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AFTER I SUMMARISED the proposal, Hassan and Hamad took no time nudging me back out to the limousine and on my way to the airport. They didn’t give much away, but I guess we’ll see on Monday. They have the details of my alternative bid. I’ll formally submit it to the process on Friday and find out the final decision on Monday, when the highest ranked bidder, and therefore the new owner of the well, will be revealed.
The detour from Dubai was long, but hopefully worth making me late for the conference. I missed the day’s seminars, and now I’m flustered, having got ready in a rush to make it to the dinner on time.
As ever, I’m in a simple floor-length gown. High neck, fitted at the waist, navy blue. This is one of the few industry dinners where partners are invited. If I went for pink, gold, silver or such colours, I’d become siloed as one of the wives, and I already have to fight to be considered a member of the oil community.
When I slip into the reception, people are already heading to their seats in the dining room. As is typical of Dubai, the hotel is lavish. The walls are made largely of fish tanks full of brightly coloured jellyfish. The floors are marble. Furniture trimmings are gold, and the lighting is abstract, ultra-modern. The windows show the view across downtown Dubai, lights twinkling against the dark sky.
I take a dry martini from a waiter and join the masses. Unsurprisingly, I’m sitting at a table with four other directors — all male — and their wives, who have bunched together, talking about the spa facilities within the hotel. They’ve obviously spent their day there, no doubt while their husbands have played golf then shared vulgar conversation over brandy or Scotch. The entire industry is about men congratulating one another on their latest leggy blonde or exotic brunette conquest.
I’d feel for the women at the table, but it’s not like they don’t know their husbands are filthy pigs. The women stay because having the security of a large home and a healthy bank account, not having to work yet having every luxury they could wish for, ranks higher on their agenda than being in love and being cherished exclusively.
Sometimes, I’m pleased my mother got away from it all, but I definitely don’t approve of her method of doing so. I’m certain my mother was the one who had an affair and left, not that she ever confessed. Although I don’t pretend my father wasn’t married to work. My issue with my mother isn’t just infidelity, it’s that she also couldn’t wait to disown me to start a family with her next millionaire.
As I pull out my chair to take my seat, I feel a hand rest on the small of my back. “We need to talk.” Clark leans in close, his shoulder pressed to my back as he whispers into my ear.
“I think you said enough this morning.”
“I didn’t mean it that way and you know it. The truth is, you were having doubts about that meeting and whatever deal you were offering, and you took that out on me.”
I twist sharply to face him and whisper through gritted teeth. “No. The truth is you shouldn’t even know about that deal, but you got too close. It’s business, not personal, Clark. Is that why you slept with me? To find out what I was going to tender?” I don’t even know why I say it. I know it isn’t true.
He takes his hand from my back. “You can be a real bitch sometimes, do you know that? Grow up.”
I watch him walk away shaking his head, my mouth open. I really want to argue, but it was a ridiculous thing to say. It was bitchy and juvenile. I take my seat, more annoyed with myself than him.
“Walter, it’s nice to see you,” I lie, turning to the pleasantly plump, golf-course-tanned president of Raw Energy. The smarmy git runs his dirty eyes over my body, not something I’m ever in the mood for, but something I’m really not in the mood for now. “I don’t think I’ve ever met your wife, Walter.”
He clears his throat, rolling his second chin as he does. “Crystal, this is Dayna Cross. I’m sure you ladies can find something to talk about.”
I scowl at him as I offer my hand to his wife. “Pleasure to meet you.” She reaches out her jewel-covered fingers, a thin diamond bracelet falling forwards on her wrist as she shakes my handle feebly.
“Hi. Which one is your husband?” she asks.
I’m going to need another dry martini. Or ten.
DINNER WAS PAINFUL but it’s done, and it’s after ten, so I feel like I can legitimately slope off to bed in another half hour or so. I just need to mingle enough. Let the industry see my presence. Then I’m out of here.
The men at my table stand without asking me if I’d care to join them at the bar. I make a trip to the ladies, leaving their wives discussing aquamarine, sapphire and ruby as choices of stone in hair vines for up-dos. They’ll no doubt stay there while their husbands send a limitless supply of champagne to appease them. The men will be drinking brandy, smoking cigars or playing poker for ridiculously high stakes in games that no one is supposed to know about.
After my pit stop I head to the bar for one last drink. As I’m waiting for the bartender to mix me another dry martini, I clock Hassan Deeb talking to Caspar Kahn on the opposite side of the bar. Caspar’s attention is fixed on me, and there’s a definite darkness to his irises. I’d be willing to bet my life that Hassan just filled Caspar in on my proposed alternative bid.
I take my dry martini and raise my glass, smiling at Caspar. As much as I hate him, as much as he intimidates me, I can’t help but be smug because I’ve rattled him.
You’re going to lose this battle, you bastard.
My free arm is yanked suddenly. Clark drags me through a door to the side of the bar and into a small room hosting a poker table, set but not yet with a dealer or players. I have time to put down my glass and shake the spilled alcohol from my fingers before Clark forces me back against the wall with his body. His face is close to mine and there’s a wild look in his eyes that’s unmistakably fury.
“What the hell are you doing?” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“Goading Caspar. Selling yourself to Hassan Deeb. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what you’re offering the government, Dayna. You’re giving them a stake because you think you can turn a better profit than the rest of us from that well.”
I push his chest, surprised by how easily he moves back. “What if I am? It’s a good plan. You’re pissed that I can offer it, just like Kahn is.”
He moves a hand to his hip, pushing back his dinner jacket, so I can see where his muscles cut in under his white shirt. “It is a good plan. If you want to be in bed with men like that. You know their reputation, Dayna. They’re dangerous. You can’t do this. I won’t let you.”
“Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?”
He softens his tone. “I’m someone who cares about you. If you were mine, there’s no way I’d let you do this. Whether we’re together or not, as a friend, I’m asking you not to go through with it.”
Emotion threatens to take over my senses. He’s called me on my own worries about the deal. And he’s here again, telling me he cares. But that look on Caspar’s face, that’s what this deal is about. It’s bigger than Clark. Bigger than me or us. “I’m grateful for your concern, Clark, but I have to do this. It’s the only way I can win.”
He steps closer to me again, his hands on my shoulders, his face pleading with me. “So lose. Take the next opportunity.”
“I… you don’t understand. I need this well.”
He brings his palm to my cheek in the familiar way he does. “Dayna, if this is about you being respected, you are. The men in that room don’t like you, because you terrify them. What you’ve done with SP intimidates them. They already respect you; that’s why they don’t want to like you.”
“It’s not about that. It’s so much more than that.” I peel his hand away from my face. He doesn’t fight me as I push off the wall and leave through another door, avoiding the bar and heading straight to my hotel room.
