Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
But I had an ulterior motive. While I introduced Chinese moneymen to the best Irish whiskey in London and arranged a private couture show in Milan for a bunch of Qatari investors’ wives, I was also networking. These past months I’ve spent time and effort building relationships, when before I was only interested in building sites and building wealth. And now I’m on first-name terms with the kinds of financial big hitters that have fingers in lots of international pies. Including the States. These rich feckers love me—they love my common touch and my earthy (or sweary) craic—so, of course, should I decide to drop a few hints their way about mismanagement of a certain hedge fund, I’m sure they’d be all ears.
As the saying goes, revenge is a dish best served cold. That’s not to say there isn’t something satisfying in making a man see the error of his ways with a more . . . primitive response.
“Well, you took to the role like a duck to water,” Fin says, studying me.
“You’re not the only one who can be sociable.”
“But that’s not what it was about.” He sounds impressed, not that I’ll admit his suspicions. “You’re one motherfucker.”
“You’ve gotta take opportunities as they’re presented,” I answer, sticking with my poker face.
“So your plan is to what? Fuck Dreyland Capital for messing with your girl?”
“She’s not my girl.” At least, she isn’t yet. And she won’t ever be if I can’t find her.
“You want to punish them?” Oliver asks, perplexed. “For what? They’re just one of a hundred companies that operate in the same way.”
“You mean chauvinistically? Archaically? Fuck that. They should be put out of their misery.”
“Along with a good portion of the finance world?” Oliver asks.
I lift my ankle to my knee and straighten the pleat in my pants. “I didn’t say it made sense. I’m not sure I understand it myself. But it was almost as though she expected that kind of treatment. Not in a way that made her seem downtrodden, because that’s not her. She’s all kind of kick arse. Resilient. As hard as nails. On the outside, at least.” I look up to find my friends examining me. “It was like her self-sufficiency had been long ingrained.”
“In this industry I can believe it,” Fin murmurs.
“It was more than that. Worse than that. So yeah, like any man with feelings, I want to help her.”
“Help?” Fin repeats.
“Fucking . . . protect her. Do better. Punish her ex for making her suffer, for ignoring what was happening in that toxic space. I mean, it’s less viscerally exciting than smashing my fist into his face, but he married into the family business. What better way to make him pay than by causing that business trouble? Maybe even failure. I’d make it his fault.”
“Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought,” Oliver says.
“Maybe more to the point, it sounds like a you thing, not a her thing,” Fin adds.
Oliver turns to face Fin. “But faint heart never won fair lady.”
“Whatever the fuck that means,” I mutter.
“It means we both get it,” Fin replies. “Look, you’re a good man. Principled and fair, but have you considered how Ryan will feel about it? She might not appreciate your interference. She might see your actions as undermining hers, taking away her individual power. Especially the way you describe her.”
“She’s not here, though, is she?” I say, toying with my whiskey glass.
“All the more reason—”
“I want to fucking crush them,” I growl, my grip tightening on the glass.
The table falls into silence. Until Fin breaks it.
“Because you love her.”
My head jerks immediately up. “Cop onto yourself,” I scoff, lifting my drink and ignoring the twinge in my chest. “You can’t love someone you’ve spent less than twelve hours with.” I throw the whiskey back.
“Yeah, you can.” Fin’s tone and his smile feel like compassion. “Ask me how I know. Ask him.”
But I don’t.
“You didn’t tell us what happened when you caught up with her today,” Oliver says. “I take it you didn’t mention your plans.”
“That’s just it. I didn’t catch her. I followed her into Oxford Circus Station, where she got on the 1:54. Victoria Line.” I press my palm to my jaw and flex; everything inside me so fucking tense. “I was so close, yet . . .” I blow out a breath. “Where she is now is anyone’s guess.”
“And you’re sure it was her?” Oliver asks, reaching for his phone.
“Positive.” I know what I heard, and I know what I saw. “I just don’t know where to go from here.”
“Transport police.” Oliver’s tone is matter of fact. “CCTV footage.”
“Yeah,” I scoff. “It’s not like they’ll just hand it over.” It wouldn’t be my first rodeo with them, not after today.
“No, but you will be able to view it. Tomorrow,” he adds, setting down his phone. “Expect a call. Personally, I’ve never had an issue bending the rules or playing dirty.”