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“Fuck, Will. Shut up now. Not another word.”
“Pete, God help me, go now before I make you go. Aileen, get him out of here.”
Aileen handed Will a second icepack and took Peter’s arm. She tried to move him towards the door to the outer corridor.
The idea of being alone with Will Parker felt dangerous. He admitted to being an aggressive man and she’d just punched him. Darcy’s only safe ally was the lawyer who knew a thousand ways to make life hard for her.
“Peter stays,” she said, hardly recognising her own voice from the way it shook.
“Good decision,” Peter said. He ge
stured to the lounge setting. “Everyone sit.” He took one of the single chairs. “Aileen, sit with Darcy. Will, over there,” he pointed to the other single chair.
Will ignored him, threw the icepack on the desk, went to the window and stood facing the street, gripping the ledge, like a boxer going to his corner, waiting for the bell to ring to signal the next round.
Peter was saying her name. Since the pugilism they were back on first name basis. She tore her eyes away from the hard ridge of Will’s back where she knew the tattoo of Tara was inked.
“Darcy, flex your hand for me.” She did; her knuckles were numb from the ice or the impact, it didn’t much matter, but she could move her fingers.
“Darcy, look at me and tell me if Will…” Peter hesitated, “raped you?”
She looked to Will. She thought he might turn around, defend himself. He’d lied, he’d set her up, he’d betrayed her. It was entrapment, but it wasn’t rape, except of every one of her senses and her self-respect. Only his breathing suggested he was listening. He was otherwise still, like stone.
“No, everything we did was consensual,” she said, still watching Will’s back.
Peter’s exhale filled the room. He wasn’t going to have to defend his brother from a crime. He raised his voice, but didn’t bother looking at Will. “I assume you don’t want to discuss an assault charge.”
“You assume correctly.” Will’s voice was granite hard and tight as hate.
“Then I think we can deal with the matter in front of us like professionals.” Peter sat forward, adopting a more conversational posture as he outlined the legal position. He addressed Darcy, acting as though Will had no further business here.
“Obviously there will be no interview. Your prior relationship makes that untenable. Will Parker will undertake to keep the nature and detail of that relationship private and confidential. In addition, he will sever all contact with you both now and into the future. As you will agree to do with him. Furthermore, for your part, anything and everything you learned about Parker Enterprise’s CEO, or the business itself in the course of your association will be considered private and confidential. The loose term in your industry is off the record. I’m sure you’re aware of it. This speaks to public interest, slander, libel, defamation; basically, take your pick. Do you understand?”
Darcy was mute. Shock, confusion and fear stopped her vocal cords from sounding. She’d been personally fucked by Will and now she was being professionally fucked by him.
“She’s already agreed to keep everything off the record,” said Will, his voice sharp-edged with anger, making Darcy’s thigh muscles bunch. Three days ago, when she’d joked with her anonymous fellow detainee about the meaning of off the record, she’d had no idea it would be used against her so comprehensively.
Peter exhaled noisily and continued. “If in the course of your private or professional life you use any information about or obtained from Will Parker while in Pudong Airport or at the Peninsula Hotel, Parker Corporation will sue you, your editor, your managing editor and the publisher.”
Peter sat back in his chair. He crossed his legs nonchalantly as though he threatened to sue someone every Monday morning. “Do you understand me?”
Darcy understood Will Parker just killed her career.
If she did anything other than obey his officially binding off the record command, anything other than buckle to his legal might, she’d be unemployable.
She felt then the depth of Will’s duplicity and betrayal. This man, who’d promised he wouldn’t hurt her, had cut her off at the knees professionally.
She had no interview to take home and every incredible detail she’d learned about Will was barred from use unless she wanted to risk bringing legal hell down on the paper. Worse to even think about a defensive strategy with the paper’s lawyers; she’d have to discuss how she got the information, and there was no way to do that without admitting she’d sold herself to him.
She’d thought she was in control. Thought she’d made an educated choice and found Shangri-La. Instead she’d prostituted herself to the devil and walked headfirst into hell.
14. Web
“To be wronged is nothing, unless you continue to remember it.” — Confucius
Standing on Lover’s Walk outside the offices of hell, watching the boat traffic on the Huangpu and the sun glint off the outrageously pink dome of the Pearl Tower, Darcy tried to still the shaking of her hands. She’d been gripping the metal railing but that hadn’t helped. She focused on the rhythm of breathing, the slow count of time, and made a conscious effort to feel calm.
The sun was high and mercilessly hot, it bounced off the pavement and stung her skin like the sight of her false lover had stung her heart. It burned like the thought of how he’d designed her downfall, planned her detention and every move she’d made since.
