In Safe Keeping (2 page)

‘That’s not why I’m here.’

‘Oh.’ He checked the Tag Heuer watch that had graced her bedside table in recent weeks. ‘Can you come with me while you tell me what’s up?’

‘
Err…’ Right away he had her off balance. This wasn’t how she’d planned things in her head.

‘I’m late for a close-the-deal party at The Bowery. It’s only around the corner.’

The Bowery. A mecca for Sydney’s hip and happening.

She’d heard about it, knew the cabanas around the roof pool rented out for a cool ten grand a night for the notorious ‘close-the-deal’ parties. And Evan referred to it like it was his local pub. It only served to highlight the yawning social gap between them, and was another reason for her to get this over as quickly as possible.

Laila’s heart gave a series of nervous throbs. ‘This won’t take long.’

Before she could begin, he leaned down and pressed his lips into the soft spot behind her ear, his hand coming up to rest on her braided hair.

‘I’ve never seen your hair this way.’ He breathed in her ear, roughened jaw scraping the side of her neck. ‘Very classy.’

Desire, hot and needy, had her stepping away from him. Of course he’d never seen her hair in a braid, they never made it out of the bedroom.

‘And that conservative little suit. It’s so
proper
.’ His eyes glittered as his arm came around her waist. ‘I can’t wait to get it off you.’

Heat flooded Laila’s face. She didn’t know how to act, didn’t know how to behave with him in a normal situation. But he appeared to have no such reservations. He was staring at her with that same driven expression she thought he reserved for the bedroom.

Dragging her thoughts away from the rock-hard body she knew lay under his business suit, she drew in a deep breath. ‘Evan. I took instructions from Scarlett Peyton last Tuesday.’

And I’ve thought of nothing else since then.

‘She’s taking family law proceedings against her husband.’

He remained silent, and Laila held her breath as intelligent eyes studied her face. Eventually, the corners of his mouth turned up in a pleased smile. ‘Congratulations, that’s great. A client like Scarlett will be a real boon for your practice.’

‘Not so great for us though,’ she managed to say, throat so dry the words came out with an uncool croak.

He gripped her hand and pulled her towards the door. ‘Why do you say that?’

Laila hurried along beside him, thoughts crowding her mind as he bade the security guard goodnight and pushed open the heavy glass door. She didn’t know what reaction she’d been expecting; an acknowledgement of the situation perhaps, followed by resignation. Certainly not this.

‘
You
know why. We have a massive conflict of interest.’

‘I’ll hand it on to someone else. I hate family law.’

Laila bristled. She hadn’t known that, but then they’d been so busy divesting each other of clothes, they hadn’t progressed much beyond the basics. And he only came to her two or three nights each week, so it wasn’t as if they’d spent a whole lot of time together.

But he wasn’t seeing anyone else.

That they
had
talked about.

Outside, the pavement was crowded with office workers, some heading home, others kicking off their weekend in one of the city’s bars. A few were headed for the Sydney Football Stadium, red-and-white Swans scarves flung around their necks.

They turned into a narrow alleyway, where hundreds of lanterns in every shape and size hung from overhead cables to form a colourful canopy. When Evan bypassed the queue lined up outside the swanky private hotel, Laila tried again.

‘I remember reading Duncan Peyton followed you to Poole Greenwood on the proviso
you
personally handle all his matters?’

Evan stopped by the elevator, released her hand and withdrew a black card from his wallet. ‘I’ll oversee it. Someone else can run it.’

She raised her eyebrows as he swiped the card and the elevator doors opened. ‘You’re a member here?’

He shrugged. ‘The firm gave it to me.’

Wishing they could have spoken in the privacy of a conference room or office, Laila stepped into the lift. It seemed this was about as private as they’d get.

‘It won’t work, Evan,’ she said, injecting as much finality into her tone as she possibly could.

He jabbed the button for the fifth floor, an unreadable expression on his face. ‘We’ll put up Chinese walls.’

‘
Chinese walls?’
Laila almost screeched the words. He couldn’t be serious.

‘It’s a conceptual barrier that separates two or more groups, usually as a means of restricting the flow of information.’

‘I know what it means,’ she retorted hotly. ‘
Your
client might be willing to believe we won’t indulge in pillow talk, but I can’t ask my client to accept that.’

His eyes cut to hers. ‘Can’t?’

‘Won’t,’ she snapped. ‘I won’t risk it. If Scarlett Peyton finds out we’re sleeping together, she’ll find another lawyer.’

Oh god, stop looking at him. Remember the foundation.

‘This is my big break’, Laila went on. ‘I’ve worked one or two reasonably big cases, but this one’s huge. The
referrals
I’ll get after this — you can’t ask me not to take it.’

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he muttered.

The elevator doors opened and they stepped outside.

‘You’d be foolish Evan, to risk your biggest client, and the opportunity you have at Poole Greenwood, just because we’re…’

He swung around, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. ‘Just because we’re
what
, Laila?’

Laila’s gaze drifted past his shoulder to where a party was taking place beside a sparkling aqua pool. A guitarist was playing flamenco on a small stage while scantily dressed young women moved between the cocktail bar and the guests, drink trays balanced on their palms.

A scene flashed into her mind of the parties she’d frequented with Will, on the army base. Surrounded by friends, they were casual affairs, barbecues mostly, the setting so far removed from this sophisticated urban playground that it could have been another world.

She stepped back.

This wasn’t her scene.

Laila brought her eyes back to Evan. ‘I was going to say you’d be foolish to risk your biggest client just because you’re fucking me.’

His eyes widened, and he started to say something, but she cut him off.

‘I’ve made application to the court, seeking orders restraining your client from dealing with or encumbering any of his assets. Check your correspondence. The matter’s set down for Monday morning.’

The colour drained from his face, and past his shoulder Laila could see a man she recognised from the newspapers as Duncan Peyton. He was strolling towards them, an open Champagne bottle in one hand.

Laila braced herself and spoke neutrally, unemotionally, one lawyer to another.

‘Goodbye Evan. I expect our next meeting will be in court.’

5.30 p.m. Friday

A heavy hand clamped down on Evan’s shoulder as he watched Laila walk away from him. Shoulders square, head tilted at a proud angle, she didn’t once look back.

Beside him, Duncan gave a low, quiet whistle. ‘Who’s the hot babe?’

Evan kept his eyes on Laila’s slim figure as she waited for the lift. He wanted to tell Duncan it was none of his damn business, but as of now it seemed they both had serious business with Laila Richards.

‘She’s a lawyer.’

‘Damn! I’m in the wrong job.’

‘You’ve never
had
a job.’

Duncan laughed, too loudly, making Evan wonder if he’d had something more than alcohol in the two hours since they’d signed off on the biggest deal of their lives.

A lock of prematurely grey hair fell over Duncan’s forehead as he jabbed an index finger into Evan’s chest. ‘My job is building the family fortune.’

‘You’ve got me for that.’

‘That’s
right
!’ Duncan thrust an open bottle of Bollinger at him. ‘So drink up buddy. I’ve got a two-hour start on you.’

‘No kidding?’ Evan looked down at the bottle in his hand, not bothering to hide his disdain. ‘If you’re insisting I drink this fizzy shit, the least you can do is get me a glass.’

As Duncan turned and beckoned over a half-dressed waitress, Evan watched Laila step into the elevator. She pressed the button and finally looked back at him, just as an attractive brunette sporting a ‘nothing is too much trouble’ smile — and a pony trot more suitable for the catwalk than the pool surrounds — handed him a Champagne flute.

Trying to order his chaotic thoughts, Evan filled the Champagne glass, hoping Duncan didn’t notice the tremor in his hand.

‘That lawyer, Laila Richards. She says she’s acting for Scarlett in family law proceedings.’

Duncan stared at him for a full five seconds, then threw back his head and laughed again, as if Evan had made a joke.

‘I assure you, she was serious.’ He knew the marriage had gone through rocky patches in the past, and while Scarlett had threatened to leave on numerous occasions, she’d never acted on those threats. Had she gone ahead and done it this time?

‘You didn’t think to tell me this while we were in negotiations? What’s going on, Dunk?’

Duncan gradually sobered. ‘Nothing’s going on. You know what she’s like.’

Spoilt and self-absorbed in his opinion, but he wouldn’t insult his friend’s wife, even if she
had
shot through.

‘I don’t live with her, so how would I know what she’s like?’

Duncan rocked back on his heels. ‘It’s just women, mate. Everything’s going along smoothly then all of a sudden they go a bit nuts. It’s probably another storm in a teacup.’

‘Don’t be so sure.’ Evan took a sip and tried not to grimace as the sparkly bubbled on his tongue and fizzed up the back of his nose.
Christ
, he hated Champagne. Duncan was right when he said you could take the boy out of the bush but you couldn’t take the bush out of the boy.

‘Laila Richards told me she’s made application to the court to freeze your assets. It’s set down for Monday.’

This time, Duncan visibly paled.

‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Anxious for his friend to understand the fiscal ramifications of any future family law proceedings, Evan set his glass down on the wooden edge of a large, white planter pot.

‘The deal with the Chinese is conditional upon you having a certain net worth. Should that net worth slip below the predetermined figure, there could be grounds to terminate the contracts.’

A chill ran over Evan’s pores beneath the fabric of his business shirt. The contracts were for the construction of two office towers and two six-star hotels — one on Sydney’s prime waterfront, the other in Hong Kong.

Fuck!
He couldn’t believe it.

The ink wasn’t dry on the contracts and already they could be null and void, the partnership between the Chinese consortium and the Peyton family at serious risk.

Duncan gave a dismissive wave and staggered a little. ‘That won’t happen.’

Evan gripped his client’s arm and cast his eyes about to see if anyone had noticed. ‘You’re half tanked.’

Lowering his voice, he tried to drive his point home. ‘The Chinese get wind of a drawn-out divorce, and there’s every chance they’ll walk. Remember, Scarlett’s a signatory to certain companies and trusts.’

‘Mate…’ This time Duncan’s tone held a warning, like he was chiding an errant child. ‘Just forget about it, alright? The Chinese directors are over there in the cabana, already partying
. I promise you
, I’ll go home and sort out the problem with Scarlett, and I’ll call you tomorrow. Everything will be okay.’

It was possible Duncan was keeping something from him; understandable even, seeing as it involved his marriage.

Evan turned and looked out over the pool, jaw locked so tight his molars ached. Regardless of his personal reservations, he had to accept his friend knew best — as least where his wife was concerned.

‘Why isn’t she here?’ he asked eventually, deciding to back off.

Duncan made a sweeping movement with his hand and somehow managed to stay on his feet. ‘She hates all this.’

As they watched, a woman peeled off her top and bra and dived into the water, clad only in a moulded pair of jeans. A round of applause broke out, and Duncan joined in, punching the air and then wrapping his arm around Evan’s neck.

‘Can’t understand why, I mean, what’s not to like about this place?’

Six weeks ago, Evan probably would have agreed, but that was before he’d met Laila. Beautiful, mature, independent Laila.

Evan looked at the line of suits circling the pool waiting for more girls to show up. The rooftop bar was advertised as public, but you still had to have the right body shape, the right clothes and the right connections for the doorman to even consider letting you in.

‘I don’t know mate. Anyone with a credit card can buy an Armani suit and show up here. It’s not that great.’

Duncan gave him an accusing look. ‘You’re in a shit of a mood for someone who’s just put together a multimillion-dollar deal. Try and look a little happy, will you?’

That could take some work, when he was worried out of his mind and pissed off at Laila. Sure he regretted not being able to return her emails and calls, but that was due to him being in lockdown. He’d been stuck at the office, snatching an hour or two of sleep on the couch when he could, with everything else on the backburner. The tender process required all information be kept on laptops not connected to the internet. Christ, the Chinese even demanded the conference room be swept for bugs every morning. And not the six-legged variety.

Laila had taken instructions three days ago and already made application to the court. Surely she could have shown him more courtesy than fronting up at his office at close of business on Friday. After all, this affected them personally as well as professionally.

Conscious of Duncan’s scrutiny, Evan picked up the Champagne glass.

‘You’re right, I’m in a shit of a mood. Lack of sleep. You go in. I just need a few minutes to myself, and I’ll be over.’

Duncan clapped him on the back, satisfied with his response. ‘You did well today buddy. Not bad for a kid from the bush.’