“Ah.” Scott was breathless. “Of course, I understand.”
“Good. Scott, no handwritten notes. Should notes be necessary, type them and use gloves to handle them.”
Scott’s eyes bulged with excitement and he bobbed his head. “Yes, yes, sir.”
“When working here, keep the office locked and don’t leave any research scattered around. As soon as you have all the details you need, burn all written or printed information.”
“Indeed, sir, indeed. Consider it done, as you instructed.”
“Good. I want to be kept abreast of everything she does. Every little thing. I’m giving you a big bonus if you get this first part of the work done properly.” Ethan turned his head to the newspaper, dismissing his secretary. “Thank you. That will be all.”
Scott picked up his file and started to exit the room as Ethan called, “Ah, Scott.”
“Sir?” Scott halted and turned, opening his leather folder, ready to take notes.
“For tomorrow morning. I need Carter and the legal department to devise a taxation strategy so I can make contributions to her foundation. A huge contribution to start with. Directed to women and children in India and China. And I’ll have lunch with her to discuss the application of the funds.” Ethan paused, thoughtfully. “A business lunch, of course.”
“Of course,” Scott concurred.
“Only the two of us, in a secluded restaurant. I’ll think about it and let you know where it is going to be. Tell Carter to call me as soon as he has it done, so I can instruct him further.”
“Yes, sir. It will be done.” Scott left the room with a big grin on his thin lips, thinking about how easy and enjoyable his job was and the big bonus that would be in his bank account by the end of the week.
Atwood House
8:55 a.m.
Sophia paused at the door of her Jaguar, and looking at her reflection in Steven’s aviator sunglasses, instructed, “Steven, our first stop will be at Dr. Kent’s. Then drive Mr. MacCraig to the bank and come back to pick me up, okay?”
“Yes, Mrs. Leibowitz.” He opened the door for her.
Sophia, waving good-bye to Gabriela, entered the car.
As the door softly closed, she turned to look at the handsome man beside her. Should I ask? “Alistair Connor?”
Catching the solemn note in her voice, he glanced up from his iPhone, where he was typing a message. “Aye?” Business can wait. The world can wait. Sophia comes first.
She scooted closer to him and picked up his hand, tracing the veins on its back and the ring on his finger. “You haven’t brought up the issue you wanted to talk about…after our…brusquely interrupted lunch.”
Fuck. He stiffened for a moment then relaxed, entwining their fingers. “That requires a lengthy talk. I have to explain a lot of things to you.” Before someone else does it in the wrong way.
“She seemed very…intimate.”
He pushed up his sunglasses and then hers. Staring seriously into her eyes, he explained, “Sophia, that woman, she is Emma Miller.”
So? She looked at him, waiting for the rest of the explanation.
“The surname—doesn’t it ring a bell?”
“No. Why? Should it?”
You really don’t know. It baffled him that she hadn’t the least bit of interest in his past. “Emma was Heather’s sister.”
“Oh.” She inhaled deeply. “I see.” No. I don’t see. She behaved like a lover, not a sister-in-law.
He placed his hand over hers. “I need time to explain it all to you. I wanted to do it yesterday, but…” He shrugged.
“But…”
“We were so happy. I didn’t want to spoil the night by talking about an unpleasant issue. Perhaps we can have dinner tonight at my place?”
“Tomorrow morning I wake up very early. And…hmm…I haven’t been sleeping very much these last few days.”
The bright smile she gave him made his heart fill with an exaltation and a tenderness that astounded him. They were emotions he’d never felt for a woman in his whole life.
“Have I told you today that I love you?” he asked, the past few days vivid in his mind.
“Ah…” she frowned, teasing. “I don’t remember.”
Putting her on his lap, he whispered on her lips, “Then let me remind you.”
Chapter 8
Atwood House
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
6:15 a.m.
“You’re going to spoil me,” Alistair stretched and smiled to a freshly showered Sophia, who had just awakened him with a kiss.
“My lord,” she bowed, a big smile on her lips, “breakfast for two is served.”
“Hmm. Give me another kiss,” he said, and when she bent he pulled her back into bed.
“Alistair Connor. No, no, no. Not today. I give classes at eight in Cambridge.”
He just chuckled and rolled over her. “And I don’t give a fuck.” He lifted his broad shoulders, unpinning the clip he had given her and undoing the black velvet choker that covered the black-and-blue marks on her neck. Kissing it tenderly, his deft fingers untied the side bow of her wrap dress. “By the way, this dress is too sexy to be worn to work.”
“Quoting your poor language, I don’t give a fuck.” Sophia put her hands on his chest and pushed, but he laughed and bit her earlobe and neck.
“You’re going to distract your students.” He pushed her bra to the side and nibbled her nipple, before murmuring, “They’ll want to study anatomy instead of criminal law.”
Sophia chuckled and pushed his chest again but he didn’t budge. “Alistair. Stop!”
He lifted his head for a second. “I’ll solve your time problem.”
And moved to the other breast.
Sophia, who had already melted in his arms, moaned, “How?”
“Munro can take you and bring you back,” he told her between kisses spread on her stomach, heading down. “Ten, fifteen minutes, tops.”
His fingers hooked the sides of her panties and pushed them down her legs as his mouth hovered just inches from her almost bare mons. He paused and looked at her, “What do you think?”
She opened her yellow-diamond eyes, and ordered, putting a leg over his shoulder, “Stop talking and start kissing.”
His masculine, deep chuckle filled the room accompanied by her pleasure moan while their breakfast got cold in the dining room.
Leibowitz Oil Building
12:19 p.m.
Sophia’s phone buzzed from an incoming WhatsApp message. She looked at the screen and smiled.
Handsome. 12:19 p.m. - I can still taste you in my mouth. Hmm. I’m hungry. I want a special delivery.
Sophia. 12:19 p.m. - Don’t you have to work?
Handsome. 12:20 p.m. - I’m signing a huge new contract. Have lunch with me to celebrate.
Sophia. 12:20 p.m. - Sorry, my dear. I can’t. Lots of work. =(
Handsome. 12:21 p.m. - :( :(
Sophia. 12:22 p.m. I promise a feast 4 you this evening.
Handsome. 12:22 p.m. - I can’t wait. Love you.
Sophia looked at the last two words and her heart beat fast—too fast. I love you, you say, Alistair Connor. What are you expecting to hear from me?
Sophia. 12:24 p.m. - See you at six. =)
No more answers came.
Sophia could almost bet the forest-green eyes she so admired were not sparkling any more. It pained her but she wasn’t ready yet to say the same to him.
12:36 p.m.
“Mrs. L, Mr. Ashford is on your private line,” Sarah said through the intercom.
“Oh, damn,” Sophia muttered under her breath. “Please, Sarah, tell him I’m very busy. That I’ll—”
An impatient knock on the door interrupted her as Sarah explained, “Mr. Davidoff asks if you can receive him and Mrs. Chanda, Mrs. L.”
Sophia unlocked her door and huffed, “What a day! Sarah, please tell Mr. Ashford I can’t—”
“You can,” interrupted Edward as he en
tered her office with Zahira Chanda, the president of her foundation. “Take Ashford’s call.”
Turning to Zahira he said, “We arrived just in time.”
“What?” Sophia frowned at Edward’s cryptic remark. “Hold on for a sec, Sarah, please.”
Zahira Chanda, a pleasant and calm middle-aged Indian woman, who always dressed in silk saris no matter the weather, approached Sophia’s desk and placed on it an enormous envelope with the Ashford Steel logo stamped in black-and-silver on the top left corner.
It was addressed to Sophia Leibowitz Foundation for Women and Children, Mrs. Zahira Chanda, President.
“Mrs. L, he wants to make a huge contribution to the foundation. Let’s hear what he has to say.”
He won’t say it on the phone. You don’t know him, Zahira. Sophia raised her brows and sighed. “Okay. Put him through, Sarah, please. Hello, Ethan.”
“Sophia, darling, how are you?” Ethan’s beautiful baritone voice came through clearly over the speaker as Zahira and Edward sat across from Sophia.
“I’m fine, thanks. And you?” Sophia pulled out a black leather folder with the Ashford Steel logo in intaglio containing a presentation of a business plan. A cordial letter signed by Ethan began the document.
“Better now. Sophia, I’m calling because Ashford Steel has recently redone its tax plan for the upcoming year and we need a foundation to invest in. You know the drill,” he explained. “I remembered that you have one. Perhaps you can accommodate us.”
Sophia bit her lip for a second, quickly scanning the papers he had sent and hummed noncommittally, “Hmm, perhaps. Could you explain the proposal a bit more, please?”
“Yes, of course. Are you free for lunch? You and I,” he loaded the words with strength, “can discuss it over a good bottle of champagne to celebrate our new partnership.”
Immediately, Edward bobbed his head at her and whispered, “It’s worth it, Sophia. Accept.”
Changing sides, Brutus? Sophia eyed Edward, then Zahira, who nodded, too. “Yes, you’re lucky. I’m free.” And pressing the mute button for a split second, she asked Edward and Zahira, “How much is it worth?”
Edward put his two hands up and motioned them five times. Sophia made a face at him, not understanding, and threw a notepad and a pen over her desk to him.
“Great. Can I pick you up in…let’s say, half an hour?”
Sophia glanced at the Rolex Ethan had given her. A quarter to one. Lunch with Ethan always takes time. Hmm. “Ethan, if it’s possible, I’d prefer in an hour. I have a few matters to resolve and we’ll be able to discuss the issue without pressure.” Yeah, and this way I can discuss the proposal with Zahira and Edward first.
Edward snapped his fingers at Sophia and raised the sheet for her to see. It said:
£ 50 mm to start with
Sophia’s jaw fell open. She couldn’t believe the number. It was a huge contribution for a single firm.
“Of course, baby. I know a great place, a surprise.” Ethan said.
And to start with? What’s that supposed to mean? “Okay,” she breathed.
“I’ll pick you up in forty-five minutes.”
Sophia sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. “All right, then. See you downstairs in forty-five minutes.”
“I can’t wait, baby.” His sensual baritone voice rang in the room after he ended the call.
She put the handset in its cradle and blinked at Zahira and Edward. “Are you serious? Fifty-million pounds to start with? There must be a mistake, Zahira. Perhaps it’s five million?”
The smile Zahira bestowed on Sophia left no margin for doubt. Ashford Steel was donating fifty-million pounds to her foundation. To start with.
“How can this be?” Sophia couldn’t believe it yet.
Edward got out of his chair and circled Sophia’s desk, pausing near her iMac. “Type Ashford Steel balance sheet and look for its profit.”
Sophia inhaled deep as the ten zero figure appeared on the screen. “My goodness. But why doesn’t he direct it to his foundation?”
“Ashford Steel doesn’t have a foundation, nor does Ashford individually. He always makes donations to others,” Edward explained. “From the research I asked the legal department to do, Ashford prefers to concentrate on his business and leave charity to those he thinks are more apt.”
Zahira flanked Sophia and showed her a chapter in the plan. “Look here, Mrs. L, he always makes donations to foundations that protect children. All over the world. Since the donation is so large, he would like to have a say in how it is allocated. He is proposing it be shared, with a portion for India and China, where Ashford Steel has branches, and the rest we would decide. It’s beautifully designed to fit both his and our goals.” Zahira’s dark brown eyes were twinkling.
“A lawyer from Ashford Steel, Mr. Ronald Carter, called Zahira yesterday, after you left, asking for a meeting.” Edward was excited. “It’s fantastic, Sophia.”
Zahira finished the explanation, “Mr. Carter brought this in personally this morning and gave us a lengthy explanation.”
“Mmm.” Sophia raised her brows as she read the paragraph Zahira had indicated with her finger. “This idea is a beauty. Imagine if we could help all those poor baby girls left to die in China…but what I still don’t get is: why us?”
Edward sighed deeply, impatient. “Why? Why not, Sophia? Ashford clearly likes you. You have a foundation that allows this kind of maneuver. He makes contributions every year. He, intelligently, combined business with pleasure. Why not?”
“Mrs. L, the plan has provisions for…” Zahira leafed through the document and pointed to another paragraph, “a ten year plan. It’s a long-term commitment. He is directing all his contributions to your foundation. All he asks for is investments in India and China.”
“Well then,” she raised her eyes to Edward, “since you both approve…”
“We do,” said both at the same time.
Chelsea, Royal Hospital Road, Gordon Ramsay
1:35 p.m.
“Alistair Connor.” Tavish was flabbergasted. “You’re a genius.”
Alistair smiled smugly at his brother. “The facts were there for everyone to see, Tavish Uilleam, but that’s what makes the difference between a successful businessman and everyone else. Never fear, be bold. I have been investing in that young group of artists for fifteen years. It was pure chance, but when they started having problems keeping up with the mortgage payments for their gallery, The Blue Dot, I took matters into my hands and proposed a partnership, investing more to keep it afloat. Art has always been an obsession of mine. I decided to sponsor all of their,” he made quotes in the air, “insane ideas. Malcolm and Berkley called me a lunatic and didn’t agree with the investment. At that time, they were the majority shareholders at the bank. I was new, starting my career at the bank, thanks to our father’s money.” He shrugged. “I made a deal. I’d make a huge investment in the gallery and be its CFO, if they sold me a percentage of the business and the property. I put in my personal money.” And Alistair’s smile grew larger, “And yours, too.”
“You did what? You never told me.” Tavish shook his head slowly. He didn’t like the way Alistair sometimes treated him as if he were still a little boy, but he had given carte blanche to his brother to do whatever investments he thought interesting, while he was in Iraq and Afghanistan. “But didn’t you think it was too risky?”
“A wonderful house in Chelsea? A historic building? Never. This was clear from the get-go. It has increased tenfold in value, Tavish. And as for the investment,” he smirked, “how do you think both of us ended up owning bigger shares of the bank than Malcolm and Berkley?” Alistair shrugged. “I determined a stop-loss, of course. They are brilliant, just disorganized. They have a great eye for discovering new artists. All I had to do was create a business plan for them to follow, organize their finances and give my opinion whenever a new young artist proposed something—how can I put it? Extremely contemporary. We’ve been
working closely and it has been a huge success.”
“I’ve never seen such a huge profit for such a small investment, in such a short period of time.”
“I turned the idea into an investment fund and I want you to supervise it. We are going to relaunch the gallery on June first.”
Tavish’s brows shot to the middle of his forehead, in alarm. “Me? I don’t know anything about investment funds. I have some connections and I can get clients for the bank, but supervise an investment fund? I know how to buy art, but I don’t know the first thing about selling it. Alistair Connor, I’m going to mess things up.”
But Alistair was already expecting this reaction and had prepared his answer, “But that’s exactly what I need you to do. Get new clients to invest in the fund. I’m planning a big opening party for the gallery. A charity cocktail evening with an exhibit of ten new artists who are finishing their masters at Goldsmith’s. And part of the profit will be reverted to some foundation. I’ve set a meeting with the guys for tomorrow morning. They are going to explain everything to you. I want you to spend a few hours per day in the gallery to study the collection and—” Alistair gasped for air as it disappeared from his lungs.
Tavish turned his head to see Sophia enter the restaurant, smiling, totally at ease, on Ethan’s arm. In a flash, he put a heavy hand on Alistair’s shoulder, stopping him from rising from his chair, “Don’t.”
“She told me she couldn’t have lunch with me,” his breath wheezed from his mouth and he rubbed a hand over his heart, as if in pain, “because she had a lot of work to do.”
“And who said this isn’t work?”
“With Ashford? What could she possibly have to discuss with him? He produces steel, she deals with oil.”
Alistair’s face darkened and he tried to rise again, but Tavish shoved him down.
“He is her ex-lover,” Alistair hissed at Tavish.
“Easy, Brother. Don’t make hasty judgements. She’s—”
“Can’t you see with your own eyes?”
“All I can see is two people having lunch together. Don’t jump to conclusions. They won’t see us from where we are. Calm down. You’ll see there’s no reason to be suspicious.”
TRUST Series 1-8 Page 46
