Angel nodded. ‘Deal.’
‘Right, well, why don’t you go and get changed so you’re ready to go,’ Hayley said, standing up and stacking Angel’s pizza box over hers.
‘Can I borrow your red, sparkly top?’ Angel asked, tipping her head a little to the left and giving her the benefit of the eyelash dance.
‘To roll around on the floor with Randy?’
‘Purrrlllease.’
‘Urgh! Go on then,’ Hayley gave in.
7thAvenue, Downtown Manhattan
Oliver had had way too much to drink and nothing to eat. Perhaps he was more like his father than he’d thought. Richard had never worried about healthy living. He’d been very much in the club of going with whatever hand fate dealt him. He never worked out. He had never curbed his carbs or toned down the Scotch. And he’d beaten the curse. At least until his sixties, when it had finally caught up with him. And Cynthia had cried desperate tears, leant over his body and wept for another family member lost, her soulmate taken too soon, leaving her a widow. Andrew had comforted her, Andrew whose wife had succumbed to cancer just a few years before. A constant in their lives for so long. School friends who had struck out on their own, achieving success in the same field.
Oliver carried on, stumbling a little on the slippery streets. This takeover of Regis Software was supposed to be about combining their strengths, achieving a crossover into sectors neither of the companies had entered separately before. Regis Software had cornered the health industry; Drummond Global had strong contracts with NASA. But what if it wasn’t about that at all? What if this was all about Andrew Regis staking his claim on Richard Drummond’s property?
Maybe this was about Cynthia. Strengthening his position in the business to coincide with his personal life. Now his brain was working overtime. What if they got married? What happened then? He had enough suspicion to set Daniel Pearson to work. He just had to wait and see what turned up.
Now he felt sick and his vision was blurred. Spending the day in the bar had been the best way to avoid the phone calls he was sure had been jamming up the Drummond Global switchboard.
Oliver stopped walking and palmed his face, trying to clear his eyes and his head. He looked up through the darkness and along the street. Just how many blocks away from Dean Walker’s apartment was he?
Dean Walker’s Apartment, Downtown Manhattan
Hayley had gone through all the M De Vos’s on the internet’s version of the phone directory. Why she thought she would have more luck here than she had at home in England, she didn’t know. No one claimed to know or be the Michel she’d met in Vipers ten years ago. But would even the man himself remember her? It was one night. She might remember every man she’d ever slept with, but what if he had a hundred conquests… or more? She swallowed. She didn’t want to think that for lots of reasons. Because it made him promiscuous and her not just careless about contraception but downright insane. She also didn’t want to think about lots of little Angels or Gabriels around the world if the artist had sown many seeds.
She picked up the glass of white wine she’d poured and took a mouthful. None of the other galleries would be open now unless they had an exhibition. It would be better to call them in the morning.
The intercom sounded, making her jump. She got down from the kitchen bar stool and padded across to the machine on the wall. She was dressed for bed in a red and white polka dot onesie, Angel’s cat slipper socks on her feet. It was far too early to be Dean and Angel; besides, Dean had a key. Unless he’d forgotten it. She hoped it wasn’t someone she had to let in.
She pressed the button. ‘Hello.’
There was the sound of scuffling and she straight away thought it was kids pranking about. But then someone spoke.
‘I guess you’re happy now.’
She furrowed her brow. The owner of the words was slurring over them. Maybe it was a down-and-out.
‘I think you have the wrong apartment.’ She was about to let the button go and return to her wine when the man spoke again.
‘You’re all the same, you know. You all use people to get what you want.’
Familiarity kicked in. It was Oliver Drummond and he was drunk.
‘Oliver? Is that you?’
‘Now my mother is doing it to me too. She set up this deal and now I know why.’
What was he doing here? How did he even know she was staying here? Had she told him she was staying with Dean? He was drunk and annoyed and she was on her own. In a onesie. But hewasDean’s boss and she had run away after kissing him last night.
‘Listen, stay right there.’ She paused. ‘I’m coming down.’
She let go of the button and raced out of the room towards the stairs.
He was going to be sick. All he could taste was the amalgamation of beer, whisky and peanuts he’d inhaled from the bowl on the bar. It was all fighting for release and he was swaying, holding onto the plaster of the façade outside the apartment.
The door opened and there she was. Hayley. The woman he’d kissed last night, the woman who had sold him out to the press. What was she wearing? She looked like Santa Claus. A cute Santa Claus. He reallywasdrunk.
