Kitabı oku: «Worth The Risk»

PROLOGUE

Gideon

GREAT-AUNT FLO WAS pacing my office.

Seventy-five-year-olds, regardless of how sprightly they still were, had no business pacing three months after double hip-replacement operations.

Normally I welcomed her out-of-the-blue visits, because out of all my blood relatives, she was the only one I could tolerate for more than five minutes. Which was great, because I adored every wrinkled inch of her.

Normally that adoration was returned.

Today, however, every look she speared at me from her light blue eyes sparked an unsettling amount of disappointment.

My nape tightened.

I ran through the list of possible unsavoury things I’d done since I last saw her—bloody hell, there were a lot—and tuned back in just as she gave a melodramatic sigh.

‘The last straw was when they called you a reckless playboy.’

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. ‘That’s absurd, Aunt Flo. For starters, I’m most definitely not a boy. If we weren’t related, I’d drop my trousers and prove it to you right now.’

Nelly, Aunt Flo’s trusted assistant, choked, spilling the tea she was pouring.

Aunt Flo clicked her tongue. ‘Gideon Alexander Mortimer, this is serious. And no, you can’t charm your way out of it.’

I straightened from where I was perched on the corner of my desk and pulled out a chair. ‘Please sit down, Flo. You’re making me dizzy.’

‘Because you’re hung-over again?’ she sniped.

I wasn’t, and I was more than a little disconcerted by her sharp tone. Usually Florence Jane Mortimer, known as Flo to her nearest and dearest, was soft-spoken, endlessly indulgent and thoroughly enjoyed my brand of wicked humour. Apparently not today.

‘No, I’m not hung-over,’ I stated truthfully. But I could’ve done with more than the two snatched hours of sleep after ending a call with Vadim Ilyev, the Russian businessman whose delay tactics on my multibillion-pound deal had made my life hell for the past few months.

Note to self: never start a conversation with an intransigent Russian after midnight.

‘The senior board members are at their wits’ end.’

I snapped into full focus. ‘What?’ She was talking business. I never tuned out anything to do with the company.

Her lips pursed as she accepted the tea from Nelly and took a delicate sip. ‘The Mortimer Group has a long, untarnished history of excellence.’

‘Yes, one whose final chapter would’ve been written without a happy ending six years ago if I hadn’t stepped in,’ I muttered under my breath.

‘Don’t be a braggart, Gideon. You know how much I despise conceited men.’

My frown deepened. ‘What’s going on, Flo? Usually you’re the first to laud my achievements to anyone who’ll listen.’

She took another dainty sip, her gaze firmly avoiding mine. ‘The board has grown tired of your extracurricular antics.’

‘Doesn’t the very definition of extracurricular mean that it’s my business alone?’ I asked as reasonably as I could manage.

‘Not when you’re the head of a multibillion-pound corporation, no.’

Now it was my turn to pace.

There’d been growing rumblings about my work hard, party harder lifestyle recently, most likely because it was a healthy, fully fuelled juggernaut I had no intention of parking any time soon. But in light of the fact that I’d single-handedly dragged TMG from the dark ages and made it insanely profitable meant those rumblings had been behind my back. No one dared to question Gideon Mortimer about what he got up to when he wasn’t expertly manning the helm of the most profitable construction company in the western hemisphere.

Besides, Aunt Flo had been my bulwark against all that nonsense. A five-time divorcee, she was used to scandal and gossip, and at seventy-five still entertained the occasional gentleman caller in her Fitzrovia house. She supported me, too, because she liked to give her various stick-up-their-arses nieces and nephews a moderately arthritic middle finger.

On top of that, she was the only one who knew what had really happened with Damian that night three years ago. She was also there when Penny dropped the final soul-destroying bombshell.

She alone understood why I went off the rails for a solid six months after my life had crashed and burned. Without her intervention, I’d probably be in jail for murdering my cousin. She’d kept my secret, used her connections to keep the most salacious morsels of my breakdown and the reason behind it out of the press.

If I hadn’t been in awe of her before then, I certainly was by the time the red haze cleared and I discovered I had a semblance of a life left.

The raw double betrayal still haunted me. The one that followed haunted me even more, I wasn’t ashamed to admit. The only time the demons grew quieter was when I deliberately drowned them out with a willing woman and single malt whisky. Apparently that was unacceptable to a few sanctimonious members of my family. I hid a grim smile, wondered whether they would be so hypocritical if they knew the reason behind my behaviour.

‘Especially since you turn thirty-three in four months—’

Bloody hell, I really needed to focus. ‘What’s my age got to do with anything?’

‘You’re no longer a boy. They want to see a marked change, a more grounded outlook on life—’

‘Or what? They’ll vote to chop my bonus in half?’ Who cared? I was already wealthier than I would ever be able to spend in two lifetimes. Plus, with a twenty-three per cent share in a company worth thirty-one billion, I had more clout than every individual shareholder.

‘Or they’ll consider putting Harry in charge for a while.’

I stopped midpace. ‘Harry?’ Derisive laughter spilled out unchecked. ‘Are they out of their damned minds? I taught that little pissant everything he knows—’

‘Which means he’ll do a stellar job. Especially if he conscripts one of your other cousins to assist him. The board are confident they can elect someone else to head the company without the accompanying Page Three snippets of the CEO’s X-rated lifestyle shoved in their faces every time they open their newspapers.’

That neat little nugget was a bullet to the chest. One I couldn’t argue with. I felt it penetrate deeper, causing as much damage as possible.

My cousin Harry was duller than a puddle in winter, with zero personality and even less of a life. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went to bed fully dressed in his staid brown suits, his brown hair neatly combed, tie in place, ready to spring to work like a robot.

The last family member who’d been thrust into the demanding CEO position had lasted just six months before succumbing to a nervous breakdown and a long stint in rehab.

I’d been considered too young when I presented them with a three-year projection of where the company would be without radical changes—which was basically bankruptcy—and offered to save The Mortimer Group, on condition I was made CEO.

In the six years since I took over, I made the company wildly successful, and unfortunately pissed off more than a few members of my own family along the way.

‘Page Three no longer exists,’ I murmured abstractedly while my mind raced to tackle what could possibly be a real threat to my position.

Despite his shortcomings, Harry was a hard-working and intelligent subordinate, but he was nowhere near ready to take the helm of the company I’d shaped into running like a Swiss watch. Nor was he in any way equipped to be trusted with the biggest deal TMG was within a whisker of bagging. The deal that had demanded ninety-nine per cent of my working life for the last eight months.

‘It’s not going to fucking happen,’ I snarled under my breath.

The clink of her teacup against the saucer preceded Aunt Flo rising to her five-foot-two-inch height. In her Chanel suit, flawless make-up and contemporarily styled hair, she looked a decade younger. ‘No, it’s not. Because the last thing I need is your uncle Joseph giving me one of his damn I-told-you-so lectures.’

I’d spent most of my life wondering when the permanent stick Uncle Joseph had up his arse would turn into a tree. At sixty-eight, he was one of the oldest of the remaining Mortimer clan and probably the one who hated my guts the most, although he had no problem cashing the huge cheques my hard work brought him while not so secretly keeping the lynch mob at the ready in case I fucked up royally.

‘If you don’t want that to happen, then you’ll keep your antics down. At least until this Russian deal is done. That’s what we agreed.’

‘Wait, that’s what who agreed?’

‘An informal family meeting was called this morning.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘To which I wasn’t invited?’

‘It was agreed it would be best if you weren’t involved. Besides, you were tagged on social media with the caption that read “Just Done Being Banged.” I thought you needed your sleep before this meeting.’

‘I was on the phone to an intractable Russian oligarch until three a.m. this morning. Trust me, I had no energy after that to bang anyone.’

‘But you realise there’s a pattern that supports these allegations, don’t you?’ she insisted.

For the first time in for ever I couldn’t hold the gaze of the only person who meant a damn to me. Spiking my fingers through my hair, I paced to the window.

I was pretty sure I knew who’d posted the fake news, and if I hadn’t dumped Mischa last week over her many flaws, I’d do it all over again, just for her insane Instagram obsession.

With a sigh, I faced Aunt Flo. ‘So you had the meeting. And you all agreed to this...rancid little attempt at blackmail?’

Her lips pursed. ‘I’m your greatest ally, Gideon. You know that. But even I’ve noticed that you’ve...regressed a little lately.’

My teeth ground together and I forced myself to remain silent. It was true I’d made full and frequent use of the handful of exclusive gentlemen’s clubs I patronised. And so what if I didn’t date the same woman for more than a handful of weeks and that each sexual encounter left me a little more jaded than the last? Didn’t someone marginally profound suggest that the best way to get over mediocre sex was to fuck someone else?

I grimaced inwardly at the hollow echo of the reminder, ruthlessly suppressing the voice that suggested the bandage I’d slapped over the gashing wound of betrayal was in serious risk of failing.

‘So they elected you to be the bearer of this momentous news?’

She cracked her first smile since entering my office. ‘I was tempted to send one of your uncles just to see what colourful name you’d come up with this time. I believe last time it was a giraffe’s arse?’

I shrugged. ‘Uncle Conrad shouldn’t have walked into my office without knocking. He embarrassed the hell out of the Aston Martin saleswoman. It wasn’t my fault she chose to make her presentation minus a substantial amount of her clothes.’

Aunt Flo shook her head as we shared a grin. After a moment she sobered up. ‘I love you, dear boy. Enough to let you know things are serious this time. There are whispers of board members banding together to gain enough shares to form a majority. I’ll happily throw in my six per cent behind you but if this becomes a reality, it still won’t be enough.’

‘I can’t believe this tripe. I’ve made them all more money than they’ll ever be able to spend.’

She nodded a little sadly. ‘They’re ungrateful bastards. Every last one of them. But they’re still part of this family. And they’re powerful enough to pack a collective punch if it comes to it. I don’t want to see that happen to you.’

‘So they’re holding my sex life prisoner?’

‘Not your sex life. They just don’t want any unsavoury publicity or social media posts like the one from this morning risking this deal. Get one of those sex-bot things that seem to be the rage nowadays.’

I snorted. ‘No, thanks. If that’s my only choice, I’d rather stay celibate.’

Flo’s carefully plucked eyebrows shot up before she laughed. ‘Be careful what you wish for or the lawyers will put that in the contract.’

I froze. ‘What contract?’

She made a face. ‘They want something binding so you take this seriously. They think thirty days of no adverse publicity ought to do it.’

Sweet Lord, this just got better and better. ‘They’ve got the bloody lawyers involved without even discussing it with me first?’ The realisation shouldn’t have hurt. But it did. Same way what Damian had done continued to drill a gaping hole inside me.

Not for the first time, I wondered why I’d bothered returning home to London. Why I didn’t stay in Singapore, co-managing the hotel construction company I started with my brother, Bryce, eight years ago, instead of merging it with TMG. Everything outside the glass walls of this giant skyscraper that housed The Mortimer Group had gone to shit the moment I took the CEO position.

‘Nelly, wait for me outside,’ I heard Flo murmur. She waited until her assistant left the room before she approached. ‘I’m the last one to be indelicate but I’m going to come right out and say it. You’re in danger of being permanently scarred from what happened three years ago. It’s time to take firmer control of your life, Gideon.’

My fist balled and that tight band of rage around my chest I kept especially for such reminders threatened to suffocate me. ‘I was betrayed by my own flesh and blood, Flo. By the person I trusted the most,’ I gritted out.

She laid a gentle hand on my arm. ‘I know. And while this may sound like an atrocious idea to you right now, taking a step back from the...excess may provide a little clarity.’

She meant well, and yet I couldn’t stop the rancid bitterness that ploughed through me. Nor did I particularly welcome the unspoken accusation. The one that suggested I was repeating past mistakes of parents I barely knew.

‘I’m not like my mother, Flo,’ I bit out tersely. ‘If I suffered from any form of addiction, I wouldn’t turn up at six a.m. every morning and work my bloody arse off for this family.’ I knew my mother’s addiction to the heroin that eventually caused her to drive her Maserati off a cliff in Switzerland ten years ago was another invisible stain on my character. ‘There’s nothing to remedy. But I’ll sign their damn paper if that’s what they want. And when I pull this deal off without hint of a scandal, I expect every last one of them to come crawling to me on their hands and knees to beg my forgiveness.’

‘And I’ll sit by your side and we’ll sip cognac and laugh as they do.’

I couldn’t summon the smile she expected so I just nodded.

‘I’ll tell the lawyers to have the papers ready for you to sign this afternoon. Now, I’d better be on my way. I don’t want to be late for my next appointment.’

Alone in my office, I stood at the window and stared, unseeing, at the view.

What the bloody hell did I just do?

You just agreed to behave for thirty days. Ergo, no partying. No gentlemen’s clubs. No sex.

No finding an avenue—no matter how futile—for the demons that crawled out of the woodwork at night and taunted me with might-have-beens. No distraction from the hell of losing the person I’d once believed was my best friend to an act of betrayal that still hollowed me out in the dead of night. My fist clenched as memories raked raw pain over me.

I hoped to God my impending suffering was worth it or someone’s head would roll.