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The fact that Dante Mancini and Xander Trakas were still here and agreeing with each other told Ben more effectively than anything that he’d done the right thing in asking them here this evening—and also that they had a very real threat on their hands.
He said, ‘We’re being reduced to caricatures, and these exaggerations of our private exploits are becoming too damaging to ignore. I can handle walking onto my construction sites and having my men rib me about a kiss and tell, but when gossip and innuendo starts to affect share prices and my professional reputation that’s unacceptable.’
Trakas looked at him and there was an unmistakable gleam of mockery in his eyes. ‘You’re not trying to imply that your ex-lover made it all up, Carter, are you?’
Memories of lurid headlines—The hard man of construction is just as hard in bed!—made Ben snap back, ‘Her story was as real as your infamous little black book that divulges the names and numbers of most of the world’s most beautiful women. What was it they said, Trakas? Still waters run deep?’
Trakas scowled and Mancini scoffed, ‘As if Trakas has the monopoly on the most beautiful women. Everyone knows that I—’
A cool voice cut them off, ‘If we’re quite finished with the dissing contest, perhaps we can discuss how to get ourselves out of this mess. I agree with Carter: it’s gone too far. This adverse attention is not only affecting confidence in my leadership, but also my business concerns. It’s even affecting my little sister’s chances of the marriage she wants, and that is unacceptable.’
They all looked at Sheikh Zayn Al-Ghamdi, who had sat forward. The dim lighting made the lines of his boldly handsome face stand out harshly. They were all dressed in classic black tuxedos except for Mancini, who was bucking the trend in a white jacket with his bow tie rakishly undone.
It reminded Ben of the function they’d just come from and he said grimly, ‘It’s not just our business concerns...or our families.’
Mancini sat forward too, frowning. ‘What do you mean?’
Ben glanced at him, and at the others. ‘The director of the charity came to me this evening and told me that if this media furore doesn’t disappear she’ll have to remove us all as patrons. She’s noticed an adverse effect, with less tickets sold and people not showing up.’
Dante Mancini cursed colourfully in Italian.
The Sheikh said ruminatively, ‘So that’s why you asked us to come and meet you?’
Ben nodded. ‘I think we can all agree that the last thing we want is for the charity to suffer because of us.’
The charity in question was the only thing that linked them all, outside of pitting their wits against each other during business deals, and its function was the only time of year when they were all in the same room at the same time, which invariably caused much media interest.
The Hope Foundation focused on giving funds to young kids—girls and boys who were from disadvantaged backgrounds and showed an aptitude for business and enterprise.
Dante said now, ‘Carter’s right. We can’t bring the charity into this mess.’
For the first time Ben had to recognise a sense of kinship. They all genuinely cared about the same thing, and it was slightly disconcerting when he’d depended solely on himself for so long. It wasn’t entirely unwelcome—almost as if a burden had suddenly been lightened.
And then Sheikh Zayn’s cool voice said, ‘So what the hell is the solution?’
Ben looked at him, and glanced at the others. ‘I’m guessing that, like me, you’ve consulted with your legal teams and realised that it isn’t worth the added publicity to sue Celebrity Spy!?’
They all nodded.
Ben went on, his voice as grim as the faces around him. ‘Issuing a statement will also get us nowhere; we’ve gone beyond that point. If we do that it’ll look like we’re backtracking, trying to defend ourselves.’ He sighed volubly. ‘The only solution is for us to be seen to be cleaning up our acts—comprehensively and for the long term. Unless we do, I don’t think it’s going to go away. If anything, they’ll only start to dig deeper, and I can assure you that I for one have no desire to invite further scrutiny.’
Dante’s gaze narrowed on Ben. ‘You don’t want people being reminded that your rags to riches story isn’t entirely accurate?’
Ben’s whole body tensed and he glared at the man. ‘I’ve never hidden my origins, Mancini. Let’s just say I’ve no desire to have old history raked over again. Just as I’m sure you’d prefer not to invite a spotlight onto your own family background?’
Ben was referring to the way Dante was so zealous about guarding his family’s privacy—which could only mean he had something to hide.
After a tense moment the ghost of a hard smile touched Dante’s mouth and he lifted his almost empty glass in the air. ‘Touché, Carter.’
Sheikh Zayn interrupted tautly, ‘I think we can all appreciate not wanting to attract even more attention, for whatever reasons we may have.’
Ben was aware of Xander Trakas shifting uncomfortably to his right, evidently ruminating on the skeletons in his own closet.
A brooding silence descended on the group for a moment and then the Sheikh said with a grimace, ‘I agree with Carter that cleaning up our personal lives seems to be the only viable solution. As much as I’ve tried to avoid it, I know the only thing that will restore my people’s faith in me will be a strategic marriage and producing an heir to the throne.’
Ben was aware of the collective shudder that seemed to go through all of them. With the utmost reluctance, he had to admit, ‘After discussions with my PR advisor and my solicitor, I’ve come to a similar conclusion.’
Dante said, with evident horror, ‘Marriage? Do we really need to take such drastic action?’
