Tilly Bagshawe 3-book Bundle: Scandalous, Fame, Friends and Rivals. Tilly Bagshawe

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СКАЧАТЬ From an American or a Brit the gesture would have seemed forward, even creepy, but the Spanish seemed to do these things with such elegance. ‘I look forward very much to your speech tomorrow, Miss Miller.’ He pronounced it ‘Mealer’. ‘You ’ave done miraculous things with Ceres.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Sasha blushed. Jackson watched her as she chatted politely to Sr Hormaeche, exchanging business cards before the older man left. She looked different tonight. Perhaps it was the girlish dress? That and the lack of makeup, the flat shoes, the sweet, almost shy way she accepted the Spaniard’s compliments. He had rarely seen this side to Sasha, the vulnerable, feminine side. It disturbed him.

      ‘Two glasses of champagne please,’ he heard himself saying. For some reason, he didn’t want Sasha to leave.

      ‘What are we celebrating?’ Warily, she sat down beside him. ‘Did you two finalize the deal?’

      Jackson’s stomach lurched. For one, mad moment he thought she was talking about Raj Patel. Then he realized she couldn’t be. She must mean Hormaeche and the La Sagrada hotel. ‘Not yet. But we will do.’ The drinks arrived. He handed an ice-cold flute to Sasha. ‘Manuel knows it’s the best offer he’d going to get for that land. He’s playing hard to get, but he’ll give in eventually.’

      Their eyes met. Sasha looked away first.

      Since the night Sasha left Wrexall – the night Jackson had kissed her and she’d pulled away; the same night he’d got together with Lottie – Jackson had worked hard to stifle his desire for her. From that night onwards, he’d grown up. It was really very simple: Lottie was good for him; Sasha was bad. Lottie was loyal and supportive and loving; Sasha was a snake, a backstabber, a dangerous competitor who needed to be destroyed. Channelling all his sexual frustration into his efforts to undermine Ceres and rebuild Wrexall, he’d convinced himself that Sasha Miller no longer meant anything to him personally. But watching Hormaeche flirt with her before, he’d suddenly felt like a sixteen-year-old again. It was all he could do not to get up and punch the guy.

      You need to beat her, that’s all. Then she’ll be out of your system.

      Raj Patel’s defection would devastate Sasha. Springing it on her here, tomorrow, in front of the entire industry, would ensure that the blow had maximum impact. It was the revenge Jackson had been waiting for, planning and fantasizing about for twelve long months. So why did he suddenly feel as if all the pleasure had been sucked out of it?

      Sasha sipped at her champagne, cursing herself for feeling so awkward and praying that Jackson couldn’t tell. Not knowing what else to say, she asked after Lottie.

      ‘How is she? I hear she’s running an art gallery now.’

      Instantly Jackson’s face clouded over. ‘She’s fine. She’s well.’

      ‘And the two of you?’

      ‘We’re good.’

      Conversation closed.

      For a full minute, neither of them said anything. At last Sasha drained her glass and got down from her bar stool. ‘Thank you for the drink. Good luck with your deal.’ She started to walk away.

      Jackson called after her, ‘Thanks. Good luck with your speech tomorrow, if I don’t see you.’

      Something about his tone of voice made Sasha uneasy. She looked at him, but his face was as blankly handsome as ever and gave nothing away. You’re imagining things, she told herself. He’ll probably be gone by morning.

      Sasha woke at 3 a.m., 4 a.m. and 5 a.m., tormented by disturbing dreams in which she appeared on the podium naked, while Jackson Dupree pointed and laughed at her from the front row. At 5.15 a.m., unable to get back to sleep, she put on her running shoes and went out for a jog through Barcelona’s deserted streets. The city looked totally different at this time, its cobbled alleys bathed in soft dawn light. The smells were different too, delicious aromas of baking bread and coffee combined with the rancid smell of fish from the restaurant rubbish bins, wheeled out for the early-morning garbage collectors. Sasha ran until her limbs ached and her mind was blank. Coming back into the hotel, she bumped into Raj Patel walking out.

      ‘Hey, stranger,’ she joked. ‘What happened to you yesterday? I was starting to worry you’d been abducted by aliens.’

      ‘Sorry,’ Raj mumbled. ‘I … something came up. Something personal. I got caught up.’

      He looked away when he spoke to her, as if he were embarrassed, or even afraid. Sasha had never seen him look so awkward. ‘Is everything OK?’

      ‘Of course. Everything’s fine. It’s just … like I said, it’s personal.’

      ‘You’ll be at the conference this afternoon, though, right?’ asked Sasha. ‘I could really use the support. You know public speaking scares the shit out of me.’ During her sleepless night, she’d mentally rewritten the whole middle section of her speech into what she hoped would be a funny but inspiring little homily about teamwork. Half way through she was going to haul poor Raj up out of the audience like a magician’s volunteer. Without him, the whole thing would fall flat.

      ‘Sure,’ said Raj. ‘I’ll be there.’

      ‘Seriously,’ Sasha smiled. ‘I need you. Don’t let me down.’

      Raj walked away, wondering if it were too late to have Wrexall change the terms of his new contract to include a bonus of thirty pieces of silver.

      The conference room at the Hotel Majestic was a grand former ballroom, high ceilinged and ornate with gilt inlaid panelling and a dais flanked by sumptuous, deep-red velvet curtains. By 2 p.m. the floor was packed with delegates, the most important seated at the front at round tables sponsored by their various companies, and the less well known fighting over the rows of plush cushioned chairs lining the middle and back of the room. Behind the dais, a large white screen had been erected to project a magnified image of each speaker’s face to the more remote members of the audience.

      Lunch had been served at 1 p.m., to the chagrin of the locals who viewed this as breakfast time, and a couple of dull speeches had been delivered while everybody ate paella and, in the case of the British and French delegates, got heavily stuck into the free-flowing Chablis. Waiting in the wings in a dark blue Balenciaga trouser suit, nervously scanning her speech cards for the hundredth time, Sasha could have murdered a stiff drink herself. It was only the thought of slurring her words in front of Jackson Dupree that made her hold back. Afterwards, she promised herself. As soon as I step off that podium, I’ll order a scotch. Only a couple of minutes to go now.

      Carlos Gallo, the dapper CEO of the Spanish real estate giant Explorador and the master of ceremonies at today’s event, tapped Sasha on the shoulder.

      ‘Change of plan, cariña. We ’ave one other speaker now before you.’

      Sasha felt sick. ‘But I … I’m ready now. What other speaker? Can’t they go later?’

      ‘Unfortunately not. Mr Dupree ‘as a plane to catch in a couple of hours. I know a lot of our attendees would want to hear Wrexall Dupree’s take on the European market. Mr Dupree was kind enough to offer to say a few words and then introduce you.’

      Peering through the throng of faces, Sasha saw Jackson a few rows back. He was chatting and laughing with a sycophantic huddle of Eurotrash as if he hadn’t a СКАЧАТЬ