The Morning After the Night Before: Love & Lust in the city that never sleeps! (8 page)

Security down in the lobby had smiled extra broadly at supervising her sign-in and even the lifts seemed to whisper shut with an unnaturally enthusiastic swish. Welcoming her back. Not that she was going anywhere near her old floor down on twelve, just in case. She'd even gone to the trouble of calling Harry Mitchell's personal assistant and tried to make a fake appointment to find out whether he was in the building today, only to discover his diary had him out of the office all day.

Brilliant.
Not a chance of seeing him, then.

‘Tanya,' she murmured to the woman politely holding open the glass doors to Broadmore Natále's conference rooms as she approached. ‘Good to see you again.'

‘You too, Izzy.' Tanya smiled, polite but bemused. ‘Best of luck.'

She'd grown accustomed over the past couple of weeks to the confused astonishment people failed to hide as she began appearing at the shortlist meetings amongst the big players, rattling the proverbial tin for The Lutra Trust, the little-known otters and wetland habitat preservation group she'd persuaded to take her on.

Otters?
the conflicted little lines between their brows always seemed to whisper.

Seriously, otters?

She wasn't getting any closer to getting out of the boxroom, but she could at least lay her head on her cramped little pillow at night knowing she'd done a day's worth of really meaningful work. And after years of doing repetitive financial tasks that were as invisible as she'd felt, that was worth a lot.

Everything, really.

A different kind of reward.

‘Thanks for coming, everyone,' Tanya started,
in her amateur-theatre-on-the-weekends stage voice. ‘Here's how things will run today…'

When the spiel wound up, the rep from the world's biggest human rights organisation was called in first. Izzy did the alphabetical maths and realised she'd either be ninth, as a ‘T', or fifth as an ‘L' depending on how Broadmore felt about definite articles. That meant she could relax for about ninety minutes.

Relax.

Deep in enemy territory?

She settled in behind the screen of a large pillar and muttered, ‘I don't think so.'

It was nearly four hours before she was smoothing her skirt again and heel-clicking on the expensive floors into the conference room. She guessed she'd be facing Darcy McLennan from Communications and Kevin Busby from Marketing. They'd been a good team when she'd led them and she knew from experience that they were kind people whose only agenda was to make smart choices according to the departments they were there representing. Maybe she'd even meet her replacement from Finance, too, and it would be a panel full of friendly faces.

That took away some of her nerves as she pushed open the door and entered the room,
her head high and a smile on her face. Darcy and Kevin both looked surprised as she entered, so she gave them an extra-warm smile as her eyes tracked from the right of the panel. But when she got to the left, she hit a pair of eyes that didn't look surprised at all.

Cobalt, piercing eyes.

Smug eyes.

Ugh.

Izzy stumbled just slightly but caught herself and continued on to stand beside the vacant chair on her side of the table. She greeted Kevin and Darcy with warm handshakes, then steeled herself and turned to reach to her left, her eyes steady.

‘Mr Mitchell, how are you?'

* * *

Better the devil you know.
Wasn't that what she'd thought all those agony-filled minutes ago?

That was before she'd realised she knew one of them in the biblical sense, but she'd soldiered on and delivered the presentation she'd practised on her flatmates until their ears bled.

Darcy and Kevin both looked mildly surprised.

Harry just looked bored.

‘Otters.' He studied the glossy printout in
front of him. ‘Aren't they a kind of rodent? Feeding off the river bottom and skulking around in people's back-yard pools?'

‘You just described half your social circle. You're still happy to do business with them.'

Darcy gasped but Harry's bark of laughter ricocheted off the fine panelled walls. ‘Why don't you tell me what you really think, Ms Dean?'

Ah, sarcasm. She knew how to deal with that.

‘Bottom line, the money The Lutra Trust needs to do great things on the ground would barely pay the stationery bill of anyone out in your foyer. Broadmore Natále would be a major sponsor with us instead of just one of a multitude with them. You'd never have to share logo space.'

Blah blah blah.
She was clearly boring him.

‘I'm going to be honest with you, Ms Dean—'

‘That would be refreshing.'

He ignored that. ‘You're not in our top five.'

The carefully schooled surprise on Kevin's and Darcy's faces suggested he hadn't yet polled them, which meant Lutra Trust weren't in
his
personal top five. Then again this wouldn't be the first time that he'd overruled his staff. It also meant she was screwed.

But she would be damned before she begged. ‘Disappointing. But I'm just getting warmed up.'

‘Really?' Only the slightest flick of his eyebrows gave her any clue that he'd not expected that. ‘Not letting the moss grow, huh?'

‘You'd be astonished what I can achieve when I'm motivated about my work.'

Tssss! Burned.

But he didn't even blink, damn him. ‘I don't have to be astonished. I'm going to see it.'

‘When?'

‘When we cut you a cheque for fifty thousand pounds.'

Her respiration seized for shocked moments, but she had just enough left to stammer, ‘I thought we weren't in your top five?'

‘You're not. But you are sixth, fair and square. And, as you rightly point out, it doesn't cost a mountain extra to have you. I'll just shave ten grand off each of the others. They'll barely feel it.'

‘I…um…thank you.'

‘Don't thank me. You'll be working for it as our UK domestic focus. You'll cooperate with Darcy on possible media exposure and with Kevin on a style guide for all your visual material. We'll expect multiple public relations opportunities
every year and invitations to any significant otter-based events.'

Wow. Had she been this much of an autocrat when approving previous recipients?

Her smile stretched. ‘Of course.'

And just like that she found herself working for Harry Mitchell again.

Crap.

* * *

‘Ms Dean, a word?'

Ugh…so close. She'd even called the lift already.

On a careful lungful of manners, Izzy turned. ‘Mr Mitchell.'

He glanced around them to ensure they were alone. ‘Nicely played.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean exactly that. Well played.'

‘It's not a game. The Lutra Trust has as much right as any other group to petition Broadmore Natále for support.'

‘Is that why you didn't put your own name on the application? Because it's all so transparent?'

Heat threatened at the back of her neck. Only some of it was embarrassment at being caught out, because she
had
thought putting her own name on the application might have lessened
the trust's chances, given how she'd left things with the company.

‘The trust's EO signs off on all our pitch submissions. I wasn't trying to hide it.'

Much.

‘I made it my business to check into the whole shortlist,' he said. ‘Just to be sure.'

‘Sure of what?'

‘That they genuinely earned their spot. A couple of them have been in our top ten for years.'

‘Because they're worthy and deliver a guaranteed return, not because anything dodgy was going on with their selection.' Too bad if she was defending the competition. She'd
chaired
that selection panel the past five years.

God, twenty seconds back in his company and he'd questioned her integrity and capabilities in close succession. ‘Anyway, if it offended you so much why did you shortlist us?'

‘Because you are a recently departed staff member with an axe to grind. Not shortlisting you could have been made to look like sour grapes.'

If she was that kind of a person, sure. And, naturally, he assumed she was.

‘Then why did you grant the submission? You would have been quite within your rights—and
within your policy—to draw your line at number five, as usual.'

The lift arrived empty and he herded her into it.

‘I felt a certain amount of pressure.'

‘Because I'm an ex-staff member?'

He smiled and then murmured between his teeth, ‘Because we've slept together.'

It was only then she realised that he'd strategically positioned his tall self between her and the lift's surveillance camera. And that his casual palm-down lean on the little speaker/microphone above the emergency phone wasn't as casual as it appeared. He didn't want this conversation monitored.

If she didn't know him so well, she'd have guessed he was protecting her.

But Harry Mitchell only prioritised one person.

Offence surged through her body and fired her up. ‘You think I would use that to my advantage?'

‘I would.'

No doubt.
‘I'm not you.'

‘You used your inside knowledge to pitch your submission straight to our operational priorities.'

‘I could have gleaned any of that information from your annual report. What you're suggesting is…'

‘Is what?'

‘Immoral.'

‘What's moral about business?'

God, she'd found that cynical little snort quite sexy the night of her party. ‘In your world, maybe nothing. But in my world I have this little thing called values.'

‘Please. You're not trying to suggest you weren't hoping your professional relationships with your fellow panel members would have boosted you across the line.'

‘The operative word there is “professional”.' What she and he had done was personal. Extremely personal. ‘Anyway, how could I possibly know you'd be on the panel? It wasn't in the appointment letter your office sent out.'

His eyes narrowed at the inconvenient truth of that.

‘Why
were
you on the panel, Harry? You're normally the final approval before it goes to the board. Why are you doing your own grunt work?'

‘Because my previous panel chair left the
company rather suddenly and with no notice.' Criticism saturated his words.

‘Your previous panel chair had nearly three months of accrued leave to serve out.' Leave pay that still hadn't come through since HR were dragging their feet on finalising her cessation. Probably thanks to him. ‘But don't avoid the question.'

He shrugged, but his eyes didn't quite meet hers. ‘If you want something done right…'

It could have been anger flooding in or the lift's sudden deceleration as it approached the ground floor that weakened Izzy's legs but, either way, she had to grip the ornate handrail behind her.

‘Charming. I'm not even on your staff anymore and you're still finding ways of suggesting I'm incompetent.'

‘I don't think you're incompetent in
all
areas.' The charm sleazed out of him.

But as her fury escalated something about his lack of direct gaze struck her. He was lying. So she pushed harder, right there.

‘You're getting dangerously close to a statement I could use against you.'

‘You wouldn't, not now you've got what you wanted.'

Again with the assumption that this was all strategy on her part. The lift doors began to open so she pressed the door's close button and kept her finger down hard. Blank eyes found hers.

‘For the record, I approached Broadmore because I knew your system and your priorities and, yes, because I hoped that the people I'd worked with on the panel would help the trust get across the line. But not because I expected favours, simply because I knew Darcy and Kevin were open to new ideas and a persuasive, professional presentation. I had no idea you'd be on that panel and I certainly had no intention of using either my past employment or our brief…whatever…to boost my chances. In fact, I've been trying hard to put both behind me.'

‘Maybe it's worth fifty grand to me to do the same.'

She stood taller. Past the ache his words caused.

‘Maybe I no longer want your fifty grand,' she risked, hoping like hell he didn't take her up on it. That wasn't toy money she was playing with. Fifty thousand pounds was future-changing for the trust. ‘If it comes with the constant requirement to genuflect.'

‘Ah, Dean,' he purred. ‘Always such a team player.'

Was he kidding? ‘Pot kettle black, Mitchell.'

‘I'm sure the otter people wouldn't be thrilled to hear you're trying to return their funding.'

Okay, enough of this.

‘Your reasons for shortlisting and approving our submission, paranoid as they are, are your own,' she said. ‘I know why I came back to Broadmore—' though God knew that didn't look like such a sterling idea with benefit of hindsight ‘—and I know it was a good submission because I've been on two other shortlists already in just a few weeks. So I'll be able to sleep perfectly straight at night, thanks very much.'

‘In that tiny, lonely bed.'

No question. He wanted her off kilter. He wanted her remembering how they'd flipped and turned and sweated together in that bed. And if he wanted it, she wasn't giving it to him.

‘Eight straight, deep hours. When was the last time you achieved that, Harry?'

With that, she punched the door's open button and swept out of the lift ahead of him, resisting every urge to look into any of the
building's mirrored foyer panels to see if he was still behind her.

‘Looking forward to working with you, Izzy,' he called just as the street doors silently parted.