Two rings. Three rings. Impatience coursed through him. Where was she?Four rings.
‘Oliver,’ Clara finally spoke through the connection.
‘Where were you, Clara?’ he barked.
There was a short hesitation before the answer came. ‘I was collecting your mail.’
He shook his head in frustration. ‘Could you come to my office?’
‘Would you like the mail?’
‘Is it ready?’
‘Not quite.’
‘Look, forget the mail, just come in here.’ He ended the call and stood.
This week, he had let situations get the better of him. He’d given in to his medical condition and, in the aftermath, he had dwelt on it all way too much. Today, and every other day going forward, was going to be strictly business, emotion free. The second he dropped his guard, even just a centimetre, he lost sight of the big picture, what he wanted. And, for the most part, all that was was to be left alone. No questions, no complications and no promises.
He paced now, his irritation fuelling every step. How long did it take to walk the corridor, for God’s sake? Perhaps he ought to suggest she wore shoes she could actually move in. There was a knock on the door and then it was pushed open, Clara appearing a little flustered and distracted, her leather portfolio in her hands.
‘I need you to take a letter,’ he barked before the whole of her had entered.
‘Of course.’ She bustled in, heading for the chair opposite his.
‘It’s to Luther Jameson. The usual address.’ Oliver began to gather speed as he walked up and down in front of the windows showing off the Manhattan skyline.
‘Luther Jameson?’ Clara asked.
He turned to look at her, saw her pen poised over her pad, hesitating.
‘Is there a problem with that?’ He ground his teeth together, just waiting for her to dare to oppose him.
‘No, I—’ Clara began.
He cut her off. ‘Dear Luther. I was sorry to miss you at the golf club last month. I hear a good time was had by all and a considerable sum of money was raised for the McArthur Foundation. Unfortunately, due to prior commitments, I will be unable to attend the fundraiser on…’ He paused, turning back to Clara. ‘Add the date in there whenever it is.But, to go some way towards an apology, I enclose a cheque for $25,000 in addition to Drummond Global’s annual donation. I hope you have a successful and lucrative night for the charity and I wish you and your family a wonderful Christmas.’ Oliver let out a sigh. ‘He isn’t Jewish, is he?’
Clara kept her eyes fixed on the notes she was taking.
‘Clara, is the man Jewish? Does he celebrate Christmas?’
‘I’ll check.’
‘Send it out today; I’ll sign the cheque.’
Clara was unmoving.
‘That’s it,’ Oliver said, walking back to his desk. ‘You can go now. I’ve got a meeting with design and development at ten.’
Clara got to her feet, hugging the portfolio to her chest. ‘Oliver…’
‘There is one other thing,’ he interrupted. He breathed in hard. ‘I don’t know who organised that monstrosity of a Christmas tree in the lobby but I want it gone. Today.’
He sat down in his chair and put his hand on the mouse next to his keyboard. This was how a day should be started. Controlled, conducted, nothing left to chance. Long may it continue.
Boardroom One – Drummond Global Offices, Downtown Manhattan
As Oliver arrived at the boardroom door, he could hear the hubbub of voices. He strained his ears, trying to catch snippets of the words. He could imagine what they were saying. They all thought he had called them here to pull apart the latest version of the Globe. All the revisions it had been through had been necessary. Since he’d started on the project, he knew he wanted to create something to really rival Apple. Lots of companies had tried but hewas going to be the one to succeed. Because, despite what some people thought, hedidknow this business. His father had made sure of that.
