by Penny Jordan
‘That’s all right,’ Emma smiled automatically. ‘I have another appointment anyway.’
Outside the television building she debated whether or not to go and ring Robert, and then glancing at her watch decided not to. He would be involved in preparations for the evening news programme now, and besides her news would wait until she got home. She wanted to savour it, to relish the knowledge that she had succeeded, but for some reason she could not.
It must be because she was so tensed up about her interview with Drake Harwood, she decided, looking round for a taxi. Once that was behind her then she could relax and congratulate herself. As she found one and waited for it to stop she recalled the man in the corridor and her mouth compressed.
Who on earth was he? Someone quite important. She hadn’t missed the vaguely subservient response of her companion to his greeting. She frowned as she stepped into her taxi. Why waste time thinking about a man she was hardly likely to see again; he wasn’t the first man who had irritated her with his attitude to her sex and he wouldn’t be the last.
Not the first, but certainly the most blatant. Her skin tingled with renewed impotent rage as she recalled the mockery in his jade eyes. He had known exactly how furious she was and he had enjoyed her fury. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen such an aggressively sexual male. Not her type at all, she thought disdainfully, giving the driver the address of the modest restaurant where she had decided to have lunch.
She was quite content to lunch alone. She had a lot to think about and a lot to plan. She would have to find somewhere to live; sharing at first perhaps, and then later, she could find her own place. She did some quick sums on the back of an old envelope. She would need new clothes, but hopefully not too many. She had quite a good wardrobe, preferring to buy classic rather than fashion clothes and suspected that these would be in keeping with the image she would be expected to project. Her full mouth compressed slightly as she remembered what she had been told. Why was it perfectly acceptable for a man to possess a murky past but not for a woman? Luckily there was nothing at all in her past or present that could be used by the press. Her thoughts flashed to the man in the corridor. Undoubtedly the same could not be said for him. Her mouth curved in a cynical smile. Stop thinking about him, she chided herself eating the seafood salad she had ordered.
She took her time over her lunch, forcing down the jittery nerves clamouring in her stomach. She was more tense over this coming interview than she had been over this morning’s. Damn Camilla, she thought exasperatedly, not for the first time. What on earth had possessed her to take the man’s car in the first place, never mind crashing it?
She grimaced faintly to herself. She could just imagine her younger sister’s reaction on wakening to find herself in a strange bed. Mrs T. held very strong views on what she considered to be the lack of morals among the younger generation. In time David would be very like his mother; humourless and rigorously strait-laced. Cynically she wondered if Camilla was telling her the entire truth. Her sister had had a positive phalanx of boyfriends before she became engaged to David. She enjoyed flirting with and teasing the male sex and was nowhere near as innocent as her blonde delicacy implied. She had admitted that Drake Harwood had shown an interest in her. On the other hand it could be perfectly feasible that she had simply had too much to drink and that he had dumped her in a spare bedroom to sleep it off. It all depended. Whatever the case he certainly didn’t appear to be inclined to treat Camilla with indulgence now. His solicitor’s letter had been starkly uncompromising. Finishing her coffee and settling her bill Emma stood up, and glanced at her watch. She had half an hour before her appointment with him… it was time to go.
The block of offices her taxi driver took her to was everything one would expect for a going-places entrepreneur. Brashly new, the impressive foyer was designed to intimidate and impress. The receptionist looked as though she had just stepped out of Vogue, and eyed Emma unresponsively as she walked towards her.
At the sound of Drake Harwood’s name she perked up a little. No doubt she was a far cry from the women normally asking to see him Emma reflected dourly. He had been mentioned in the gossip columns quite a lot recently, and she had read that he was currently escorting one of the ‘models’ featured in his newly acquired magazine. Although she had no deep-rooted objection to members of her sex making a living from capitalising on whatever they considered their most saleable assets to be, she viewed the men who made their living selling the female form both in the flesh and on celluloid with considerable distaste. It was true that Drake Harwood had merely gained control of his girlie magazine as part of a larger package, but he had been quick to accept the challenge thrown down by the rival magazine and to boast that he would soon boost its ailing circulation.
Emma didn’t doubt that most of the women who posed for such magazines did so with their eyes open—witness Fiona’s determined attempts to catch Drake Harwood’s attention—but for herself… Only last summer Camilla had commented on what she called her ‘prudishness’ when she had refused to go topless during their holiday in France. ‘Everyone does…’ had been her younger sister’s critical comment. Maybe, but Emma had never been one to follow the general herd. Her own body was something she rarely thought about. Camilla had laughed when she insisted on wearing a swimsuit, but her skin was fair and burned easily.
‘Mr Harwood will see you now. Go up in the far lift,’ the receptionist directed in bored accents. Reminding herself that she was twenty-six years old and had just been offered the sort of job which ought to boost anyone’s self-confidence, Emma stepped into the lift and pressed the single button, hoping that the fluttering in her stomach was as a result of the upward surge of the lift rather than her own nervousness.
A secretary as elegant as the girl in the foyer was waiting for her; blonde hair immaculately in place.
‘This way please.’ She knocked briefly on a door and then held it open.
The room Emma walked into was enormous, with a panoramic view over the rooftops of London. The decor was almost austere; the rosewood desk huge; the Beber carpet underfoot a masculine blend of russets and browns.
‘Miss Court…’ He took advantage of her momentary consternation to ask mockingly, ‘I take it you did get the job? I shall look forward to seeing you on screen when the new programme goes out.’
She had recognised him instantly of course, but it had taken her several seconds to assimilate the fact that the man in the corridor of the television building and Drake Harwood were one and the same. Remembering his open sexual inspection of her, she felt her face burning with a mixture of tension and anger. He had obviously known then who she was. Tension sharpened her instincts. How had he known about the job though? She recalled the muted deference in her companion’s manner towards him and anxiety feathered along her nerves. If he wanted her to comment on the coincidence; on the fact that he knew about her new job, he was going to be disappointed. Exciting Fiona had called him, according to Camilla, and she could understand why. If ever a man exuded sexuality it was this one, she thought clinically. His hair was thick and dark, almost unruly as it grew low into his nape. Even seated he gave the impression of height and breadth. His suit was expensively tailored, discreetly dark and Saville Row, and yet it left an unmistakable impression of solid muscle and bone; a legacy from his early days working on building sites, she decided. His skin was olive toned and tanned, the bones shaping his face arrogantly masculine. Even without those green eyes she would have been wary of him. He was a man whose every movement revealed a raw pleasure in his masculinity; a man who would never consider a woman to be his equal, Emma thought drily.
‘Like what you see?’ His words left her in no doubt that he was aware of her scrutiny. Emma fought down the urge to snap back that she disliked everything about him, and said instead, ‘It’s always interesting to come face to face with the people one reads about in the press.’
‘Really?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘Surely you aren’t admitting tha
t you succumb to hero-worship Miss Court. Somehow I can’t see you in that role.’
She wasn’t admitting anything of the sort and he knew it damn him. Angrily Emma suppressed an inclination to bite out that far from hero-worshipping, she was more likely to find herself criticising him, and reminded herself of the purpose of her appointment.
‘Quite a coincidence, our meeting twice in the one day.’
Emma had the distinct feel that he was toying with her in some way, playing a game which was giving him huge amusement and not a little masculine satisfaction.
‘They do happen.’ She was fighting to control her responses. Instinct told her she would need all her wits about her to match this man. ‘As you know from my letter, I wanted to discuss my sister with you. You may remember, she had a slight accident in your car.’
She had wanted to get him off the subject of her and on to the subject of Camilla and she had succeeded. His eyes sharpened, his eyebrows lifting tauntingly. ‘A slight accident? Is that how you describe theft and several thousand pounds worth of damage? Why hasn’t she come to see me herself?’
Not for the first time it crossed Emma’s mind that the whole thing might simply be a ploy to get to know Camilla better—on his own terms, with him calling the tune. He would demand that sort of relationship she guessed intuitively; he would derive satisfaction from knowing that he was the one in command. Well he might as well know from the start where he stood with Camilla.
‘She asked me to come because she doesn’t want her fiancé to know anything about what happened.’
If he was disappointed to learn that Camilla was engaged, he wasn’t showing it.
‘And what did happen?’ he asked softly. ‘I have wondered… The first I knew of anything was when the police rang me to say that my car had been involved in an accident. Quite a surprise, as you can imagine.’
‘Camilla attended one of your parties. It seems that she had rather too much to drink.’ She managed to say it quite calmly, but could not bring herself to look at him. ‘When she woke up in the morning and found herself in a strange bed, she panicked a little I’m afraid…’
‘She did? I wonder why,’ he mused sardonically. ‘I take it this strange bed contained no one other than herself?’
‘Not as far as I know.’ Let him make what he liked of that.
‘And this er… panic… motivated her into stealing my car.’
Stealing wasn’t the word Emma would have used, but she forced herself not to say so. ‘It was very early in the morning. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself by calling a taxi… I’m afraid she was in too much of a panic to think things through properly.’
‘Unlike her sister, who I’m sure never does anything without doing so.’ The way he said it, it wasn’t a compliment. ‘I take it this panic was on account of her fiancé. She doesn’t want him to know she spent the night at my house is that it? Seems an odd relationship to have with a prospective husband. Why is she marrying him?’
‘Because she loves him.’
His eyebrows really did rise then. ‘My, my, does she so… But not obviously to the extent of being able to tell him the truth.’
‘There are complications.’ Emma knew she sounded brusque. ‘They need not concern you. Camilla wanted me to ask you if you would be prepared to take instalment payments to cover the repairs to your car. She can’t afford to repay you in a lump sum. She simply doesn’t have that sort of money.’
‘But her fiancé does, presumably, otherwise she wouldn’t be marrying him.’
The cynicism in his voice prompted Emma to snap, ‘Yes he does, but naturally she wouldn’t want to ask him to lend her such a sum before they are married, if that’s what you were going to suggest. The repayments will include an interest element, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
‘No, it does not worry me Miss Court, since I’m not prepared to accept them.’ He got up and came towards her, surprisingly deft in his movements for such a tall man. ‘However, if your sister genuinely can’t repay me in cash, I am prepared to take another form of payment…’
He was watching her closely, and Emma burst out rashly, ‘If you think Camilla will agree to have sex with you in return for you dropping the charges, you’re way, way off course…’
‘And so are you,’ he told her smoothly, ‘the payment I was thinking of wasn’t so much your sister’s body in my bed, as yours… in my magazine.’
For a moment Emma genuinely thought she might faint. She looked at him, grey eyes dazed and disbelieving, hot colour running up under her skin as she realised he was perfectly serious.
‘Me? But… but I’m not a model, I don’t…’ She shook her head trying to sort out her muddled thoughts.
‘Don’t what,’ he mocked her, ‘take your clothes off for financial gain? But of course you don’t Miss Court, that’s what will make the fact that you’re featuring in the magazine such a sales booster. I’ve been looking for something to up our ratings, and you could be just the thing.’
He was prowling round her now, studying her, stripping the clothes from her body with a careless masculine arrogance that made her long to smack him.
‘Yes, I can see the captions now. Cool newsreader Emma Court, as you’ve never seen her before… except perhaps in dreams. It should make an extremely good feature.’
‘You must be mad!’
He laughed mirthlessly, ‘How predictable of you, somehow I had expected better. No, I’m far from mad Emma Court.’
‘You knew who I was this morning, didn’t you?’ she demanded furiously, remembering the way he had looked at her then, probably already anticipating this very moment.
He was coolly amused. ‘My dear girl, I knew everything there was to know about you ten minutes after I’d read your letter.’
Emma thought furiously. ‘Did you arrange for me to get that job…? Did you?’
He smiled infuriatingly, ‘How quick you are Emma, I like that in a woman, it saves so much tedious time wasting. What does it matter? You’ve got it haven’t you?’
‘And now you plan to use me to…’
‘I’m offering you what you came here for,’ he told her curtly, ‘if the terms of payment are unacceptable to you, you can always refuse…’
‘And if I do, you’ll sue Camilla?’
He shrugged. ‘Do I look like a man who’d let someone rob me of several thousand pounds and do nothing about it? Half the secret of being successful Emma Court is comprised of luck—pure and simple. I consider myself to be more lucky than most. The very day your letter arrived, I was trying to think of ways to boost the magazine’s circulation, bringing it a little more upmarket. I don’t know if you are aware of it, but a rival of mine has challenged me to beat his circulation figures.’
‘Yes, I am aware of it.’ Her response was terse. ‘But I can’t see how nude photographs of me…’
‘Of you, Emma Court, no,’ he agreed, interrupting swiftly, ‘but of you Emma Court, the new anchorwoman of “Newsview“, yes. On screen you project a very cool, remote image, Emma. I know, I’ve made it my business to watch you. A lot of men find that very… challenging. The fact that we are able to show them a different Emma…’
‘No!’ The denial burst past her lips before she could stop it, her eyes wide and haunted as she faced him. ‘I’d never agree to anything like that,’ she told him fiercely.
‘No?’ He picked up his telephone receiver. ‘Very well then, I’ll instruct my solicitors to continue with the charges against your sister and to ensure that they get as much media coverage as possible…’
She knew he wasn’t bluffing. He had the power to do exactly what he was threatening. She could just imagine Mrs T’s face when she read what Camilla had done, and no doubt the press would have a field day making it sound even worse than it was. She was sorely tempted to go home and tell Camilla that she had been unsuccessful, but the thought of her sister’s hysterics; the knowledge that it could well mean the end of her engagement—beca
use Mrs T. would put unholy pressure on David to break the engagement, she knew—overwhelmed her.
Forcing herself to think calmly and quickly, and to detach herself from what was happening she viewed her options, and could only come up with one solution. Damn Drake Harwood and damn Camilla. She would have to agree, she decided bitterly. She had no real choice. Let him take his photographs, but he’d never be able to use them in the way he’d planned.
Bitter anger tensed her muscles as she envisaged having to explain to Robert why she could not take the job… but he would understand. They wouldn’t want her on local television either… not once Drake Harwood had splashed her photograph all over his magazine. So what, she told herself hardily, she would be able to find another job in some other field where her public image wasn’t so important and at least she would have the satisfaction of defeating Drake Harwood. As he had said himself, photographs of her, as herself would have little appeal. As Emma Court she was no one and even though her mind and body screamed objections to what she would have to do she must ignore them.
‘Well?’
She faced him coolly, ‘I agree. but first I must have a document signed by you, clearing Camilla from any charges you might make against her.’
‘You shall have it. I do admire a woman of keen perception Emma Court. Somehow I thought you and I would be able to reach a mutually acceptable agreement.’
He was taunting her, Emma was sure of it, but she wasn’t going to respond.
‘How long will it take to get the document prepared and signed,’ she asked him coolly. She must know how much time she had. She daredn’t say that she wasn’t taking the job until she had that paper in her hand.
He was watching her face. ‘It will be given to you immediately after the photographic session.’
‘Do I have your word on that?’ Her eyes were hard, and she noted the dull flush colouring his cheek bones.
‘You have it,’ he told her crisply. ‘Now let’s get down to the arrangements shall we?’
* * *
