Читать книгу Guilty Pleasures - Tasmina Perry, Tasmina Perry - Страница 8

Twenty-three years later

Sitting in the passenger seat of an ink-black Mercedes, Emma Bailey turned round and watched the white Federal-style mansion fade from view, bringing to a close one of the most stressful days of her life. She blew out her cheeks, smiling to herself at a job well done. Emma had spent the last twenty-four hours charming and cajoling industrialist PJ Frost, attempting to persuade him that her company Price Donahue was the right one to advise him on a billion-dollar mergers and acquisition strategy. Emma’s head was swimming. Not just from the pressure, but from dinner last night; a seven-course tasting menu with free-flowing vintage champagne that she had been in no position to refuse. Frost was from the old school where deals were brokered over food, liquor and preferably blood-sports, which she was glad to have been spared.

‘We did it!’ laughed Emma, sinking back into the leather and watching the frosty white landscape speed by.

‘You did it,’ said her colleague Mark Eisner, one of the partners at the firm as he turned up the heated seats. ‘You were the one that got us the invite up here. You were the one who impressed him with the pitch. Price Donahue has been after the Frost business for years. You do realize that this is about twenty million dollars worth of fees?’

Emma smiled. She knew she had done well and it was good to hear her boss acknowledge it, but she had to admit a little bit of luck had helped; her chance meeting with PJ Frost at a business seminar had come at exactly the right time. PJ Frost had a vast industrial empire that took in everything from paper mills to food production. He was a billionaire, owned one of the finest homes in New England, a fleet of vintage sports cars and two Gulfstream jets, but when Emma had met him, he had just slipped out of the Forbes 400 and he was hell bent on re-igniting his business. Emma knew Price Donahue, one of the most prestigious management consultancy firms in Boston, were the firm to do it: they just had to convince Frost. Emma and Mark had made the long drive up to Vermont a day earlier and even if she did say so herself, they had done an amazing job presenting their ideas. The deal had been sealed on the Friday night. Unfortunately, then Frost had insisted they return to his mansion the next day and celebrate with a brunch of kedgeree, eggs Benedict and even more champagne.

‘My blood feels like pure Dom Perignon,’ groaned Emma, putting on a pair of sunglasses to ease her headache.

‘I could think of worse things,’ said Mark who’d had to stay sober to drive.

‘It’s not funny,’ she said in a croaky laugh. ‘I haven’t had a hangover since college.’

‘That was six years ago!’ teased Mark.

‘University not grad school,’ she smiled, feeling herself flush. ‘Eight years ago.’

‘Well, I particularly enjoyed it when you climbed on the grand piano to serenade Frost. I had no idea you were a gifted singer as well as a first-class brain.’

‘I didn’t!’ she said sitting up and snatching off the shades.

‘You did,’ said Mark Eisner, a slow, lazy smile curling at his lips. ‘You sang “Begin the Beguine”. I like you like that. Less wound up. Less serious.’

Emma stared at him, a look of horror on her face, until her foggy brain realized he was joking.

‘Ow!’ cried Mark, laughing, as she punched him on the arm. ‘I could have you up on a discipline charge for that!’

He looked back at the frost-dusted road again and smiled.

‘Hey, so you got a bit drunk. Don’t look at it as over-indulgence, look at it as a necessarily evil, Em. When you’re a partner you’ll soon realize that hollow legs are a pre-requisite of the job.’

Emma’s buoyant mood softened.

‘This weekend has got to have helped my chances, hasn’t it?’ she asked cautiously.

‘Of what?’

‘Partnership, of course.’

Although Emma had only been a Price Donahue manager for two years she felt sure she was in with a chance of being selected for partner. Yes, she was still not quite thirty, but she had brought in millions for the firm and her reputation alone had brought in a considerable amount of new business.

‘Well, don’t ask me, I don’t know anything,’ said Mark playfully. ‘You’re in the running but then you already know that.’

‘You don’t think they’ll say I’m too young, do you?’

‘If you’re good enough, you’re old enough,’ he said seriously. ‘Anyway, there’s a partners’ meeting on Tuesday before the final vote. I’ll tell them what a fine job you did of reeling in that old buzzard PJ Frost with your sharp mind and fine singing voice,’ he laughed.

It was getting dark as the soft-top SLK roared south, the trees and fields a blur.

‘Hey, where are we going?’ asked Emma, as Mark turned off the highway.

‘To celebrate,’ he smiled, reaching over and taking her cold hand. He pulled onto a side road through a thick forest of sugar maple and beech. Emma would have loved to have seen the glorious scarlet and orange of Fall, but the February frost, lying in a lacy veil on the trees, was just as beautiful. As they turned a corner, Emma could see that their destination was a log cabin by the shores of a small lake. Pulling up outside it, Mark got out of the car, went round to Emma’s side and opened the door, taking her hand to help her out. As she stood, he pulled her towards him and kissed her on the lips. She responded greedily, pushing her body up against his.

‘What is this place?’ she asked when they finally came up for air.

‘A hideaway for honeymooners and rich recluses.’

‘Which category do we fall in?’ she grinned.

‘A little of both,’ he winked. ‘And wait until you see inside.’

The cabin was everything you’d want from a luxury bolt hole in the wilderness. There were skis and Wellingtons in a rack by the door, while the main room was filled with big leather sofas draped with cashmere blankets. Velvet drapes hung at the windows and a stag’s head hung over the stone fireplace. It was cosy and romantic, just perfect. Emma turned to look at Mark and felt herself blush: perfect for an affair with the boss, she thought.

Emma had always considered herself too cautious, too sensible for anything so clichéd as a workplace fling, especially with her own boss, but Mark Eisner was the most handsome, not to mention brilliant partner at Price Donahue. But it was more than that, thought Emma, looking at him, carrying in their bags: Mark was good for her. They had been dating for three months; getting together at a mutual friend’s Thanksgiving drinks, and she still thought he was the most sexy man she had ever seen. With his dark brown hair and his smooth tanned skin, he looked more like a male model in a coffee advert than a city high-flyer. For the first time in a long time, Emma felt as if she was where she wanted to be. She loved her job, her life in Boston, being with Mark. And the cabin, she loved the cabin.

While Mark went to put their overnight bags in the bedroom Emma took off her coat and went to stand by the window to look out onto the lake.

The only thing that would have made it any more perfect would have been if they had spent a couple days up here. She’d have loved to have wrapped up in scarves and boots and gone for long walks together, plus there was some excellent skiing in Stowe, not too far from where they were now. But most of all, she wished she could stay here in bed, curled against Mark’s strong back and sleep. She was frazzled, wound-up and anxious. It wasn’t just the high-pressure sales pitch at PJ Frost’s mansion, it was the constant demands of her job and the 18-hour days were finally catching up with her. The irony was that she did have the next three days booked off work but that was for another reason.

Mark came over with two glasses of chilled white wine and handed one to her.

‘If the weather turns tonight we might get snowed in,’ she said looking up at the ominous white sky.

‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ he said snaking her arm around her waist.

‘You do remember I have to be at the airport at four tomorrow afternoon.’

Mark reassured her with a smile.

‘We’ll make it even if I have to dig us out with my bare hands.’

‘I wish you were coming with me,’ she said stroking her finger across his cheek.

‘You know it will look odd if we both have time off at the same time,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sure my PA suspects us as it is. We don’t want to rock the boat before partnerships are announced.’

Emma smiled.

‘Well, I don’t want anyone accusing me of sleeping my way to the top,’ she joked, privately in complete agreement that she didn’t want their relationship to become public. Not yet anyway. While office romances weren’t expressly forbidden at Price Donahue, she didn’t want to do anything that might harm her chances of promotion; wanting to minimize the recklessness of being with Mark in any way she could.

‘Anyway, I don’t exactly blame you for not wanting to come all the way to England for a funeral.’

‘You sure know how to show a guy a good time.’

Mark saw her face fall and regretted the joke.

‘Hey, Em, I’m sorry. I know how upset you were about your Uncle.’

She nodded absently.

‘After my dad died, Uncle Saul was more like a father to me than an uncle,’ she said. ‘He was the one who paid for my college fees. He was the only one to encourage me to go to university in the States. I spent a couple of summers working with him at his company and I think that helped me get into business school.’

‘So why do I get the feeling you’re not looking forward to going?’ asked Mark.

Emma sighed.

‘It’s not Saul. It’s the rest of the family …’

Mark waited for her to continue, but she remained silent.

‘You never talk about them. Your family,’ he prompted.

‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she said turning away from him, but he pulled her back.

‘Hey, save it for when you get back from England,’ he said, stroking her hair. ‘I want to know about them. I want to know more about you.’

Emma felt herself tense at the intimate gesture.

‘You will call me if you hear anything about the partnership?’ she asked.

‘Honey, please just relax and try and forget about it, huh? For today, we’re on holiday.’

As he held her she caught their reflection in the glass.

It had taken Emma time to grow into her looks but at 29 even her own natural modesty could not deny that she looked good. At work, she always downplayed her attractiveness by wearing little or no make-up, but then she had a naturalness that suited it. Wavy, dark-blonde hair fell to her shoulders, her cheekbones were high, her mouth naturally full, and when she smiled it warmed up her intelligent grey eyes.

Moving closer, Mark slipped his fingers between two buttons of her shirt and under the lacy fold of her bra until his fingertips brushed her nipple.

Mark said, ‘You’re so beautiful.’

Emma would usually deflect compliments, deny them, or make them into a joke, but his touch seemed to sear her skin.

‘I love you,’ he whispered suddenly, looking into her eyes. Emma felt her stomach gallop.

‘You mean it?’ she said not knowing of any other way to respond.

He nodded pushing back a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

She let her body sink into his, and for the first time in weeks she felt such a sense of calm and belonging that she welled up with emotion.

‘I love you too,’ she whispered.

Mark moved his lips towards her neck running them down her skin.

‘I’m sure I saw a bed somewhere around here,’ he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. ‘I think it’s about time we went and checked it out.’

She kissed him on the mouth, then started unbuttoning his shirt all the way down to his navel.

‘Who needs a bed?’ she asked, looking up and smiling wickedly.