Game of Love (42 page)

“Stop,” Gemma said as she tugged Tish’s shoulder. “I can’t even talk when you run like that.”

Tish placed her hands on her hips and peered at Gemma.

Gemma caught her breath and opened her mouth. “I—”

“Don’t,” Tish said. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I get it.”

Gemma studied her friend’s eyes. She saw sincerity. “I should have told you the truth.”

“Maybe. But it’s done now. And…” she paused, then broke eye contact. “God knows I’ve been less than perfect.”

They started walking the path. “Can we turn the page then?” Gemma asked.

“Of course. That’s not even a question.”

Gemma made a move to embrace her friend.

“Oh, no. You’re a sweating mess. You can hug me after you’ve cleaned up.”

“You should accept me as I am.”

Tish took a few steps backwards, creating space between her. “No, thank you.”

Gemma moved toward her. “Best friends for ever.”

“BFF, not BO. Stay away, you.” She spun and sprinted away.

“Bloody coward!”

That had been easy. Maybe too easy.

Before Gemma went to sleep on Sunday, she called his mobile. It went directly to voicemail. She should have tried earlier. Then again, maybe this was for the best.

After the previous hellish week, she needed a bit of calm in her life. She had her Round of Sixteen match in the morning, and she did not like what the pundits had said about her last match against Veronika. She needed to win convincingly. She needed to drive home the point. As always, the need to prove others wrong was what drove her to fight and win. Also, she wanted to remind herself she could win, with or without him.

Even though she loved him, she could go on without him if she had to.

Win she did.

Gemma had a brilliant match, defeating her opponent quickly and swiftly. She wondered what the experts would say now–not that it mattered. She needed to prepare for her next match with no time to rest. Because of rain delays, the quarterfinal match was scheduled for the next day.

She would not stew over her life. Yes, she had yet again miscalculated, but she couldn’t dwell on that. For now, she would revel in her preparation and focus only on the next round.

When she grabbed her mobile, the message from Andre derailed her plans momentarily: “
You were epic
.”

She studied his name on the mobile’s screen and thought of the last time she had seen him. He was in her kitchen, trying to reassure her. She missed him. She loved him. He was supposed to be the one. But she couldn’t stand the uncertainty and lack of stability she felt because of him.

On Monday, Andre quit.

“You can’t quit!” Roger yelled.

“Here is my letter of resignation.”

“I won’t accept it,” Roger said.

“You can’t keep me employed against my will.”

“No? Are you ready to forfeit your bonus and pay back all your commissions for the last three years? Are you ready to give up millions in bonus? You’re not that stupid.” Glee radiated in the man’s eyes. But the redness that blossomed across his cheeks told a different story.

“Do you want more money? Is that it?” He walked over to his bar, spilled whiskey in his glass, then drank it with gluttony. One drop ran down his chin. “Name your price.”

“I want out, and you will pay my bonus. We will call it a done deal and go our separate ways.”

Roger’s hoarse, phlegmy laugh caused him to cough. “Have you gone stupid on me? Are you on drugs? Bullshit! We will go after every penny, with interest.”

“No, you won’t,” Andre said, and pulled out a document. “Here’s a contract I wrote up. It says you will not exercise any of the punitive damage clauses of our contract. My exit is the end of our relationship.”

“There is no way I’m signing that piece of shit.” Roger downed the rest of the whiskey. “What happened to you? You were doing so well. Now you want to throw it all away? You’ve gotten yourself mixed up with the wrong crowd. Running around with celebrities, drinking, and who knows what else.”

“I want out.”

“We built our five-year strategy around you. If we lose money, you’ll lose money.”

Andre would not bite. The chess game was on. “A few months here or there will make no material difference to your revenues. When you sign this agreement, I will sign this one.” He threw another document on the desk.

“And what’s that?” Roger asked.

“For a period of one year, I will not work for any consulting firm that competes or provides similar services to any client that would be deemed a prospective client of M&T. I’m getting off the grid for twelve months. No one gets me.” He reached into Roger’s coat pocket, removed his gold pen, and placed it on the papers.

Andre had considered all possible permutations of this game.

Roger scanned the document and turned pale. “Legal needs to read it. I won’t agree to anything until they sign off.”

“I’ll give you ten minutes. Like I said, I’m willing to get off the grid if you sign. But if you don’t, in about one hour I will have a meeting with Vektor Consulting–your favorite competitor. Then another one with Homeland Security. Tomorrow, I meet with the NSA. I’ll ask for and receive a signing bonus that will cover litigation or payoff. In return, I’ll commit to a five-year deal with them starting immediately. Vektor will destroy your hold on the Global-100. They’ll also get an exclusive agreement with Homeland and NSA when I join. Either we all win, or you lose. Your choice.” He glanced at his watch. “Seven minutes.”

The game was coming along just as he had anticipated.

“Bullshit. No one will give you that kind of deal.”

Andre took out an envelope from his coat pocket, opened it, and placed the letter on the table.

“Now what?” Roger asked.

“A written offer from Prime Minister Beckford. The United Kingdom has already made me an offer. The signing bonus is there as well. I’d rather not move to London, but I will.”

Roger rubbed his face, turning crimson, then slammed the table. “No. No deal,” Roger said, and raised his chin. “You need me. I’m the one who can prevent some leech from destroying the good reputation of your girlfriend.”

Check
.

“I’m listening.”

“I received video, pictures, and audiotapes. Video of the two of you having an intimate moment in the rain. Then running into your hotel room. And audiotapes of a conversation between you two of a certain ‘rape’ from some years back. The blackmailer discovered you were with us and sent a copy.” Roger’s forehead was littered with beads of sweat. “I agreed to his demands to save your reputation and your woman’s name, but more importantly, because I didn’t want our company name to be associated with scandals of this sort. You know our clientele is sensitive.”

Roger wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

“So you have a copy of the video and audio material from the extortionist?”

“That’s right. High quality stuff.”

Checkmate.

“That certainly changes things.” Andre strode around the office. “Now, this wouldn’t happen to be the tape Abe Munem took?”

Roger suddenly lost all color from his cheeks.

“Two nights ago, Scotland Yard—the Met—arrested him.”

Roger’s eyes widened.

“You’re thinking of the e-mail you got from him this morning, right? Nah, not him. What’s interesting is his story is different than the one you just spun.” Andre walked around, running his fingers on the furniture. “He said you hired him. Can you believe the audacity? He even provided phone records as proof. I spoke to Josh Kinsey–you remember Josh, don’t you? FBI special team on extortion and blackmail. Sure you do. Anyway, I visited him yesterday, and he confirmed the authenticity of the phone communication between you and Abe.”

Andre walked up to Roger’s bar, opened a forty-year-old bottle of Macallan, and poured an overly-stiff shot in a crystal glass. He studied the color, took in the aroma, then sipped. “Oh man, this is good.”

Andre sipped more whiskey. He had to time this well. Allow the facts to sink in for Roger.

“Yes, sir. Scotland Yard has Abe. The question is, what will I do with you? I do recommend you sign my original offer. Maybe I can convince the feds that jail is not the best option for you. And just to be clear, no, I will not stay with M&T. The good reputation of this firm depends on the choice you make in the next…” he studied his watch, “… sixty seconds.”

Andre studied Roger. “Why’d you do it?”

Roger set his chin. “For you. I did it for you. Don’t you see? She will ruin your career–she already has. You could’ve made partner here. I took you under my wing because I wanted to see you succeed. I–”

“You wanted me to make you money. As much money as humanly possible before I collapsed. So don’t try to justify your actions by–”

“I don’t have to justify anything. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. You think you’re so smart with your little dramatics here. I’ve seen this play before. The same story repeating itself. Brilliant kids, straight out of top universities, wanting to make it. And they do by working hard. Their money gets them noticed by the ladies who are on the lookout for their kind. Then they think they’ve fallen in love. Suddenly they can’t go on those extended trips. They want someone else to fill their spot. They need vacation time. The woman in his life wanted him for his money, and now is demanding the money and the person. So the stupid kid does it. Follows the woman. Does what she wants. Ruins his career. All for what? A divorce that will invariably come, because that’s how it always ends? And that will be your story too. The difference this time? She’ll dump you. Because her sun is brighter than yours. You are nothing next to her, and you will be left with nothing after her.”

“Roger,” Andre said, “Cooperate with the FBI. Hand over everything. I don’t want you to go to jail.”

Andre had one more loose end to handle. He drove into his parent’s driveway. Time he had it out with his dad. No more recommending or requesting. On one hand he had Gemma, who would give up anything to find a connection to her family. And his dad, who still had a niece, was acting like a petulant kid.

He opened the door and stormed into the kitchen. He found his dad tasting homemade marinara sauce.