shivered a little as the distasteful memory faded. She wanted a feeling of triumph to break through the numbness but it was elusive. All she did feel, in truth, was weary. As if she’d been toiling for a long time with nothing to show for it … Yet she’d succeeded beyond her wildest dreams and she’d finally begun to realise her most personal and fervent desire …
She put down her cup and walked to the window, leaning her forehead against it, her hands on the glass either side of her shoulders. The irony of the thick glass between her and the view struck her with a sad note. Her whole life she’d felt somehow separated from everything around her.
She could picture what lay behind her all too easily: the very bare and ascetic nature of her apartment, which mirrored her personal life. Even though she’d bought it three years before, the only furniture she owned was her bed, the armchair and some kitchen furniture. She’d bought nothing because despite the wealth she’d accrued and the success she’d garnered she still didn’t feel settled. She still feared her world being upended at any moment.
All she’d ever known was the certainty of inconsistency—every time she’d come to trust a social worker they’d moved on; every time she’d felt safe in a foster home she’d been moved. She’d long ago learnt to rely only on herself, trust only herself. The only constant in her life that she could depend on was her hatred of her father …
She hadn’t cultivated friends or a social life. Once she’d been vulnerable, and there had been a man. She’d succumbed to his seduction because on some level she’d craved human contact, some tenderness. But when he’d made love to her it hadn’t touched her. She’d felt like ice.
Afterwards he’d declared disgustedly, ‘It’s true what they say—you are like a machine.’
Jesse hadn’t made the same mistake again. It had been a weakness on her part to admit to that vulnerability. Since then she’d focused on two things: her work and seeing her father brought to justice.
And now, finally, she was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel—a chance to let go of the past and perhaps start to live. She scowled. More accurately, she had been seeing the light at the end of the tunnel until it had been blocked by the broad shoulders of Luc Sanchis.
Jesse turned around and faced her dark and lonely-looking apartment. The thought that her father would escape defeat now, would have a chance to become successful again thanks to an investment from Luc Sanchis, was untenable. Not only that, she’d now exposed herself to her father and he would be out for her blood.
She worried at her lower lip with small teeth. She’d prepared for this day so well. Knowing how dangerous her father was, she’d investigated him thoroughly and left nothing to chance. He was rotten to the core and had avoided being put in gaol before now only because of a prodigious amount of luck, his dubious connections and his vast fortune. However, with the protection of his fortune all but gone, it was only going to be a matter of time before all his misdeeds caught up with him.
Despite her own very personal vendetta against her father, when Jesse had become aware of the corrupt extent of his greed and excess, thanks to the private investigators she’d hired, it had become about avenging much more than just her and her mother. Hers was only one tiny sad story amongst many others.
In fairness, all Jesse had had to do was to systematically attack him in a very legal and above-board way. Over the years she’d slowly but surely been buying the stocks and shares of his various concerns under the guise of different companies. She’d been weakening him from the inside out, until his foundations had grown more and more flimsy.
He’d had a lot of enemies only too happy to help that process along; she’d merely provided the push … And yet now it looked as if it had all come to naught if Luc Sanchis was going to bail him out.
Resolve made Jesse’s spine tense. She couldn’t give up now—not when she was so close. She had to prevent Luc Sanchis from going ahead with the deal.
She shivered slightly when she remembered the sheer physicality of the man and his presence, not to mention the power that had oozed from every cell. He would be a formidable enemy. He could break her in two if he wanted, without even batting an eyelid … but to achieve her goal she had to take that risk.
Luc was distracted and irritated. And deadly tired. He ran a hand over his face. He’d been up for almost twenty-four hours straight, making sure that his deal with O’Brien had no possible loopholes or potential hitches. The snarly London traffic wasn’t helping his mood right now. At least, he thought to himself, he didn’t have to worry about making his flight on time. He’d chartered a private jet to take him to his meeting in Switzerland.
He’d met with JP O’Brien the previous day and, despite O’Brien’s clear desperation, had insisted on a ten-day grace period before signing the contracts. The ten days would bring them up to the last possible date of survival for O’Brien—twenty-four hours before the banks closed in if he didn’t come up with the funds. This suited Luc, as he wanted O’Brien nervous and desperate—he wanted to be O’Brien’s only hope.
He smiled to himself grimly. The tiredness was worth it. He’d made sure that no one could match his offer … this time O’Brien would be his.
Luc found that the memory of seeing O’Brien was leading him to a much more potent memory: that of Jesse Moriarty in his office a week ago. He frowned with displeasure at finding himself thinking of her again, but her delicate features slid into his mind with annoying persistence and vividness, and his insides tightened against a frisson of awareness.
He assured himself that he was only thinking of her again because he associated her with O’Brien. There was no way she could compete with him now. If O’Brien had a counteroffer Luc would know about it. O’Brien was too desperate not to be greedy and up the stakes by playing two bidders off against each other.
Much to Luc’s chagrin, his mind slid back to Jesse Moriarty like a traitor. He’d tried to get some information on her but she’d proved to be annoyingly elusive. The only details about her background were something sketchy about having been brought up in care. Maybe she was an orphan? Luc didn’t like the way that thought made him remember her inherent fragility, despite her chutzpah in storming into his office the way she had and demanding answers. He had to concede that it had been a long time since anyone had had the guts to do that. And it hadn’t been altogether unpleasant …
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that they’d left the city behind and were on the open road. The sooner he was airborne and onto his next meeting the better. It would mean welcome distraction from thinking about a pixie-sized, short-haired enigma. Just then his phone rang, and his mouth curved into a smile when he saw a familiar name.
He answered with affection, ‘Cherie … how are you today?’
What felt like a long time later, Luc became aware of waking up and feeling inordinately groggy. He opened his eyes and blinked at the bright sunlight streaming in the small window beside him. His surroundings were very quiet, but he could hear the sea in the distance and gulls overhead. The plane had obviously landed—the cabin door was open just a few feet away—but there was no sign of the air steward or pilot.
He remembered being on the phone as he’d boarded the plane, and then the flight attendant offering him coffee which he’d drunk with relish to perk up his tired mind. He’d drunk two cups, and after that remembered nothing—which was odd, because he’d intended working.
Slowly tendrils of lucidity came back into his brain, and with them finally came clarity. He looked around
