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I need someone like that in my life, an anchor.
Perhaps it was the fact she wasn’t speaking to him, perhaps it was where his thoughts were going, but he felt unreasonably possessive about her. It had begun to irritate him that their relationship wasn’t more simple. With her accident on the stairs and his near-miss, he felt pressure all around, the pressure of unanswered questions. The issue of ownership and the manor was also complicating what might otherwise have been an uncomplicated reunion. Brooding, he remembered the staircase, the bunched carpet and how it had made him feel. He resented the manor, hated it for doing that her, hated it for tearing them apart all those years ago. But if it hadn’t been for the house and the contents of the will, would they have had this opportunity to be together?
The sound of a horn blaring snapped him into the reality of the moment. He slammed on the brakes.
“Rex!”
Her voice reached him. His hand instinctively went to hers while he scoped the situation. Someone had been trying to pull out on the opposite side of the road. The car on the nearside had stopped to let them out, but Rex hadn’t seen it. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
A black London city cab pulled out from behind them, blaring its horn, apparently aggrieved at the momentary pause.
“And the same to you, as well,” Carmen shouted in the direction of the taxi.
Rex laughed. Shifting the gear stick, he signaled, indicating his intention to move on for the benefit of the car behind. It was the usual rush-hour commuter chaos, but the way Carmen had looked at him with concern and then shouted at the cab made him relax a bit.
Minutes later he pulled the car up at the curb outside Objet d’Art. He turned and cupped her face, kissing her gently. “I’ll call you as soon as I get out of my meeting.”
“I hope it goes well,” she responded.
Rex left the car and walked to the main doors where the security guard watched on, giving him some level of reassurance.
Amateurs, he reminded himself, they are amateurs. Maybe it was just a coincidence. He was determined to be sure before he let her go about her normal routine without precautions.
Once she was inside the
building Carmen turned and waved, and she smiled fondly at him. It triggered something, that wave goodbye, and a notion struck him. A weekend away, away from Burlington and away from London, completely freed from their lives and the fear of a mystery stalker. Somewhere romantic, he thought as he strode back to his car.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, he pulled on his seat belt and signaled.
Paris, the weekend in Paris. Yes. He had time to book them something before he left for the meeting. If he picked Carmen up at four, they could fly out of Heathrow by eight, away from the difficulties that had made the past week so fraught. “And whoever the hell these amateurs are, they won’t have a bloody clue where we are.” That was the seal on the deal.
He kept an eye on the clock. He had to do a last run-through of the presentation with the guys before they left, and the drive out of the city to Rashid’s venue outside of Oxford would take a good hour. The presentation involved them all, as did the creation of carefully designed and built Slipstream parts. He’d only have twenty minutes free, tops, but it was enough to get flights and a hotel booked. If he was collecting Carmen at four that would give them time to go get their passports and grab a few things. Anything else they needed they could pick up along the way. Satisfied, he concentrated on the important day ahead.
* * *
NIKHIL RASHID WAS an elegant Asian gentleman who exuded calm, style and efficiency. He also didn’t give a lot away. Their presentation had gone well and now they were all gathered, Bertha’s engine purring, while Ayo sat in the driver’s seat running the demo car through its paces.
Rex attempted to stand back at this point, let the designs speak for themselves. Instead, he looked around. Nikhil Rashid was an interesting man. He had a home in Oxford, but he’d bought a field in the countryside and built his business site there. That meant they had room for their own racetrack. A clever move. He tried to gauge Rashid’s response. He wore sunglasses the whole time, which didn’t help, and his goatee beard also seemed to disguise his responses. “Have you got any other designers to meet with, Mr. Rashid?”
“Nikhil, please.” He took off his shades and folded them into the top pocket on the jacket of his suit, then rested his hands on his hips. His eyes were intelligent, and he regarded Rex with a half smile. “I’ve met with two other teams.”
Rex’s hopes waned.
“Your designers are the best. You would be my top choice.” He stated the approval quite simply. “However, I have a proposition for you that you may need time to consider.”
Rex lifted his brows. “Go on, we’re listening.”
“I value loyalty, and I would like you to work solely with me and my team of drivers. I’m interested in more than buying your designs for parts, though. I think your men have talent. I’d like you to work directly with my engine designer. I want Slipstream as a partner.”
Rex didn’t break eye contact with him. “That would be a big step for us. We already freelance parts design for one team.”
Rex only stated that to gain time; it was a small-fry contract compared to this. It would be a big leap of faith, but this development could mean great things for his business. It was the sort of opportunity he’d hoped for maybe five years down the line. If Rashid’s team took off and they were involved in engine design, it was a whole new level of opportunity and growth.
“Yes, but your contract with them will end in December. Following that you can focus your resources in a different way. We will unite and produce an exceptional team with an exceptional vehicle.”
Rex laughed. “You’ve done your homework.”
