Page 58 of Guilty Pleasures

‘These are the sorts of covermounts which could run. Sunglasses, postcards, spa slippers,’ he said holding up some flimsy towelling flip-flops that were given out free by the pool. ‘The ladies love this sort of crap.’

He carried on for the full five minutes, boasting about his contacts in Taiwan and how he was confident he could source Rive sarongs for thirty pence a unit. ‘And, Isaac, if you want a free flight offer, look no further. I can sort it out in a heartbeat.’

As he sat down and poured himself a glass of iced tea, Tostvig didn’t seem to notice the silence in the room. Cassandra rose to her feet.

‘Well, while I think that Jason is well-meaning with his, ahem, supermarket sweep for the front cover, I believe that if we start acting like a company under siege, the advertising community will start believing it,’ she said. ‘Project Diamond is a weekly but they don’t intend to be direct competitors with Rive,’ stated Cassandra boldly. ‘The feel will be very middle market. You only have to look at their personnel: the features team is good but the fashion is very weak. I suspect they will struggle to get anyone decent to shoot for them and without the photographers, the model agencies will be nervous. No photographers and no models equals no fashion advertising.’

Cassandra was enjoying her moment, particularly when she saw Glenda’s face pale as she filled in the blanks from the information Charles had given her, without actually admitting she had seen the dummy.

‘The point is,’ said Cassandra, ‘that people come to Rive for certain things. They come to us for luxury, for authority, for a badge of identity. They come to us for escapism. Far from price-cutting, free gifts and diluting our quality and size by going weekly, I propose we increase investment and we increase price. We make Rive magazine a luxury product in its own right, a beautiful accessory every woman has to buy every month. We add select brand extensions to extend our reach as a global multi-platformed media brand and here’s how we start to make more profit…’

As Cassandra went into details, Isaac Grey felt his cock go hard. Cassandra Grand, he thought, is a sensation.

‘That was a very impressive performance today, Cassandra,’ said Isaac from the comfort of the Master Suite on the top floor of the house. Cassandra stood by the shutters enjoying the breeze on her face but kept out of direct view of the window: it wouldn’t do to be seen in the chairman’s bedroom. She had first met Isaac Grey at a party in the National Portrait Gallery in London, eleven years earlier. She was 24 and one of the most respected young stylists in the country. He was 56, in a long, unhappy marriage and he had been knocked out by Cassandra’s confidence, beauty and cut-glass English accent. He had offered her a lift back to her Notting Hill apartment and she had asked him in for a nightcap, both of them fully aware exactly where the evening was heading.

As soon as they had entered the hallway he had ripped off her silk slip-dress pushing her against the wall so she had burned the back of her legs on the radiator. She had made him pay for that. Leading him into the shower, she’d stripped him and soaped up his body, being meticulously careful not to kiss him or touch his erect manhood. When she knew he could take no more, she had lowered her lips onto his, letting his hands explore her soft tanned skin. Finally she had sunk to her knees, scarcely able to breathe as she let him come in her mouth with the shower water surging all over them. Back in the bedroom, they had fucked for two hours solid and Cassandra had enjoyed every second of the power she knew she had over one of the wealthiest media moguls in the world. She knew she had been as skilled as any of his lovers – from the budding starlets wanting to appear in his magazines to the high-class hookers he used on business trips around the world. Cassandra was good: she had to be.

‘When am I going to see you again?’ he had whispered at six o’clock the next morning as he pulled on his Brioni suit.

Cassandra had shrugged, feigning indifference.

‘As you’re going back to New York tomorrow, that’s up to you.’

‘I have to see you again,’ he had pleaded.

‘Things could be so much easier if I lived in New York,’ she had replied.

A month later Cassandra Grand was senior fashion editor of US Rive.

I hope he’s grateful for all I’ve done for him, thought Cassandra with a smile as she turned away from her view of the ocean.

‘I take it the rumours are true then?’ said Isaac, fixing his vivid blue eyes on Cassandra.

‘And which rumours would they be?’

‘The rumours about AtlanticCorp trying to poach you.’

‘Wherever did you hear that?’ she replied, pretending to be shocked. She had, of course, begun the rumours herself. After her meeting with Charles Dyer, she had made sure that all the New York gossips had got to hear about her meeting with him. It was like the government ‘leaking’ sensitive documents. Not only had it got the industry buzzing, it had the side effect of prompting Charles Dyer to come back with an improved financial offer to come across to AtlanticCorp. Charles had, however, politely refused her demand to be made editorial director. Cassandra hadn’t been surprised; she had known it was a long shot, and now it looked like she was going to get what she wanted out of her conversation with Charles anyway: leverage with Alliance.

‘I knew it!’ said Isaac through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll fucking kill Charles! You refused them obviously?’

Cassandra did her best to look shamefaced.

‘Well, you might as well know that we have been in discussions about an editorial director’s position at AtlanticCorp,’ she said, choosing her words carefully. ‘It was mooted as a board position. But no, for the minute we haven’t taken it further. The door is still open, but I thought that we should have a conversation first before I did anything drastic’

Isaac walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large bourbon.

‘You know how much I want to keep you within the company.’

‘No. How much, Isaac?’

‘What will it take to make you stay?’

She could tell by the look in his eyes that he wanted her, but she vowed she’d never allow that to happen again. Their affair had ended years ago, twelve months after she had arrived in New York, in fact. By that stage Cassandra had convinced herself she could marry him; he would have been the perfect father-figure for Ruby. But Isaac had said that it would be too costly to leave his wife Miranda, so Cassandra had ended the relationship. Twelve months later, Isaac was having an affair with Geri Bergman, a 23-year-old PR girl from Los Angeles. Six months after that he filed for divorce from Miranda. Another six months after that and Geri Bergman was Mrs Grey number two. Cassandra had to hand it to the girl: that was some ambush.

Wrapped up in her thoughts, Cassandra hadn’t heard Isaac walk over. He reached out and touched her cheek. She stepped back.

‘You’re a terrible tease,’ he said, grinning.