Page 92 of Guilty Pleasures

‘Bloody hell, how much is all that setting us back?’

‘Enough,’ said Jamie with an expression that suggested argument was not wise. ‘But we need the publicity.’

Tom was about to reply, but the van driver nudged his arm and pushed a clipboard in front of his face.

‘Puede usted firmar para esto ?’

‘Que?’ asked Tom.

Jamie rolled his eyes. ‘He’s asking if you can sign for it.’

‘Oh sure,’ smiled Tom, scribbling on the page.

As the man walked away, he looked over at the truck which had its rear doors open, loaded to the roof with beer crates and boxes of spirits.

‘Man, that’s a fuck of a lot of booze.’

‘Well, I hate to tell you this Tom, but people drink at bars,’ said Jamie, irritably, before softening his expression as another curvaceous blonde walked up to the bar. Tom held up two fingers to her and motioned for her to sit at the bar.

Jamie’s eyes lingered on the girl as she jiggled onto a seat, then turned to Tom.

‘Now can I count on you to pull this rabbit out of the hat? We need a big night.’

‘You can count on me, boss,’ said Tom, doing a mock salute.

‘Well, I certainly hope so,’ smiled Jamie, climbing back on the scooter.

‘Don’t worry,’ shouted Tom over the harsh roar of the engine, nodding towards the girl at the bar, ‘I think this one’s going to be the best ever!’

29

Pierre Desseau sat at his walnut desk, glancing at his watch impatiently. Pierre was not accustomed to being kept waiting. He was the chief executive of Girard-Lambert, the second biggest publishing company in the world. Pick up any book or magazine from anywhere in three continents and there was a strong chance his company had produced, printed and distributed it. He was rich and powerful, and yet here he sat, drumming his fingers, waiting for Cassandra Grand. She swept in dressed in the dark Dior suit she had worn for the couture show earlier that day. She carried a leather folder under her arm and wore a professional expression on her face.

‘Pierre,’ she smiled, offering her hand.

‘Miss Grand, sit down.’

For a man of fifty, Pierre was very attractive. His nose was long and straight, his eyes were dark and searching. His crisp blue shirt looked just a little brighter beside his tanned skin. But Cassandra was also aware of his gaze from the other side of the desk. She knew she was looking beautiful, as she sat there in her crisp white shirt. She knew it gave her an edge.

‘I was intrigued by our conversation the other day,’ began the Frenchman, recalling their meeting at the start of the week. Cassandra had cornered him at a cocktail party after the Chanel couture show and informed him that she had a proposition that could make his company the number one publishing company in the world. ‘Shall we cut to the chase?’

Cassandra nodded and put her folder on the edge of his desk.

‘I wasn’t sure if you were aware that Isaac Grey had recently sounded out a number of media brokers regarding a possible sale of the business?’ she began cautiously. She certainly did not want to insult him. As a leading figure in the publishing industry she supposed he made it his business to be aware of every movement within his field; after all, if Glenda McMahon’s husband was aware of it, the news must be buzzing all over the financial and business communities. But she couldn’t be sure and wanted to put herself in the driving seat from the very start of the meeting.

‘And?’ said Pierre, giving away nothing, coaxing her to divulge more information. It’s a game of poker, thought Cassandra.

‘He didn’t instruct anyone,’ she said with a shrug.

‘Meaning that he has changed his mind about a sale of the company?’ said Pierre. He flicked a switch on the coffee machine behind him and pulled out two demitasse cups. Cassandra sat back in the chair and crossed her long legs, aware that his eyes were following her movements.

‘Everyone knows there are inheritance issues in the Grey family,’ she continued. ‘Isaac has a wife but no children. He’s not close to his nieces or nephews and he’s almost seventy. Everyone has been presuming for years that he’ll sell his stake in the company.’

Pierre laughed. ‘He has also been emphatic for years that he will not sell.’

Cassandra felt her nerves jangle. It was a game of poker all right, a dangerous, high-stakes game where she had wagered all her chips. For all she knew, Pierre could be best friends with her boss and if Isaac got wind of anything discussed in this meeting, she would certainly lose her job and possibly even face criminal charges. But when the rewards were so high, you had to take big risks, so she opened her briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers.

‘I know that you made a move for Alliance eighteen months ago.’