Save Her, Abigail Osborne [ebook reader for surface pro txt] 📗

that if revealed, could ruin her life. No. There was no way that he knew that. He must be talking about something else. But what?

‘I’ve been having some very disturbing conversations with Greg. I do not like what I am hearing.’

Sophie took a deep breath and composed herself. She had not come to this meeting unprepared. Alistair was trying to intimidate her, insinuate he knew something about her to get her to break and tell her what he wanted to know. Had she not seen him use the same tactic time after time in meetings with entrepreneurs? She may hate the Cavendish family with every fibre of her being, but there was no doubt that she had learnt some useful tricks of the trade. She now always made sure she was one step ahead and never turned up to a meeting without knowing her opponent’s vulnerabilities. Luckily for her, Alistair’s weakness had fallen into her lap by a happy accident. ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. But you can’t believe everything that son of yours says.’

‘Nice try. But I’m afraid I’ve known my son long enough that I can tell when he is lying. He’s shown me what you have done.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’

Alistair leaned forward and hissed at her. ‘This is not going to end well for you, Sophie. Just put it back.’

Sophie leaned forward, mirroring his pose. ‘Put what back?’ she whispered theatrically.

The skin around Alistair’s eyes tightened and his eyes were burning with suppressed rage. ‘If you want to play games, you will soon realise that I always win.’

‘You’ve lost me. Who’s playing games with who? What are you winning?’ Sophie put on her best innocent face, eyes wide.

‘Let me be clear. Knowledge is power. If you don’t return what’s mine, then I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to use what I know.’

‘But if you do that, then I’ll be forced to use what I know, Alistair.’ She met his eye, unblinking and she could see he was suddenly unsure of himself. The whirring of his brain as he tried to work out what she knew was almost audible. He turned slightly pale and his eyes bored into her, trying to burrow into her mind and work out what she could be talking about. That’s the thing about men with power and money. They have so many skeletons in their closets, it was hard to keep track.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh, Alistair. I’ve watched you long enough now to know never to reveal my hand. Just like you aren’t telling me what you know, I’m not telling you.’

He stared at her, unblinking. She met his gaze, ignoring the sting of protest from her eyes as she refused to blink.

‘You’re bluffing.’ He leaned back in his seat, his composure returned.

Sophie tutted. ‘You think that, Alistair? Let’s just say, I have evidence of something that if leaked to the press could prove very detrimental to the good Cavendish name. What is our tag line again? Trust, honour and integrity. Cavendish is a name you can trust.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Feel free not to believe me. But that would be foolish.’ She leant forward. ‘I think they call it mutually assured destruction.’ With that she got up and walked away, resisting the urge to look back at Alistair. Otherwise he might see that her hands were shaking. It took a whole packet of cigarettes before she was calm enough to drive home. Alistair had not left the pub. She hoped he was still reeling from their conversation, that she had done enough to fend him off for now. Things were getting very complicated.

47

Alistair Cavendish exploited the fact his company was supposedly steeped in tradition, having been passed down from generation to generation. He enchanted prospective clients by regaling them with the legend of his family company that had been investing in businesses for hundreds of years.

Which is why Flora was never sure why the company headquarters had moved out of the historic building of its origins into a state-of-the-art skyscraper made by what she thought must have been a drunk architect. Craning her neck back, her eyes soaked up the large glass windows and random juts of metal poking out haphazardly. It was supposed to be modern and edgy but to her it looked like Godzilla had knocked it down and a six-year-old had glued it back together.

At the previous office, large stone pillars loomed at each side of the grand wooden door. The white marble-effect of the stone and the Latin engravings gave a sense of history and credibility. You could not help but feel connected to the past when you were there. Now, Cavendish & Sons were housed in just one of a row of many ugly skyscrapers. She shook her head and followed a crowd of suited men and women into the building. Who was she to judge? Her centre was scraping by month by month and her salary was probably less than they paid the cleaners here. Luckily her insurance was covering the repairs to the window, but it had still meant she had lost money from cancelled sessions.

Flora had only visited Sam a handful of times at his place of work. She always felt intimidated and underdressed in comparison to the sharp suited, perfectly styled women that worked here. Today was no different as she surreptitiously tried to pick off stray hairs from her black jeans whilst she waited. Flora smoothed down her hair, conscious that it had been blown about by the wind outside. A large vase with lilies bloomed in front of her. She felt the urge to move her bag out of the way in response to the irrational fear that she was going to knock it over. The corporate world was not somewhere she would ever be relaxed. In fact, it made her think even more fondly of her centre with the specks of paint engrained into the desks and the stains on the