Heller's Punishment (30 page)

He parked in
front of an exclusive harbour-front apartment building and I
unloaded my bag from the back. Lugging it onto my shoulder, I
followed the three giants towards the foyer. Inside, the concierge
cleared us and gave us directions to the correct apartment. None of
us spoke in the lift as it ascended. We stepped out into a smaller
foyer with only one door, indicating there was only one apartment
per floor.

I was impressed
by the grandeur of the building and its fittings, luxurious and
tasteful. It would have cost millions to purchase a property in
this building. Obviously trash TV paid better than I’d
expected.

Trent Dawson
answered the door himself in his bathrobe, startled to see Heller
in front of him.

“Wow! You’re
bloody huge!” he spurted out, his eyes travelling over the other
two giants. “Excellent! I won’t have anything to worry about with
you guys around. Although you make me feel like a girl standing
next to you.”

I hid behind
Heller, vainly hoping that the TV star wouldn’t notice me. He poked
his head around Heller and grinned at me in delight.

“Speaking of
girls, there she is! Hello, Tilly. Feeling a little shy today?”

“Mr Dawson,” I
acknowledged politely.

“Call me Trent.
No need for formality between us. We’re virtually old friends.”

He ushered us
into his stylish apartment, full of modern designer furniture and
art, complete with a stunning view of the harbour. My eyes were
drawn immediately to the sailing boats that glided gracefully
through the glistening water. It was such a peaceful panorama that
I could have stared at it all day.

Reluctantly I
pulled my eyes away and focussed them on the man standing in front
of us. He was about my height with dark brown, fashionably cut
hair, a well-shaped mouth and cheeky smile. He was undeniably cute,
but his brown eyes were shrewdly assessing in a slightly predatory
way. He was well-groomed and always seemed well-dressed as
befitting a national television host. He made a regular appearance
in the annual top fifty bachelors list of a popular women’s
magazine.

Heller
introduced himself and then the security team. The men stood by,
arms crossed, filling the room with their massive bulks. Heller and
I sat on the soft white leather lounge, Trent opposite, shooting me
a wry smile as he carefully ensured that his bathrobe was securely
fastened.

“Perhaps you
wouldn’t mind filling in my staff on your specific security
concerns, Mr Dawson,” Heller asked.

Trent sighed.
“A few months ago, I did a story on dodgy hairdressers. You know
the type, the ones who do such a bad bleach job that a customer is
left with a blistered scalp and her hair breaking apart and falling
out. I have absolutely no sympathy for that kind of poor
professionalism and neither do my viewers. So I have no regrets
about running that story. None at all.”

Heller nodded
to show that he was listening.

“One of the
hairdressers featured in the story couldn’t handle the critical
public attention that it brought on her. She ended up topping
herself. She had depression for quite a while and had tried to kill
herself on a couple of other occasions unrelated to me. But now her
partner is suing me personally for compensation, after previously
trying and failing to sue the station. So I’m due in court all week
to fight the claim and to be honest, I’m pretty scared of him. He’s
gigantic and angry, probably a steroid abuser. He’s not really
after justice. What he wants is money and shitloads of it. But he
can go screw himself! He’s not getting a cent from me. I wasn’t the
one ripping off trusting women and ruining their lives with painful
and ugly hair treatments. Some of those women were left with
permanent bald spots from scarring on their scalps. Tilly, how
would you feel about that if it happened to you?”

“Very upset and
angry,” I said quietly.

“Of course you
would. And so do those poor women.” His eyes burned with fervour
and he seemed so sincere about his passionate anger for those
mistreated women that I began to warm to him. Maybe he did have a
genuine streak of avenging hero for the little guy. That ardour was
probably what kept his show as such a consistent high-rater for his
network, despite the critics regularly panning it.

He really
was quite cute
, I thought to myself, before realising that I
was staring at him. Noticing my attention, he flashed me a grin and
continued. “The plaintiff has been talking to the media non-stop,
and of course my rival channels have been lapping it up. They’re
feral about this story and have started hounding me. It’s becoming
so unbearable that I decided I needed some professional assistance
on my side during the court case. Of course I thought of Tilly
straight away. She did such a good job with Yoni Lemere that I
didn’t want anyone else. And I did promise her that I’d catch up
with her one day.”

That little
quip turned Heller’s tone from neutral to frosty. “I’m sure you
understand that I need to assess the risk of this assignment, Mr
Dawson. I can’t have my staff endangered in any way. I’m
particularly concerned about Matilda’s safety. Do you have any
reason to believe that this man will be dangerous?”

Trent assessed
Heller shrewdly and I could almost hear his mind ticking over. He
raised an eyebrow. “Particularly concerned about Matilda, huh? What
if I promise to look after Matilda, to give especial attention to
her safety, even while I’m paying a large sum of money to you to
make sure she’s watching out for my safety? What if I promise to
look after her as if she was my very own Matilda? Would that help
in letting her go for a week, Mr Heller?”

Judging by the
way his mouth tightened, Trent’s gentle mocking irked Heller – it
wasn’t something he encountered very often. Personally, I couldn’t
believe that they were discussing me as if I wasn’t even there.

“Why do you
need her to stay over?” Heller demanded.

Trent shrugged
casually. “Better than anyone, I know how insidious and determined
the media can be to get a scoop. It’s a more realistic cover story
for me to have a woman here in my apartment. People are more likely
to believe that I have a new . . . friend. I don’t want anyone to
know I’ve hired security twenty-four hours a day. It’s
embarrassing. The media would make a meal of it. And yes, I know
I’m a hypocrite, but I don’t want my life used as cheap media
fodder.”

Heller turned
to me. “Any further questions of Mr Dawson, Matilda?”

I shook my
head. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for court, Trent?” I asked
him in a friendly tone.

He shot Heller
a smile. “See, she’s looking after me already. I made the right
choice.” And he strutted off down a hallway, Heller frowning after
him.

“I don’t like
that man,” he said to me when Trent was safely out of hearing
range. “He’s cocky.”

“He’s confident
and serious about his profession,” I smiled. “Sounds like someone I
know.”

He stood up. “I
have to go. Make sure you keep in touch, please. I’m concerned that
I haven’t provided enough men for this job, but Mr Dawson didn’t
want a big team.”

I stood too and
waited patiently while he spoke a few last words to the men. I
walked him to the door.

“Take care, my
sweet,” he said and leaned down to kiss me. I pushed him away.

“Don’t do that
in front of the men!”

“Why not?” He
was genuinely puzzled, even despite our earlier conversation.

“Because then
they think that I’m your woman,” I hissed in an undertone.

“What’s wrong
with that?”

I sighed.
“You’re my boss. When I’m working, I want you to treat me like
you’d treat your men.”

“But you’re not
like my men to me. You’re my Matilda. You’re special.”

“Heller, that’s
all right when we’re alone. But at this moment, I’m your employee
and you should treat me like one.”

He let out a
low growl of frustration and ran his hands through his spiky blond
hair. “Okay, have it your way. Goodbye, Matilda.”

He slammed the
door behind him, leaving me unsettled and angry with someone, but I
wasn’t sure if it was him or me. I scrunched my eyes shut and
clenched my fists, experiencing a burning desire to punch
something. I glared at the men, who diplomatically looked away, and
stalked to one of the large picture windows to peer down at the
tranquil view. The beautiful blues of the water, light sparkling
off the waves, mesmerised me. Why was water so calming?

“It’s
spectacular, isn’t it?” Trent murmured in my ear. I jumped in
fright.

“Geez, don’t do
that! You scared me.”

“Sorry Tilly.”
His smile was blazing bright. He was handsome in a skilfully cut
suit and sober tan shirt. He smelled good, wearing an exotic and
expensive cologne. I wanted to bury my nose in his neck and sniff
like a bloodhound. “Do I look presentable enough for court?”

“And the
media?”

He laughed
self-deprecatingly. “Yes. How did you guess?”

“The effort you
put into your appearance. Judges aren’t usually all that
fussy.”

“It’s difficult
for me to be in the public spotlight. I wasn’t sure what to
wear.”

I regarded him
with scepticism. He was in the news all the time, mostly because of
his relationships. Just off the top of my head, I recalled stories
about women hurling their stilettos through his apartment windows
from the street, women spoiling his restaurant meals with glasses
of good red wine tipped over his head, and women slashing his car
tyres at the TV studio. He either attracted a certain type of
unhinged woman or he was the sleaziest philanderer on the planet,
the kind of man who drove normal women into mad acts of
revenge.

“Well, apart
from the usual lovers’ spats. The media salivates over them. It’s
just blatant sensationalism,” he conceded. It was as if he’d read
my mind and I realised then that he was very good at deciphering
people’s emotions and reactions. And heaven knows, I’d been told
often enough that I was an easy person to read. I would have to be
on my guard with him at all times.

“You do seem to
have some very feisty girlfriends, judging by the stories about you
on the news.”

“I will admit
that I have a real weakness for spirited, though maybe somewhat
unstable, women. You’re quite feisty too, I seem to remember.”

“Why don’t you
annoy me and find out for yourself?” I suggested smiling.

He laughed in
delight. “It’s going to be fun having you around, Tilly.” His eyes
searched the room. “Has Blondie left?”

“Yep.”

“God, he’s
incredible, isn’t he? Absolutely stunning. I’ve never met anyone
like him and I’ve met a lot of people. He’s like something from
mythology. Some Norse god. I could imagine him ruling a kingdom,
wearing some dead animal draped over him, smiting his enemies and
ravishing every female human he encountered.”

“Do you fancy
him?” I smiled again.

He laughed. “I
would if I was gay. Definitely! I love blonds. And he looks as
though he’d give you the ride of your life.” He cut me a sharp
glance. “He’s very protective of you. I thought he was going to
bite my head off. Are you and he . . .?”

“I’m not
sure.”

He laughed
again, a warm chuckle. “Have you and him . . .?”

“Um, not
quite.”

Another laugh.
“Well, you couldn’t be more enigmatic if you tried.”

I shrugged.
“Sorry, that’s just the way it is. It’s –”

“Complicated?”

“You guessed
it.” I checked my watch. “We better leave. It’s not a good idea to
be late for court. Judges are prone to become quite shitty about
things like that.”

The four of us
caught the lift down to the basement of the apartment building to
where Trent’s sporty red BMW coupe was parked. He threw his keys at
the two men.

“Can one of you
guys drive? I have paperwork to catch up on.”

Dubov caught
the keys, a happy gleam in his eye at driving such a smart little
car. Ozanne and he sat in the front, while I sat in the back with
Trent. He opened his briefcase and self-consciously donning stylish
glasses, sorted through some documents, reading some, making
comments in neat writing on others. I watched him, interested in
the serious, focussed expression on his face as he worked. It was
very different to the bold and roguish one his face usually held.
He glanced up suddenly and caught me observing him, frowning
slightly.

“Everything
okay?”

“Just thinking
how different you look with your glasses on.”

His grin was
irrepressible. “Oh, really? Better or worse?”

“Better. Makes
you look professional. Almost like a real journalist,” I
teased.

“What an
impertinent young lady you are,” he tutted with mock-sternness,
looking down his glasses at me. “I shall have to teach you some
respect for your elders.”

“Good luck with
that, grandpa,” I smiled.

“Hey! I’m not
that old. I’m only thirty-five.”

“That’s almost
fifty.”

He stared at me
in amused disbelief. “You cheeky little madam! I’ll deal with you
later, Tilly Chalmers.” I laughed to myself as I let him return to
his work.

A small media
scrum waited for him outside the court, but nothing compared to the
paparazzi we’d had to deal with when Yoni Lemere had visited. The
three of us grouped around Trent loosely, standing by patiently
while he stopped to answer media questions, his glasses safely
stowed away so as not to ruin his image. He fiercely defended his
commitment to exposing poor trade practices. He firmly stated that
while he was sorry about the suicide of the hairdresser featured in
his story, he would never apologise for revealing her appalling
skills. Who was thinking about the women whose lives she’d ruined,
he demanded, eyes sparking. He strongly denied that his story had
been the impetus behind the hairdresser’s decision to end her life,
and refused to rule out running similar stories in the future.