Crashing into Wimsy wouldn’t be much of a problem. Nor would hitting my father, who is still a strong and capable man, even at his age. Hell, even whacking a complete stranger is something I could probably get away with – if I didn’t cause any major injury, that is.
But no, I have to make a beeline straight for the person who pays my wages, don’t I? Literally the last person I want to crash into.
The drifting parachute pushes me inexorably towards Erica, who has gone wide-eyed as she realises what’s about to happen.
Luckily for both of us, I do manage to yank the cutaway handle down just in time, and the parachute flies up higher into the air, no doubt happy to be free of my dead weight.
Sadly, I am still being propelled forward by the unhelpful forces of inertia, so cannot stop myself from tumbling into Erica, face first.
I’m not going all that fast, though, so what could have been an immediate trip to casualty, instead becomes an awkward pratfall – sending us both to the ground, with me flopping on top of her. I throw both of my arms out to cushion the blow as we hit the grass together.
For a few moments we just stare into each other’s wide-open eyes, both in disbelief that neither of us has been hurt.
‘Hi Ollie,’ Erica eventually says to me in a breathless tone as the parachute floats down on top of us, having lost the balloon of air that sent me hurtling towards her in the first place.
‘Hello,’ I reply in a shaky voice. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’
The parachute now settles over us completely, blocking our view of the crowd – who are now surrounding us, probably quite concerned for our welfare.
Erica and I look at each other for another couple of moments, both trying to process what’s just happened, and more to the point, what’s currently happening.
Because something is definitely happening, let me tell you that. I’m finding it extremely hard to stop looking into those deep green eyes of hers.
I can feel a spark of electricity moving between us . . . though that may just be static from the parachute silk.
Then Erica’s phone starts to ring, breaking the tension.
‘I’d . . . I’d better get that,’ she says as I continue to stare down at her, my breath coming in short gasps.
‘Okay,’ I say, still not moving. Being this close to Erica is making my heart beat faster than it did when I jumped out of the plane, to be honest.
‘Hello,’ she says into her phone, still staring right into my eyes. From the periphery of my vision, I can see people grabbing at the parachute silk to pull it off.
Erica listens for a few moments to the person on the other end of the phone, before her face darkens considerably. ‘He’s doing what?’ she spits in the phone. ‘Today? Without me there?!’
‘What’s going on?’ I ask her as Ted pulls off the chute material.
Erica looks livid. ‘The bastard’s making a play, Ollie. He’s trying to screw me completely!’
And with that, she pushes me off, and swiftly climbs back to her feet. There are a few grass stains on her grey pantsuit, but other than that, I don’t appear to have done her any harm. They don’t come much tougher than Erica Hilton.
I get up as well, yanking the last of the parachute from off one shoulder. ‘Who are you talking about, Erica?’
‘Benedict! That son of a bitch has called an extraordinary general meeting of the ForeTech board of directors today!’
‘Jesus! Why?’ This is a stupid question. There’s a very obvious reason why.
‘Because he knows I’m here, Ollie! He’s going to try and convince the rest of the eleven that they should shut Actual Life down once and for all, and I won’t be there to stop it!’
‘But why would he?’ I implore. ‘Everything’s going so well!’
To underline this, I gesture at the crowd that surrounds us. If I can pull a thousand random strangers along to a parachute jump on a September morning, with only twenty-four hours’ notice, things must be alright, surely?
Erica shakes her head. ‘None of this matters, Ollie. He wants Actual Life to go under, no matter what we do. And even though you’ve done such a good job in the past few months, Benedict will have something up his bloody sleeve to ruin us. I know he will!’ She fishes in her jacket pocket, pulling out her car keys. ‘Look, I have to go. I have to stop this. I’ll see you later.’
‘I’m coming with you,’ I tell her.
Oh my.
Did you hear that?
There was a commanding tone to my voice there. Yes. Very definitely.
I sounded confident back up in the air a few minutes ago, and was happy with that. I never thought for one moment I could ever actually do commanding!
‘No. I can handle this, Ollie,’ Erica replies. ‘You stay here with everyone. They’ll want to talk to you about the jump, and you need to speak to them for the story. Get the colour.’
I clench my jaw. ‘Fuck the story,’ I reply, in a deep, resonant tone.
Okay, this is starting to make me a bit light-headed now. I’d better stop, before I faint.
Erica looks taken aback. Then she blinks a couple of times. ‘Alright, Ollie. Come with me, then. If I drive fast enough, we should be able to reach the city in less than an hour. Prendergast says the meeting begins at twelve. We might make it in time.’
‘Right. Sounds good to me. Who the hell’s Prendergast?’
‘Alan Prendergast. One of the other members of the board, and about the only one I trust. Come on! We have to go!’
Erica turns and starts to run towards her grey BMW, which is parked a good hundred yards away from where we’re standing. I take off after her.
‘Sorry, folks! Something very important has come up!’ I shout at the crowd as I rush by.
They all look pretty stunned. They came to see a parachute jump, but they’ve also got an impromptu bit of street theatre (or grass theatre, if we’re being accurate) in the bargain.
Sadly, they’re not going to get to see the ending of this particular show, because it’s going to take place in a high-rise office block, up in the city. Shame, really, it promises to be a barnstormer. I’d better make sure I do a good write-up of it, whatever happens.
‘Ollie! Ollie!’ Ted calls after me as I hurry to keep up with Erica. ‘I need my jumpsuit back!’
Oh bugger. I’d forgotten about this stupid thing.
I whip off the helmet and throw it at him. ‘Here you go! I’ll bring the suit back later, I promise!’
‘Er . . . okay!’ he shouts, a little unsure of himself.
Now, that’s got to be something worthy of note. In a hectic situation where two men are involved, and one is unsure of himself – for the first time ever, it’s not bloody me!
I have purpose! I have drive! I have determination!
. . . I have to get this stupid yellow jumpsuit off as soon as I get in the car. There’s no way I want to face Benedict Montifore looking like I’ve just been imported in a fruit crate from the Caribbean.
Erica is already in the driver’s seat and firing up the engine as I throw the passenger door open and climb in. I’m being so manly right now, it’s quite breathtaking. I would offer to drive, but I don’t know the way, and have a habit of stalling when I’m in a rush.
‘You ready?’ she says to me, hands gripped firmly on the wheel.
‘Let’s fucking rock it!’ I shout back at her – and pump my fist.
Good grief.
I could have just said ‘yes’ and had done with it, but I just had to try and be cool, didn’t I?
Erica looks at me in a way that tells me I am being far from cool – what with the idiotic pronouncement that just came from my lips, and the bright-yellow jumpsuit I’m still wearing – and guns the accelerator.
I am thrown back into the seat as we hurtle out of the airfield – and towards a confrontation that we’ve all known has been coming for quite some time now, if we’ve been paying attention, and haven’t got distracted by all the bloody fist p
umping.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT’S JUST MEANT TO BE
I thrust my genitals towards Erica as we speed up the motorway off-ramp.
‘Ollie! What the hell are you doing?’ she exclaims.
‘Trying to get this stupid jumpsuit off!’ I explain to her, bucking my hips again as I attempt to slide the suit underneath my buttocks. The damn thing is not cooperating with me at all, and it’s taking a supreme effort to get the suit off without ripping my clothes underneath.
This might have something to do with the fact that Erica is driving like Nigel Mansell, throwing the BMW around like we’re taking a tricky corner at Monaco.
‘Well, hurry up! I’ll crash the car if you keep thrusting your crotch at me like that!’
‘Understood,’ I tell her, before I let a huge grunt out as the suit finally slides over my arse, and forms a puddle of yellow material at my feet.
‘How does Benedict expect to convince the board of directors that they should go along with him?’ I ask. ‘Actual Life is doing so well. Didn’t you say we were nearly back in profit?’
‘Yes. And that means he’s found something to fuck us over with that we don’t know about. Something he thinks is convincing enough to turn everyone against us. All he needs to do is get a majority of seven from the thirteen members of the board including himself and we’re dead in the water. And with me not there, he won’t have to worry about my vote.’
‘Oh fuck.’
‘Precisely.’
‘But that Prendergast chap wouldn’t vote against you, would he? You said you trusted him?’
‘I do. But he’s the only one I know will stand by me. The rest . . . Benedict can persuade them to do what he wants. He’s done it before.’
Erica makes another sharp turn, and we’re on the dual carriageway, headed right towards the financial district, where ForeTech’s offices are situated.
I’m assuming that’s where we’re going, anyway. I’ve never actually been to ForeTech before. I’m far too low on the food chain to get an invite.
As Erica speeds us towards it, I start to feel a bloom of fear in my chest. Now I’ve had a moment to think about what we’re actually about to do, the gravity of it all has hit me. We’re heading towards a confrontation that could very well result in the loss of my job and the end of ‘Dumped Actually’ – not to mention everyone else’s job at the website.
‘What are our chances?’ I ask Erica as the BMW leaves the dual carriageway and starts to wend its way around streets that are fast becoming surrounded by high-rise office blocks.
Erica looks at me darkly, before returning her attention to the road.
Gulp.
I lapse back into silence as Erica drives through increasingly empty roads, at increasingly unsafe speeds. I’m too caught up in my fear of losing my job to be afraid of the speed she’s going at, though.
Her red hair – always so impossibly expressive – is now a raging fire. Her emerald-green eyes are blazing as well. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Erica look this angry or determined before.
It’s a completely inappropriate thing to think, given the circumstances, but she’s frankly never looked more beautiful.
My mind casts back to an hour ago at the airfield, when we were staring into each other’s eyes. Was there something actually . . . there?
Another sharp turn to the left brings me back to my senses, and the BMW is now careening towards one high-rise office block in particular. It’s enormous, with a blue tinge to the glass that wraps around its entire structure. It looks more or less exactly the same as most of the others do, frankly. I’m glad Erica knows where she’s going, because I’m completely lost in this sea of corporate architecture. If this is the kind of place that breeds men like Benedict Montifore, I’d rather be nowhere near it.
Speaking of whom, I still have an unanswered question burning at the back of my mind. One that’s been there ever since I first spoke to Erica about Benedict’s plans for us.
‘Why is he doing this, Erica? Why would a successful businessman want to destroy a part of his portfolio that’s doing well? It makes no financial sense!’
‘This isn’t about money,’ Erica replies as we charge around the side of the blue high-rise, and towards a ramp leading into its depths.
‘Then what is it about?’
Erica ignores me, and slams on the brakes as the BMW comes to a large gate. This immediately starts to swing open, having detected Erica’s number plate.
‘Erica!’ I say in a sharp tone as we drive into a vast underground car park.
‘It doesn’t matter, Ollie. I’ve told you before, Benedict is my problem, not yours.’
In times past, I would have just meekly accepted this. I would have let Erica keep her secrets, and followed her into battle, hoping that she could see us through without my help.
Not now, though.
Not after everything I’ve been through.
If I’m going to go up to this meeting and fight for my livelihood, I want to know exactly what I’m up against. I want to know why I’m in this stupid situation in the first place, otherwise I won’t know how to get out.
In trying to understand why Sam dumped me, I learned that to find the right answers, you really need to know how to ask the right questions first. You have to know why, to know how, just like Troy the Elephant said.
And I’m not going to go a step further until I know why Benedict is doing this to us.
Erica slams the BMW into a parking space with her name written on a plaque on the wall in front of it. She turns the ignition off and goes to release her seatbelt. She can’t do this, however, because my hand is over the release button.
‘What are you doing?’ she shouts at me. ‘We have to get up there!’
‘Why, Erica?’ I say, staring at her. ‘Why is Benedict doing this?’
‘Oh fuck, Ollie! It doesn’t matter! Let me go!’
‘It matters to me!’ I exclaim, my voice strong and powerful. This scares me a little again, but I know I need to stick with it. It’s important I get the answers I need.
Erica is quite taken aback by this – not for the first time today. If I keep acting like this, I’m likely to give her neck ache. But she can see the determination in my eyes, and slumps in her seat. I’ve never seen Erica slump before. It’s a very odd thing to witness.
‘When Benedict bought me out, I thought it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to me,’ she explains. ‘I was suddenly rich, successful and on the board of a powerful company.’ She smiles ruefully. ‘I let it go to my head a bit. Benedict was all smiles and compliments back then, of course. I thought it was because he valued me as a business partner.’ Erica shakes her head. ‘I was very stupid for thinking that. What Benedict Montifore wanted was to get in my knickers.’
‘Oh, for the love of God,’ I say, everything falling into place.
‘He wined and dined me. He made me think he was genuinely interested in my ideas for the company going forward. He made me think he saw me as an equal, you know? Someone whose opinion he valued.’ Erica’s eyes turn flinty. ‘And then he tried to seduce me right up there’ – she points upwards – ‘on the boardroom table.’
‘Fucking hell.’
‘I wanted none of it, of course. Benedict was a man I wanted to do business with, not get into bed with. I tried to push him away . . . and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.’
‘God.’
‘I had to knee him in the groin to get away from him that night. If I hadn’t, or if he’d been a little less drunk . . .’
Erica tails off. She doesn’t need to go any further.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so instantly filled with rage in my life. ‘So, let me get this fucking right,’ I say to Erica in a flat voice. ‘This bastard is willing to destroy the lives of everyone at Actual Life, including mine, because you didn’t want to have sex with him.’
Erica nods. ‘That’s about the size of it.’ She then says s
omething that absolutely makes my heart want to explode. ‘I’m so sorry, Ollie.’
This dumbfounds me. That Erica feels the need to apologise to me for something that the gold-plated arsehole has done is just so, so awful.
I take hold of Erica’s hand and shift in the seat to look her squarely in the eyes. ‘You have nothing to apologise for. Nothing at all.’
‘Thank you,’ she replies, squeezing my hand.
I squeeze it back. ‘Let’s go up there and ruin his fucking day, shall we?’ I suggest.
Erica smiles fiercely. That awful apologetic look on her face is thankfully gone. The real Erica is back, and I couldn’t be happier about that.
I’m not happy when we arrive on the twelfth floor of the building and are told by the ForeTech receptionist that I can’t go into the meeting.
‘Why not?’ I snap, giving him the stink eye.
‘The EGM is strictly for board members only,’ he tells me. ‘Mr Montifore was very specific about that.’
‘Yes, he bloody would be,’ Erica says, looking at the smoked-glass double doors in front of us with a grim expression on her face. We can just about see the outlines of several bodies in the boardroom beyond. Most are sitting down, but one is on his feet, gesticulating wildly.
‘But I have to be allowed in,’ I insist, leaning over the desk.
The receptionist – who certainly doesn’t need this kind of grief in his life – sits back in his chair. ‘I will call security if you don’t settle down, sir,’ he tells me, hand straying to the telephone on his desk.
Erica puts her arm across me and gently pulls me back. ‘Ollie, it’s okay.’
‘No, it isn’t!’ I protest.
‘Honestly, it is. I can go in there on my own, don’t worry.’
I gasp in frustration. ‘But I don’t want you to be alone!’
Erica rummages in her jacket pocket and pulls out her mobile phone. ‘Call me.’
‘What?’
‘Call me on my phone. You might not be able to come in, but you can at least listen to what goes on in there.’
We both look at the receptionist to see if he has any problem with that. He returns the gaze for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders. ‘He never said anything to me about phones.’
Dumped, Actually Page 26
