Oliver turned his head back to the dozen or so people sat at the boardroom table on the eightieth floor of Drummond Global and nodded at Mackenzie. He had no idea what she’d said but he was confident in her ability to get the company out of whatever mess she’d been called in to deal with. He’d make an effort to find out. He should know, if only the bare bones of it. He put the end of his steel ballpoint in his mouth, pressing it to his lip. He’d been sofocused on the Globe over the past few months, he’d let everything else slide. The Globe was going to change things. The tablet wasn’t just going to alter the lives of its consumers; it was going to reinvigorate his passion for the company. And he’d get right into the professional zone on other projects today… as soon as he got rid of last night’s hangover. He was blaming his best friend Tony for every last shot of that.
He shifted in his executive leather chair at the head of the table as a twinge pinged like an elastic band in his chest. He gritted his teeth together, trying to ignore it. He didn’t have time for this. He would not allow it to exist in his world. He turned his head to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Downtown Manhattan. Snow was falling, spreading its whiteness over the tops of neighbouring buildings, raining down towards the ground. He focused his hazel eyes on the flakes, watching their journey until they disappeared out of sight. Right now, he wanted to be one of them. Weightless, drifting, silently floating through the air, oblivious to anything around. A layer of white hung from the neo-Gothic roof of the Woolworth Building, while shards of ice dripped from what he could see of the frontage of Broadway. Outside, the city was turning into a winter wonderland; inside, there was an avalanche waiting to happen.
The distraction of the winter weather wasn’t enough. The pain was still there. It was an ache that seemed to increase in magnitude with every passing second. He fought the urge to grimace, holding his jaw in place as the monotony of Mackenzie’s voice continued in the background.
It could definitely be muscular. Maybe he’d pulled something when he was working out. And how crazy were those dance moves Tony had forced him to do last night? He swallowed, putting a hand to the dark-grey tie at his throat, slackening it off a little.
‘Oliver.’
The direct tone and the force at which his name hit his eardrums drew his attention back to the table. Clara, his PA, was giving him one of herspeciallooks. The eyebrows were up in her mahogany-tinted hairline, her head tilting downwards, glasses sat halfway down her nose, shoulder pads widening. He’d just about deciphered this look to meanget your head back in the room now or I’m going to quit. Somehow, she knew that scared the crap out of him.
Oliver adjusted his body in the chair as another shot of pain hit his chest wall. This wasn’t good. Was this how it started? No, he needed to banish that thought from his mind just like he had all the other times this had happened. Hewasn’this father. Hewasn’this brother. This wasnottouching him. He swallowed. He didn’t believe that. He was always going to be next.
He directed his gaze to the brassy statement necklace laying just above Clara’s fifty-something décolletage. It paid homage to everything that was bad about the eighties. Where did she get these things? A smile broke on his lips. This was good. Focusing on Clara’s poor taste in accessories was really working. He leaned a little nearer to her, ignoring the thud of his heart and the perspiration at the back of his neck. Then the reflective fake diamonds started to blur his vision. He tipped slightly, nudging Clara’s elbow with his hand. The papers she was holding fanned to the floor in spectacular fashion.
Mackenzie stopped talking. Oliver straightened up quickly, blinking desperately, his face coated with an expression he hoped signalled solidarity and comradeship. He nodded his head as Clara dipped to recover her documents from the carpet.
Oliver cleared his throat before speaking. ‘Do carry on, Mackenzie.’
‘What was going on in there, Oliver? If I wasn’t old enough to be your mother, I’d have thought you were trying to hit on me,’ Clara said as they headed from the boardroom.
‘I apologise. I was bored and I couldn’t look at Mackenzie. She’s hankering after another date and the last time I took her out, she drank me under the table.’
Clara turned and looked at him, wearing the school principal expression.
‘I know, I know, and I’m done mixing business with pleasure,’ he stated.
‘So, you’re confident you know everything there is to know about the proposed takeover of Regis Software?’
The long strides he was taking meant she was following him at running pace along the corridor. Deftly, he swept left, heading towards the bank of elevators. He needed to get back to his office, take a breath. He paced with urgency before remembering Clara could barely walk in her shoes at the best of times. He slowed.
‘I kick-started the project, Clara. My father and Andrew Regis weren’t just old friends. They were like brothers. He came to every birthday party I ever had until I got too old for clowns and piñatas.’ He stopped, pressing the stainless-steel button to call the lift. He tried to hide the bob of his Adam’s apple. He had no idea of the latest content in the Regis Software contract. He had set it up, he had banged out the basics of the agreement… What had happened then? It was nowhere near final stages, was it? What exactly had he missed?
‘So, bearing that in mind, after dinner and drinks, you decide to ship out?’ Clara had her bluntest tone on now. If he didn’t know her background already, he would have guessed at prison officer.
Oliver filled his lungs to their maximum capacity and turned to look at her. ‘I don’t know, Clara; has something happened I don’tknow about? You’re my PA; if you know something then it’s your duty to tell me.’
She adopted a confused expression as she looked back at him. ‘I don’t know anything.’
‘Then I ask the question… am I not the CEO of Drummond Global?’
Who was he trying to sound like here? Donald Trump? King Midas? He watched Clara swallow away her resolve. She did a good job; no, scrub that, she did agreatjob. So why was he intent on making her feel small in this moment? He moved his tongue in his mouth and swallowed away the bitter taste. He was attacking, fighting instead of fleeing, because she’d backed him into a corner. If he wasn’t careful, he would lose his edge.
‘I’m not my father, Clara.’ He stopped talking, the breath suddenly catching in his throat. He tried again. ‘And I don’t need to get involved in every minute decision there is. It’s a more modern approach.’
‘I’m well aware of all that, Oliver.’ Clara paused before carrying on. ‘I’m worried about you, that’s all.’
‘Please don’t do that.’ He moistened his lips. The pain was back now, only a lot worse. His heart was beating like the corps of a military band. He could no longer fill his lungs. Breaths were coming short and sharp. He tried to recover. ‘I… I don’t pay you to worry about me.’
A vice-like grip wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed, unrelenting. Where was the damn elevator? The steel of the lift door just in front of him started to warp and bend in his vision. The internal glass windows to his left and right bowed and refracted the morning sun hitting the building from behind them. The walkway was suddenly getting sauna hot.
‘Oliver, are you all right?’
He opened his mouth to speak but his jaw was tightening.Everything was being squashed and compacted like garbage in a city truck.
‘Oliver,’ Clara repeated.
The words he wanted to say just wouldn’t come. Clara’s necklace spun around in his vision and before he could do anything else, his body dropped to the floor.
