Zen-style garden, and modern reception rooms hung with Cubist paintings and a Picasso.
‘This place is beautiful,’ she told him, as a butler 336
wearing modern chinos and a Ghandi-style jacket - took her pale-grey pashmina wrap and hung it up.
‘Thank you. I got it for peanuts from a Wall Street arbitrageur who got caught with his fist in the till.’ Brad shrugged. ‘Benefits of being in real estate.’
Diana wondered what ‘peanuts’ meant in this context. Probably about the entire worth of her ex-husband.
‘Let’s go upstairs to the bar. We’ll fix our own drinks,
Jenkins,’ Brad said to the help.
‘Very good, Mr Bailey.’
Brad ushered Diana up the black stone staircase, laid with soft red carpet. ‘After you.’
The bar was, as Brad put it, his little indulgence. In a house which had been decorated at huge expense to be clean and Euro-modern - sofas from Cerruti, Danish chairs, nothing but dark polished floors and clean simple lines - Brad had kept one room away from the clutches of his exclusive design firm. The bar was an exercise in seventies retro-chic. Fully equipped, it featured huge furry rugs on the floor, fake bear skins, and large chrome bar stools with cherry-red leather. Diana wondered what she could do here if it was her house to go over. It was a stunning property. It definitely needed a woman’s touch, though.
‘What can I get you? Champagne? We have Cristal,
Taittinger ros6, Krug, Veuve Grande Dame …’
‘Jack Daniels and Coke,’ Diana said.
She felt the need to get bombed. Fucking Michael. This would show him, she thought.- Let him go back downtown and bang the hell out of Tina” Armis. She was up here, being courted, and she was going to have a good time.
Brad raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re in a party mood.’
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Diana demanded, a touch belligerently.
He held up his hands. ‘No reason. It’s just funny
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Before I met you, I used to take out girls, sometimes bring them back here. And they would pick at lettuce leaves all night and then order a Perrier. It drove me nuts.’
He handed her a glass full of golden liquor and poured
a splash of black Coke into it. It was almost undrinkable,