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Valentine
I can be patient. I’ve spent years dealing with demanding celebs, aristocrats with over-inflated egos, politicians with crazy schedules and even crazier personal lives. It’s the nature of the PR beast. They’re the people who need their images fixing on a daily basis. And they’re the people most likely to keep you waiting.
I can take it up to a point, but I don’t pander to the theatrics. It’s what made me good at it. Well respected. The man to call.
And now I run the company. I don’t get dragged into the day-to-day grind. I spend more time wining and dining, reaping the rewards of a hard-earned career, all at twenty-nine.
But here I am, doing the job again. Waiting for the first face-to-face confrontation with Olivia, and that patience I mentioned—it’s wearing thin.
I sit in the reception of their converted Georgian townhouse, not your typical headquarters for a world-renowned logistics firm, but something tells me that has more to do with its founders: Olivia and her late husband, Nathan. And it can’t be easy for her, walking through these doors every day and having that constant reminder of something she shared with the man she loved for over two decades.
Layla and I didn’t even manage to get one decade together...but we lived enough for two.
My skin prickles, the cold sweat instant. She’d still be here if we’d lived a quieter life, toned it down, less parties, less—
‘Do I have to remind you who founded this firm?’ Olivia’s elevated voice breaches the boardroom door, a welcome distraction from where my thoughts are heading.
The receptionist at the stark white high-fronted desk eyes the door, her brows raised, her cheeks pinking up. She clears her throat and looks to me, her polite smile so very forced.
‘Can I get you another coffee while you wait, Mr Boretti?’
‘I’m good, thank you.’
‘I’m sure they’ll be ready for you very soon.’ She goes back to her screen but I don’t miss the way her eyes flit to me beneath her lashes, part interest, part curiosity, and it provokes guilt. Guilt because I’m in some way prepared for what’s happening beyond that door, what’s about to happen when I walk in there, whereas Olivia...
And I’ve had time to come to terms with all I saw, but still it taunts me. She taunts me. On her knees, naked, a collar, clamps...
I run a finger under my own collar and shift in my seat as the receptionist’s phone rings loud in the strained quiet. One ring and she already has it lifted to her ear. ‘Yes, I’ll send him straight through.’
She beams at me as she replaces the receiver. ‘They’re ready for you now. I’ll take you through.’
She stands and smooths down her black skirt; her blouse is white and crease-free, not a hair out of place. She’s almost too perfect and so very in keeping with the monochrome office. I look around me, glimpse others working in very similar attire that smacks of a very specific dress code policy.
‘Here we are.’ She pushes open the door and gestures for me to enter. I almost wish she’d announce me so I can avoid doing it for myself. Like it somehow incriminates me more than I already have myself. And even the thought itself irritates. I never shy away from confrontation and I certainly don’t need someone else to announce me, and I’m here pro bono; it’s not like they’re paying me to do a job. It’s a favour to a friend, to Alan.
But it’s the guilt that’s doing it. I never should’ve walked up those blasted stairs.
‘Valentine, it’s so good to see you.’ I look from the receptionist to see Alan striding towards me beaming, blocking my view of the others still seated at the table.
He offers out his hand, which I take, and clasps my elbow as he gives it a hearty shake. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘It’s a pleasure.’ I give him a grim smile as he steps aside and gestures to the room.
‘We’re all aware of your various accolades, of course, and we’re confident you’re going to do a great job.’
I wince internally. Not the best way to pitch me. And in front of the entire board. Not just Olivia. My eyes sweep over them, take in their smiles, which all show varying degrees of wariness, and I curse my naivety. I expected Alan to exercise a little more tact, to be more discreet. Instead it’s an us-against-her situation and it couldn’t make my position any pricklier than it already is.
‘You?’It pierces the air, breathless, high-pitched, and every head turns to look at Olivia as she braces herself in the leather high-backed seat at the head of the table, her knuckles white as she grips the armrests. Her ponytail is as sleek as it was in the club, her crystal-blue eyes glaring despite the softer shade of eyeshadow. Not her lips though; they’re blood-red, just as Electra’s were.
Shit.
I meet her gaze head-on and force back the memories determined to fog up my brain.
‘Sorry...do you know each other?’ Alan’s head whips back and forth between us, his surprise as obvious as Olivia’s shock.
She’s pale, so very pale against the white of her dress that I actually think she’s on the verge of blue.
‘Not as such,’ I say slowly, giving her time to recover. Maybe I should have pre-warned her, done anything but turn up like this. But then where would I even start?Hey, you know the other week in the club where I witnessed you...yeah...like that, well, I’m the one the board are bringing in to put an end to said that.
