Page 82 of Guilty Pleasures

‘So how’s business?’

This is it, thought Emma. Time to stand up to the bully.

‘Oh. I didn’t think you cared.’

Cassandra pulled back with a note of surprise.

‘What an odd question. Of course I care. My mother has a stake in the business.’

Emma pursed her lips and looked straight at Cassandra. ‘Which is why I thought it was strange that you’d been bad-mouthing Milford all round the industry.’

Cassandra’s face coloured ever so slightly.

‘Don’t be absurd.’

‘Seeing as you ask,’ continued Emma politely, ‘everything is going better than we could have possibly expected. The revamped store opens next month just in time for delivery of the new stock. It’s a soft launch – we’re having a bigger opening party in September. I’m not sure whether Rive have shot the Milford 100 Bag for their September issue but don’t worry. Everyone else has. Vogue, Elle, Harpers, they’re all doing something substantial.’

She felt a little swell of triumph as she said the words.

The mouse that roared, thought Cassandra, smarting. Of course, she had heard from her mother about Emma’s little successes at Milford and she had to admit that the shoot with Clover Connor had been quite a coup – she’d had serious words with Clover’s agent about that one. The family appeared to have been placated a little for the moment but Cassandra knew that they could easily be swayed the other way in a heartbeat. All it would take was the right pressure.

‘I could lie to you, Emma,’ said Cassandra quietly. ‘I could say that we haven’t featured Milford in Rive because everyone knows my connection to the company and I don’t want accusations of nepotism.’

Cassandra turned her head and looked directly in front of her where Rob Holland was clambering off the bucking bronco to rousing applause.

‘The truth is that Rive’s seal of approval is a very potent sales force indeed. I vet every single word, picture and product in my magazine and the reason your 100 Bag won’t be featured is because I don’t believe in either you or the company.’

‘You have absolutely no justification for that,’ said Emma, determined not to wilt under the force of Cassandra’s confidence.

‘Don’t I?’ she said cruelly, turning to glare at her cousin. ‘Oh, I think I do. You’ve taken the company so far upmarket you’re trespassing in a world you neither know nor understand. You’re in my world now, sweetheart.’

‘You’re wrong,’ said Emma.

‘I think not. Deep down, you know you’re the little trier who never really could. We all know why you’re here. You never got your partnership, your boyfriend in Boston dumped you and you’re running away and hiding, playing at being the boss of a company you know you don’t deserve.’

Emma glared at her, wondering how she knew about Mark, about the job. She had only told her mother.

‘And now you dare to criticize me for questioning your judgement and not blindly supporting you?’

Emma just looked at her; her delivery had been brutal. She felt mauled, a kitten face to face with a vicious alley cat.

‘Ah, Miss Bailey,’ said a voice to Emma’s left. She turned to see a small wiry man wearing red moleskin chaps and a leather vest. ‘I thought I’d take this opportunity to introduce myself,’ he said, extending a hand. ‘Larson Quinn. I’m coming to Milford on Tuesday for the interview for the Tribune.’

Emma smiled, trying to blink back a tear. ‘Oh. How nice. And what a coincidence.’

Larson looked at Cassandra, waiting for an introduction.

‘Larson. Cassandra Grand, my cousin.’

Cassandra smiled thinly. She was vaguely aware of the man. A regular on the party circuit, a vicious little queen who took lovers of both sexes – whoever could be the most useful to him – she thought he had just been made redundant after the closure of Men’s Style Monthly.

‘Your cousin? Really, how interesting,’ said Larson, sensing the tension between them. ‘You must have had such fun in the dressing-up box together.’

‘Hey, Em, what did you think?’ said Rob, grinning from ear to ear as he emerged from the bronco pen. ‘Three minutes and still sitting pretty,’ he said, slapping his thigh and giving a cowboy yelp.

‘Yes, well done,’ said Cassandra smiling warmly as she held out a hand to him. ‘You’re the star of the show.’

‘You’re Cassandra, aren’t you?’ said Rob, shaking her hand enthusiastically. ‘There’s a few photos of you at Winterfold.’