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Intoxication

Page 3

by L. S. Slayford


  Life sucked.

  Family sucked.

  Love sucked.

  Tara shivered. Christ, she was still in her towel, her skin dry and cold. She grabbed the bottom of the scratchy material, balling it up within her hand. Damnit, why did this have to happen to her? Why was life such a bitch to her? What had she ever done so wrong that she deserved this level of pain? Silently, the tears fell. Hot tears that burnt away any lingering traces of numbness, leaving nothing but pain and sorrow in their wake. The betrayal was a burning of the soul, and together Greg and Carly had left her to face sheer torture alone. She had given Greg all her love, her time, her dreams for the future, and he had burnt them to the ground with her cousin. And now her mother and aunt were standing on the side, roasting marshmallows over the flames, talking about new dresses.

  Inhaling deeply, Tara rose to her feet.

  No more. If they didn’t give a rat’s arse about her feelings, then why should she care about theirs? Flinging the prickly towel over the desk, Tara rummaged through her suitcase, finally locating the black floaty dress her best friend had talked her into buying last year. It was shorter than what she would normally wear, but she knew that with her silver heels and green shrug, she would look good.

  Better than good, in fact.

  After dressing, Tara gazed at herself in the mirror, the first time in a long while. Her red hair reminded her of the colour of sunlight shining through garnets, her naturally moss-coloured eyes sparkled with the remnants of tears, and her lips were full, but not quite Angelina Jolie full. Skin still slightly tinged pink from her earlier shower, Tara may not have had the bright blonde hair and blue eyes her cousin possessed, but she comforted herself with the fact that at least she didn’t have her morals.

  No, she wouldn’t dwell on this new information. “Let them have each other,” she whispered to her reflection. After all, the liar and the skank deserved each other. No, this holiday was all about her. A new experience was waiting for her.

  It had been her life’s dream to travel the world, and the Far East held such magic and passion for her. Two weeks in Macau and then another two weeks in Hong Kong. It was going to be such fun. All the sights, the food, the chance to unwind and just let go of everything.

  A wave of gratitude washed over her as she thought of her best friend allowing her the time off work. Mind you, it helped when said best friend was her boss as well. Cassie, a petite woman with dark brown eyes and a typical fiery Irish temper, had taken over the former headmaster’s position at the school they worked at when he had suffered a heart attack. As he was recuperating, his duties had fallen to Cassie, who had taken to it like a duck to water. She had the entire school whipped into shape within days, so when Tara had told her about finding Liar and Skank Queen in her bed, Cassie had arranged it so she could take the extended time off work.

  “Go and have some fun,” Cassie had told her. “Go out there, find a couple of hot guys, get laid, and let your hair down. There’s nothing quite like getting over one man than getting under another, you hear me?”

  Shaking her head and smiling softly at the memory, Tara inhaled deeply. She wasn’t quite ready to find another man, thank you very much, but she did want to have some fun. Recharge. Get to know herself. Change herself, and go back a stronger woman.

  Sighing, Tara started to clear up the last few things on her bed before heading out to find something to eat. Reaching for her bag, she came across her folder with several pieces of paper sticking out at all angles. Another reason Tara wanted time to herself was to work on her book. She hadn’t told anyone, including Cassie, that she had secretly been working on her first novel for the last year. A sizzle of excitement and trepidation coursed throughout her body as she thought of her manuscript. She’d finally finished the first draft a few weeks ago, so now was the time to start edits before she figured out what to do with it.

  Seizing the papers, Tara began rummaging through them, quickly spotting that they were all out of order. A groan escaped from lips. For crying out loud, why did her heel have to break in the middle of the airport? In front of everyone!

  At least you had a cute guy to catch you though, whispered the voice in her head. Christ, that had been embarrassing, to fall into someone’s arms literally, but she couldn’t deny he was cute. Those whiskey-coloured eyes were deep enough to drown in, and those lips were fuller than her own. No doubt he was married or taken. But still, it was a nice thought.

  Mentally shaking thoughts of the strange man who had caught her before the ground broke her fall, Tara turned her attention back to the papers in her hand. “What the …?” she whispered.

  Several pages were missing. Her head sagged down as disappointment flooded over her. At least one chapter was missing. Where could they be?

  Realization dawned on her. “They must have gotten mixed up with his at the airport,” Tara moaned. “Great, just bloody great.” That was all she needed. Her chapters had to be in his briefcase.

  The morning had started off so promising – traffic to Heathrow had been non-existent, the flight smooth, with no annoying person sitting beside her asking invasive questions as to why she was travelling to Macau – but now it sat like a cup of cold tea just waiting to be thrown away. Her ex and cousin were getting married next week, her mother no doubt attending, and now part of her book was in some stranger’s briefcase.

  What a great way to start a holiday.

  Cong

  Cong sat on the sofa, his legs sprawled out, as he leaned in to scan the documents scattered across the glass coffee table in front of him. By all the gods, there were times when he hated the sight of paperwork. OK, he liked seeing all the digits at the bottom, and particularly on cheques, but the rest of the time he could do without it.

  On the side were the documents translated into Japanese, stacked neatly to one side, while his native Cantonese characters stared up at him. The whole project was giving him a headache.

  “This whole deal should have been done and dusted months ago,” he muttered, reaching for the steaming cup of coffee sitting beside the Japanese paperwork.

  “This Japanese firm has been a major pain in the arse,” Zhihuan agreed, before sipping on his tea and grimacing at the taste.

  “Why are you drinking that shit when you clearly don’t like it?” Cong asked, taking a cautious sip himself, savouring the bitterly strong liquid as it poured down his throat, warming him from inside.

  Zhihuan sighed and placed the cup down. “Melissa. She’s got onto this health kick, so all the caffeine is gone, and it’s been replaced with green tea. She doesn’t want me drinking caffeine all the time, says it will clog up my arteries and all that crap. Now when I get up for my morning coffee, she just gives me green tea.”

  Cong gave a faint chuckle and shook his head. “Why not just drink your coffee when you’re out of the house then?”

  Sighing again, the lawyer sank back into the cushions and pulled a face. “Because she can taste it on me when I get home, that’s why. Ever since she’s fallen pregnant, I swear she has the nose of a bloodhound. She can smell everything, Cong, everything. If she smells coffee on me, she runs straight for the toilet. I tell you, man, it’s not a nice thing to watch your wife be sick after kissing you just because she’s smelt coffee on my breath. And brushing my teeth afterwards doesn’t work either.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Cong laughed at his lawyer and friend. “You’re thoroughly whipped, man. You do realise that?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, but what are you going to do when you’re in love?” he replied, spreading his heads and shrugging.

  “Remind me never to fall in love,” Cong muttered, glancing back at the paperwork in front of him.

  Zhihuan leaned forward, a dopey smile etched across his face, his dark hooded eyes sparkling. “I never thought I’d say this, man, especially when my first love was always cash in the bank, but there’s nothing truly better than a good woman to come home to.”

  “I’ve got a housek
eeper, thanks,” Cong snorted.

  “But a housekeeper won’t warm your bed or have your back when the times go to hell,” Zhihuan said, his face suddenly turning serious. “You should try it one day.”

  Cong sat back up and stared at Zhihuan, a mischievous grin pulling at his lips. “I remember when I first moved in here. I came home to find the housekeeper in my bed, warming it quite nicely.” Laughing, Cong returned his attention to the piles of paper that stared back at him, like an ugly reflection. “We should have wrapped this project up six weeks ago, dismantled it three weeks ago, and had the profits in the bank last week. How the hell has it taken so long to get to this point?”

  “Fujimara is holding out for some reason,” Zhihuan said, his voice taking on a no-nonsense tone. “Now, I’ve been doing some digging around, and it appears Fujimara and his sons are hoping that if they can hold out for another month or two, then Aikawa of Aikawa Industries will bail them out.”

  Cong started scanning the documents, trying to look for some information maybe he’d briefly glanced at but overlooked. “Didn’t they look into acquiring the company earlier this year?”

  Zhihuan nodded, taking another sip of the tea he detested. “That’s right. They’re based up in Aomori Prefecture, right up north of the main island. Went to Tokyo back in January, had a look around, then said thanks but no thanks.”

  A crease appeared between Cong’s dark brows. “So why does Fujimara think they’ll be interested now?”

  “There was a private meeting between Fujimara’s youngest son and Aikawa’s eldest daughter yesterday.”

  “So? Meetings go on all the time. What was so special about this one?”

  “This meeting took place at the Hilton, in the daughter’s penthouse suite. According to my little spy, they went up at three o’clock in the afternoon, and neither came back down until six am with their arms around each other and still in yesterday’s clothes.” A smug look stretched over the lawyer’s face, obviously happy with his information.

  Cong sat back and considered. “Fujimara’s sons are all married, right?”

  “That’s right. The youngest son had a daughter last year if I recall.”

  Cong locked glances with Zhihuan. “Is Aikawa’s daughter married?”

  One corner of Zhihuan’s mouth turned upward. “She is. Three years next month. Some middle-grade manager in daddy’s company. Aikawa was not impressed when she decided to marry him. What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking I don’t want Aikawa getting his hands on what is about to be mine,” Cong replied, his voice cold and low. “Did your little spy get any evidence of this clandestine meeting?”

  Zhihuan reached into his open briefcase and threw an A4 brown envelop over to Cong, who pulled out a stack of photos. Staring up at him were colour images of Fujimara’s son and his married lover, locked in a passionate embrace as the elevator doors were closing. Another captured them holding hands, another one with his palm gripping the woman’s arse. The daughter seemed attractive enough. “There’s a range of photos, including a copy of the hotel room booking. My little spy can be quite charming when there’s a pretty girl on reception.”

  “OK, here’s what I want you to do, but you may not want to tell your wife. I like the fact that she thinks I’m nice.”

  “Pfft. Melissa thinks everyone is nice,” Zhihuan scoffed. It was true; the American woman never had a bad word to say about anyone. “But everyone knows you’re colder than a block of ice when it comes to business, Cong.”

  Waving the comment aside, Cong sighed. “Give the photos to three newspapers. Particularly the society rags. The news of the affair of Fujimara’s married son and Aikawa’s daughter should hit the online headlines tonight if you’re quick about it. Have copies of the newspapers delivered to both their office’s first thing tomorrow morning. Flowers to the wife and make a grand show of it but make sure they’re not aware it’s from me. The public response to the affair will leave both concentrating on their images and clearing up their kids’ mess that they’ll want to disappear into the background. The scandal will cause them to lose face. Aikawa won’t dare try to help Fujimara when his son has been fucking his daughter while both of them are married. Aikawa will back off from the deal, and Fujimara will want to get out of public eye as quickly as possible.”

  “Leaving you to swoop in and take the company, so that he can go into damage control,” Zhihuan said, tilting his head to one side and pursing his lips.

  Cong nodded his head in agreement. “If he’s in that much of a hurry to close the deal then we may be able to negotiate on the price. Start with a reduction of twenty percent of our last offering and see what his lawyers come up with.”

  “Not a problem. Oh, Fujimara’s lawyers had put in a sneaky clause that both his sons stay in their current positions, along with their wives. What do you want to do about that?”

  Snorting, Cong gulped his cooling coffee. “Not a chance. Any man who cheats on their wife has no integrity or respect. I can’t trust a man who goes back on their vows. They’re out. No ifs, no buts. When the paperwork is signed, I don’t want them to have any part of the venture.”

  Zhihuan snickered. “Cong, man, you do realise you’ve had affairs with plenty of married women, right?”

  “Yeah, but they didn’t make vows to me. They made them to their husbands, so technically I haven’t done anything wrong,” Cong replied, shrugging.

  Shaking his head, Zhihuan started gathering his paperwork. Cong threw him the envelope containing the photos that would cause him to close the deal of the year finally. “I’d better get home to Melissa and find out what her plans are for us tonight. Are you going anywhere tonight?”

  “You mean am I seeing anyone tonight?” Zhihuan nodded. “No, not tonight. I want to go through some more documents and make sure everything is accountable.”

  Slapping his forehead suddenly, Zhihuan faced Cong. “Damn, I knew I wanted to talk to you about something. Xue’s mother called my office this morning.”

  Cong felt his insides grow cold and still. A lump formed in his throat and it took much effort to open his mouth. “Oh?”

  Zhihuan tilted his head, his expression growing neutral as it always did when the subject came up. “I know tomorrow is when the next payment is due, but she’s asked if there was any chance you could send her extra. Apparently, there is an urgent appointment she needs to keep.”

  “How much more did she ask for?”

  “Another one hundred thousand yuan.”

  “Give it to her. Double it.”

  “Damn, that’s a lot of money, Cong. Are you sure?”

  Cong nodded, forcing himself to stare at the paperwork. The characters on the paper had never looked more interesting. Or blurry. “Whatever she wants, give it to her. It’s not like I can’t afford it.”

  “You’re the boss. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”

  Cong didn’t hear Zhihuan leave the penthouse; all he could hear was his heartbeat pulsating in his ear. The characters on the paperwork blurred further. Cong stood up and walked towards the windows. By all the gods, he loved this view. The entire living room wall was just made of glass, allowing him to enjoy sweeping views of Macau and the ocean. His building was one of the tallest around, which gave him an almost birds-eye view over the city.

  It had been twenty years since he’d moved to Macau from the small mountain village in central part Guangdong Province. Just sixteen years old at the time, he’d walked most of the distance, hitching rides, or sneaking onto trains whenever he could. Even now, surrounded by fresh ocean air and whatever flowers his current housekeeper placed on the side, he could still smell the fresh manure his grandfather shovelled on their vegetable patch and the stench of burnt peppers when his grandmother forgot about them in the pot. If he let the guards down that protected the memories of his childhood, then the sound of the river crept into his head. A shiver coursed through his body. How was it that he could live beside the ocean an
d never tire of listening to the waves crash against the shore, but the sound of a river could send him spiralling into a panic?

  Murky grey water flashed before his eyes, white air bubbles rising towards the sun-speckled surface. Black hair rose like seaweed, filling his vision. Terror gripped the sides of his heart in its vice-like grip and refused to let go. “No more,” Cong whispered through gritted teeth, fisting his hands, and shaking his head as though to cast the memory away.

  Forcing himself to walk away from the window, Cong ached with the memory. It always happened around the time when he was made aware that the monthly payments were due. If Zhihuan hadn’t brought up the additional sum she was asking for, he would have been oblivious to it. He made damn sure that he didn’t visit the past too often. If he did, the dreams would return.

  He didn’t want those dreams anymore. They got in the way of business.

  Business was everything. It had to be. There was nothing like it. The rush of setting out to achieve something and acquiring it – with a vast lump of money at the end – was extraordinary. It beat everything. Including sex. No woman beneath him, or above him for that matter, could ever beat that rush.

  But the voice in his head knew all too well that no matter how strong that rush was, it wasn’t the driving force.

  “I don’t care,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. By all the gods, he couldn’t stand to be like this. Do something, get your mind off this, he ordered himself.

  Spying his briefcase thrown carelessly on the sofa, Cong started pulling out papers. Every trip, the briefcase started out neat and tidy, and every time he came back it was always a mess. Might as well clear it up, he thought. Releasing a sigh, he began organising the documents on the table when he realised that some of the paperwork was written in English.

  “What the hell?” he muttered. None of his paperwork for the Tokyo trip was meant to be in English; only Cantonese and Japanese. Why were there English documents in his briefcase?

 

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