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“I’ve warned you about messing with me, Clark.”
“And I would have listened. Except I didn’t want to.” I grab a handful of snow and throw it in her face as I stand, another move she laughs off. “Hungover Dayna’s a hell of a lot less crabby than the sober version. You should lighten up more often.”
She stops laughing abruptly and stands. Attaboy, Clark. Foot in your oversized mouth, again.
“CLARK, I’VE GOT to tell you, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” Teddy is leaning an elbow on one end of the fireplace as I rest on the other. “Your first bid was alright. There was some profit to be had. Not a lot, but some, and in the current climate, I was willing to support it. But if you raise the bid by as much as—”
“It’s Persian Fuels, Ted. Dayna might as well have told me she’s ranked third this morning. I’m competing with Caspar Kahn, and that man has money.”
“He also has government officials under his thumb out there, Clark. He’s the king of the Middle East. If he wants it enough to be ranked first, he’ll win it. If you throw money at it, the kind of money it would take to sit on his perch, you’ll run a loss. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this about proving you can make a dent as CEO?”
“We don’t know how high he went. What if it only takes a couple of hundred thousand to tip him?”
“Buddy, it’s ultimately your call. But for what it’s worth, I’d be tempted to pull out. I’ll run the figures in detail on Monday, but if you stay in the race, I think you have to stay under another half a mill, and I wouldn’t come close to that if I were you.”
“You guys talking shop? Want me to disappear?” Tim asks as he comes into the lounge fastening the cuff of his shirt, ready for the club.
“No, you’re good. We’re done,” I tell him.
“Gin?” Yvette calls from the kitchen counter, where she’s opening a bottle of Hendrick’s.
The others come downstairs, and God, am I pleased I’m wearing jeans. I see Dayna’s legs, every fine inch of them, before I notice the rest of her. Her tight-fitting black dress is about as short as I’ve ever seen her wear. She looks different; her eyes look dark, smoky, smouldering. Her hair is messed up, an intentional just-fucked look. I follow her legs as she walks into the kitchen and picks up a gin. The long sleeves and high neckline of the dress were deceiving; they didn’t give away the open back. I’m transfixed by her bare skin, by her, as she takes a piece of cucumber from her glass and snacks on it.
“Here,” Spencer says, coming to stand next to me and offering me the small napkin he’s holding under his glass. “For the drool.”
“You’re a twat. And take your fucking eyes off her.”
“Ouch. She’s got your knickers in a twist, good and proper.”
I scowl at him as I head to the kitchen to pick up my own gin, purposely keeping my eyes off Dayna, mostly to avoid an embarrassing crotch issue.
Rachel hands me a Hendrick’s. “You scrub up well, Clarky.”
“Thanks. You look hot, if you don’t mind me saying. On the pull?”
“Oh, you know. Not looking, but if the right guy presents at ten to two…”
“Home time!”
We chat in the kitchen while we finish our drinks, but I’m distracted by Matty’s vulture eyes on my… on Dayna. “What’s his story, Rach?”
She swallows the ice cube she’s been sucking. “Matty? Unsure, actually. They dated for a while at uni, nothing serious. He was on the rugby team; she was a cheerleader.”
I cough as I inhale rather than swallow my drink. “Cross was a cheerleader? She can’t dance.”
Rachel jerks her head back mockingly. “Can’t dance? That lady has crazy hips on the dance floor. You must make her jittery.”
I look over at Dayna. “It seems fair that I have the same effect on her.” I say it to myself, but Rachel pats my shoulder before declaring leaving time.
By the time we get to the club, I’m jittery for reasons that are less to do with Dayna and more to do with the minus-five air.
“Oh, Christ, look at the queue. I’ll freeze,” Amy says.
I walk right by the queue, which really isn’t too bad, maybe twenty or thirty deep, and offer a hand to the doorman.
“Clark, it’s nice to see you. How’s the ski?”
“It’s been good. How are you keeping, Georg?”
