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“To the right of the bar. I can see you,” Teddy told me. He’d just got a job with Layton Oil and he’d invited me out to celebrate the end of his first week.
I looked around the masses of suits enjoying that first drink on a Friday night. “I still can’t— Oh, there you are.”
Hanging up, I followed Teddy’s waving hand, wading through groups of people chatting and laughing.
“Snot Face,” he shouted so loud I could hear him above the guitars of Kings of Leon’s “Sex on Fire”. When I reached him, he pulled me into his chest. Firmer then than it is now.
I pulled back from him and patted his shoulder. “Fred hit the big time. How’s your first week been?”
He started to tell me, but his words faded into silence as I caught sight of the chiselled profile of a man who looked as if he should be on a billboard in Knightsbridge advertising some top designer label. I jumped when the could-be model caught me staring. He looked across once and turned away, then quickly shot me another glance. I was still fixed on him, gormlessly so. I guess that’s what Hollywood would call our “meet-cute”.
His lips curled slightly — smug, arrogant even — and I felt my cheeks burn. He excused himself from the undeniably hotwoman who was probably his girlfriend and moved towards Teddy and me. He was even more beautiful up close. He was clothed in a suit that I suspected cost more than my monthly rent — not cheap in the heart of London. His face was lined with stubble, so neat that it was intentional rather than lazy, and his dark-blond hair was just long enough to be an indication of non-conformance.
“Clark, this is Dayna. Dayna, meet Clark.”
I’d heard about him from Teddy for years; they’d lived in halls together at university. But this was the first time I’d seen him in the flesh. And. My. God. I opened my mouth to speak, but two sparkling blue eyes trained on mine and stopped the words from coming. I hoped he’d say something, save me from myself, but he didn’t. Instead, Clark stepped forwards, silently, and accepted the hand I’d lifted to him without conscious thought.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” I eventually managed.
“All good, I hope.”
I knew he was a good friend to Teddy, so I respected him for that. But the glint in his eye told me that wasn’t what he meant. “Actually, none of it,” I told him honestly, already thinking about how not good I’d like him to be to me.
He winked then, looking unbelievably cocky, but his soft smile made me think he wasn’t all bad.
Shaking off the memory, I drag my fingers roughly through my hair under the shower’s spray. That was before you realised he’s a dick, I remind myself.
I dry my limbs in a tantrum. These industry events are the bane of my existence — men drinking brandy, smoking cigars and congratulating each other on having more money than an entire third-world country. Since he became CEO of Layton Oil, Clark is just another such arsehole I have to contend with.
I’M HOLDING A mug of much-needed caffeine in two hands, sitting at my dining table, glaring at my laptop. The email finally drops at nine a.m. Bahrain time, six a.m for me. I open all five attachments and trawl through the details of the Persian well. My interest is certainly aroused, more so when I run the financials. With SP’s blending capabilities, this could actually prove profitable. Not highly profitable, but profitable enough for me to justify to my board without having to explain that I’m gunning for a small slice of revenge.
I call Arthur and discuss it with him.
“So do you think we should bid at eighty million?” I ask for final confirmation.
He exhales heavily down the line.
“What is it, Arthur?”
“Why do you want the well, Dayna?”
“We’ve just discussed this for half an hour. I could turn a profit from the well for at least four years at current oil prices, and if the price per barrel rises we’ll make—”
“Tell me it has nothing to do with Roger.”
I sigh as I shift my focus to the picture of my father on the sideboard. It’s in black and white, but I remember each and every colour — the glistening ocean, the yellow of the rig, the bright red of the too-big hard hat I was wearing. My father is smiling, his arms wrapped tightly around me, and I’m giggling. I was six in the photograph. Then, I still had a complete family — mother, father, daughter.
“Arthur, I told you I was looking for a new opportunity before you told me about this, before I knew I’d be going up against Caspar Kahn.”
“So long as that’s the case, I support you. But men like Kahn aren’t to be messed with, Dayna.”
“I’m a big girl, Arthur, and this is business. Just business.”
