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I MARCH INTO the chalet lounge and stand in front of Clark, my hands on my hips so he can’t see that they’re shaking with rage. The mild happy fuzz I got from the lunchtime beer is gone. “Did you look at my phone?” His face says it all. “You wanted to know how to fix things? This is definitely not it! You were looking for my bid, weren’t you?”
Everyone else in the room falls silent. Rachel halts on the bottom stair, tucking her shirt into her jeans. “What did I miss?”
“If you want to know that bad, Clark, ask. Don’t be sly. It doesn’t become you.”
He stands. As if he dares pick a fight over this.
“I did look at your phone.” I feel every muscle in my body tighten. “You left it out, it was unlocked and I opened your inbox. I thought about opening your bid email but I didn’t. Okay?”
“Not okay! This isn’t about us, Clark, this is about business. You can’t cross lines there. Have some fucking integrity!” I storm towards the staircase. Rachel jumps out of my way. “If you must know, I kicked your arse.” I watch him through the bannister spindles. “I’m ranked first.” There’s a flash of surprise about his face, but he doesn’t seem to know I’m outright lying. So now I know he’s ranked second, because, actually, I’m in third place. Caspar fucking Kahn is the top-ranked bid.
By the time I reach the top floor, I’m out of breath, both from stomping and from my entire body being overtaken by anger. Why in the hell didn’t I tell him to go home? I slam my bedroom door and start pacing by the window.
“Shit!” I can’t outbid Persian Fuels.
I need more money. But I can’t — won’t — go much higher. The well isn’t worth it. Any bank will know that. I know that, and I have to remember the fact. No matter how much I want to see Caspar squirm, I have to stay focussed.
I stop in front of an oak chest of drawers, my hands braced on the edge. Alternative bids. That’s where I need to be if I want to have a chance of winning this. Round two gives each bidder a chance to increase their current bid. Even if I do that, it’s unlikely I’ll outbid Layton Oil. I definitely won’t outbid Persian Fuels. Caspar will go as high as he needs to to win. But round two also gives bidders an opportunity to submit an alternative bid. Something that isn’t just money. Something innovative. A consortium or joint venture bid. SP could form an alliance, bid as a team with another company in the industry, perhaps.
Urgh! There’s no one in the goddamned industry I’d get into bed with. No one I’d trust.
I guess I could consider private equity. That’s all investors do, put up money to turn a bigger profit than they’d make through interest in a bank. It could be a plan. I’d give them a cut of any profits I make from the well in return for an upfront pot of cash. With SP’s blending capabilities we could turn a profit. I could give a private equity house a healthy return, at least in the current climate.
“Argh!” I ram the drawers against the wall, hurting my hands more than anything. A private equity house will know it’s a big risk. They’ll want a huge cut. SP could be left with a nominal profit, or nothing. And they’d do due diligence, take too long to weigh up the opportunity and risk I’m presenting. I need to submit a bid by Friday; I just don’t have that time to waste.
I stare into the mirror, and suddenly the bid, the well, Persian Fuels, Layton Oil, it’s all superseded by a lingering sensation on my lips. They look like they did this morning, but they’re different now. They tingle with the reminder of Clark’s touch.
I wanted to kiss him back. I wanted to tell him that I could forget everything. But he’s moved on. He was almost married. I don’t know if I’d ever be able to get past it, but I know I’m not willing to risk the excruciating pain he leaves in his wake for a rebound shag. He’d have his way with me, and I’d be the one left shattered. Again.
I jump as the bedroom door opens.
“Rach.” I relax a little at the sight of her.
“You okay?”
“Of course.”
She comes into the room and closes the door behind her. “You don’t need to fake it with me.”
“I just… he gets to me. I hate that I let him. One minute he’s being the arsehole I know he is, and the next… he’s the Clark I fell in love with.”
“Was he going to leave?”
I sit on the edge of the bed. Rachel leans on the chest of drawers.
I nod.
“And you stopped him?” Her words are slow, confused and questioning, almost in sync with my own thoughts.
“He must be hurting. He split with Constance two weeks ago. I mean, if they are even split for good. I couldn’t make him leave. A break might help him. I don’t want to see him hurt like that.”
“Like you have, you mean. Let me tell you, if a guy ditched me hours before the altar, like he did Constance, we’d be done. He’d be lucky if I didn’t cut off his balls.”
I laugh hard, a relief. “I’d probably endorse that.”
“So at what point did he kiss you?”
I exhale, long and slow. “You saw that, huh?”
