14. Adam

14

ADAM

I wonder what she thinks of it. The house, I mean.

I wonder if she likes it.

It’s not that I want to impress her, exactly. At least, I don’t think it is. I’m not the monster she thinks I am. I have no interest in rubbing her nose in how my fortunes have changed, in throwing my wealth in her face when I’m sure she thinks me undeserving.

But I want her to like it. It’s clear she has excellent taste, and I know, from the dossier I had one of my associates pull up for me today, that she has a stunning—if sub-scale—womenswear label. For whatever reason, I want my tasteful, elegant home to speak to her, to get through to her where I can’t. To inveigle its way into that artistic soul of hers.

If I’m honest with myself, I suspect I also want it to work its magic in somehow legitimising me in her eyes. She’ll never forgive me, I know that much, but perhaps her opinion of me will grow more nuanced. Perhaps she’ll entertain the sentiment that a man who’s all monster would never invest in a labour of love to produce something quite so beautiful ?

But there’s little sign of capitulation in her huge brown eyes when she finds her way to the kitchen. Rather, I detect a wariness, a resentment, that she’s found herself forced to accept my help. My hospitality. She’s wearing dark grey leggings that mould to her tight little arse and a cropped, blush-coloured sweatshirt. Thank you, Clem.

She looks pale and exhausted and perfect.

I wonder if she’s ever been spanked by someone who knows what they’re doing.

I wonder if she’d ever let herself enjoy it.

She takes in the kitchen, which is my favourite room in the house. It’s at its best in summer, when the light streams in from the windows at each end. My architects knocked through a couple of rooms to create this incredible space that runs east-west and is illuminated every morning and evening. The white marble counters lighten it up, but I couldn’t resist when my interior designer suggested the pop of colour my duck-egg blue lacquered cabinets bring.

The blue juxtaposed with the rosy gleam of the copper pans hanging overhead brings warmth at this time of year to what could easily be a cavernous space, and the smell is enough to welcome the weariest of guests. Kamyl, my chef, has put together a quick Proven?al fish stew at my request. It should be light enough to ensure Natalie gets a good night’s sleep, but I’ve asked him to include plenty of pulses to keep her blood glucose stable.

We sit at the island—it’s a little less formal than the dining area—and allow Kamyl to heap steaming stew into our bowls. The saffron gives it a golden hue.

‘Thanks, mate,’ I tell him, and he gives me a friendly nod of acknowledgment before making himself scarce.

‘This looks amazing,’ Natalie says faintly, picking up her fork. I suspect her natural manners are warring with her contempt of me.

‘Good,’ I say. ‘Dig in.’

We eat silently for a couple of minutes. The stew is perfect—warming and fragrant, thanks to all the freshly chopped herbs Kamyl scattered on top. It seems to me Natalie has something on her mind, so I’ll give her space and wait for her to spit it out.

Eventually, she does. ‘Your home is absolutely beautiful.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It’s not what I was expecting.’

’What did you expect—gold taps?’

‘More like chrome and glass everywhere.’ She doesn’t crack a smile.

‘Coming from my background,’ I say carefully, ‘aesthetics are important to me. And I don’t mean appearances—I mean the positive effect beautiful surroundings have on my soul.’

‘Yeah.’ She slices off a piece of fish with the edge of her fork. ‘I get that.’

I know she does, because I’ve read that dossier. Still, her admission that she is, on some level, able to appreciate and enjoy the delights of my home makes me happy.

Her concession gives me the confidence to ask my next question without too much concern that she’ll run for the door.

‘So. Do you remember anything Gen said in the meeting?’

‘A little.’ Her brow furrows. ‘Something about you taking a stake in Alchemy?’

‘Exactly.’ I take a sip of my sparkling water before continuing. ‘Now that Wolff Holdings is public, it’s coming in for a little investor pressure to divest its share of the Alchemy JV. The ethical investors—church funds, etcetera—don’t like it.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Right. Because what consenting adults do in their own free time is so unethical.’

‘My thoughts exactly. But it is what it is. So Anton approached me to see if I’d be interested, and I am. Very.’ I pause. ‘Do you know anything about my business holdings?’

I swear I can hear the machinations of her internal struggle. I’m sure she doesn’t want to admit to knowing a single thing about me.

‘You own some luxury brands,’ she concedes eventually.

‘Exactly. But I’ve been focusing more recently on service industries at the very high end, hence my interest in Alchemy.’

‘Service industry,’ she repeats, a droll little smile on her lips. ‘I suppose you could call it that.’

I study her. ‘You don’t approve of it.’

‘Of course I approve of it!’ she says incredulously. ‘I love what they’ve built. It’s fantastic.’

‘But you don’t partake.’

‘That is precisely none of your business, but no. I don’t.’

I’d love to ask her why, but I’m not that foolish. I’m also oddly relieved that she doesn’t find her way to The Playroom every evening after her shift. After all, she’d have plenty of opportunity to do so. The club doesn’t allow guests in after eleven, but it stays open till one. And I can’t imagine how many of the patrons who ogle her at the front desk would be delighted to get their grubby mitts on her.

‘Anyway,’ I say instead, ‘your bosses are happy to have me on board, as is the Wolff team, assuming we can agree on a valuation.’ I pause. ‘But Gen cares about her employees a lot, and she won’t go for it unless she’s sure you’re comfortable with my being involved. ’

‘So you want my blessing, is that it?’ There’s a sharpness in her tone that I should have expected and yet didn’t.

‘No. Not at all. Well, of course I want it, because I’d like to forge ahead with this deal, but I’m not trying to twist your arm.’ I wince internally at my unintentionally violent metaphor. ‘I mean, there’s no pressure on your part. None at all. But if you want any clarity on my role, or any reassurances, then I’d be happy to give them to you.’

‘Will you be my boss?’

I shake my head. ‘Absolutely not. I’d have no executive jurisdiction over the London club. Really, I’d be more of a silent partner. Gen and the Wolff team have rolled out a scalable format. New York is opening in a matter of weeks. You won’t see any more of me than you do Max Hunter.’

That gets me a tight little smile. ‘Believe me, we see a lot of Max in there.’

I grin, amused. ‘Seriously? Even though he’s ridiculously loved up?’

‘The three of them are in there a lot. Darcy still dances there one night a week, but she’ll drop it soon.’ She appears to rein herself in, realising she’s teetering on the edge of an actual, civil conversation.

‘Well, I won’t be in there more often than any other punter,’ I promise. ‘So all you’d need to do is endure the occasional sight of me in reception. But again, I understand if that’s a bridge too far.’

‘I’m not about to derail any of Gen’s plans,’ she says, rearranging her chickpeas with her fork. She’s certainly not shovelling her food down to the extent I’d like to see for her final meal of the day. ‘Given I’ve agreed to spend a night under your roof, I think I can manage checking you in every now and again.’

It might be more often than every now and again given how successful my first visit was, but Natalie probably doesn’t wish to know how convenient I found it to have an easy, attractive outlet for my urges last night.

And she definitely wouldn’t want to know how tickled I am at the prospect of seeing her at the front desk each time I visit.

‘Only if you’re sure,’ I say. ‘I’ll let you catch up with Gen, and if she feels comfortable moving forward, she can let me know.’

We lapse into silence again, Natalie pushing her food around her plate, me shovelling mine up because it’s fucking delicious. My phone lights up with a message from my nutritionist. She’s excellent, and I suspect Natalie could benefit from her holistic approach.

‘Louise, my nutritionist, will be here by nine tomorrow to see you,’ I tell her.

She groans and puts her elbows on the island, resting her face in her hands. ‘I have so much to do tomorrow. I really need to get out of here first thing.’ She looks genuinely defeated at the mere thought of the workload awaiting her.

I bide my time. ‘What is it you do?’

She lifts her face. ‘I have a womenswear brand. A small one,’ she adds, and I hate that she’s felt the need to qualify her achievements in the face of my grotesque success.

‘Oh, excellent,’ I say. ‘So you run that during the day and then work at Alchemy at night?’

‘The fashion industry isn’t exactly a cash cow unless you have critical mass,’ she points out in response to the unanswered part of my question.

‘Fair,’ I say. ‘Still, two jobs and type 1 is a lot to handle.’

Her only response to my unsolicited opinion is a glare. I bet she’s a busy little bee. I bet she works that tight little arse off and is responsible to a fault—when she’s not fucking up her insulin-to-glucose ratio, that is.

‘What part of the market are you in?’ I ask.

‘Demi-couture.’ She spikes a piece of fish and sticks it in her mouth. I wait until she’s swallowed.

‘And you have a team?’

‘Yes.’ I suspect the terseness of her one-word answer is a deliberate attempt to shut me down.

‘It’s an interesting part of the market,’ I muse. ‘Tough, but every part is tough, to be honest.’

Silence.

‘I know you have a lot on your plate, Natalie,’ I say, and she jolts like she can’t believe I’ve been indecent enough to use her name. ‘But please spare Louise half an hour. She’s incredible—she’s a very special human. Your body’s been through a lot today. Give it this one thing.’

She sighs. ‘Fine.’

‘Thank you.’

There’s a question on the tip of my tongue. It’s so close. I want to ask her how Stephen is. How he really is, deep down, aside from the fact that he’s apparently thriving in his newish job at Totum, a medical data company founded by one of my great mates, Aidan Duffy.

Aide did me a solid with that one.

But my guess is that if I ask her how her brother is, she’ll go fucking nuclear. She’ll read all sorts of things into it: that I feel entitled to ask, that I’m digging for information I have no right to, that I’m hinting at my desire for absolution, and none of those is true.

Instead, I say something else I know will piss her off.

‘I need you to eat more food. How’s your glucose looking?’

She certainly isn’t smuggling a phone in those snug yoga pants, so how she’ll answer my question I have no idea. She stares at me like she can’t believe what I’ve just said.

‘My glucose is fine.’

‘And you know this because your phone is right here, where you can hear it if it alerts you?’

‘I know it because I feel fine, and because I ate far too much cheese and crackers from that platter in the living room,’ she grits out.

‘Still, you should eat more. Especially the chickpeas.’ I have no way of knowing how much of the snack platter she ate, but believe me, I’m going to check.

She sets down her fork. She has beautiful hands with long, slim fingers. ‘Adam. I’m sorry you had to deal with me earlier, but I’m fine. I’m pretty full. And I’ll be fine tonight, okay?’

I wonder how many more times I can get her to say fine.

‘Even so, I’ll need you to let me have access to your CGM data tonight.’

If I wasn’t so frustrated, I’d laugh at the expression on her face. Sweet little Natalie looks like she wants to rip me a new one.

‘You have got to be kidding me.’

‘I’m not kidding you. You went full hypo in front of me, you scared the absolute shit out of me and Gen, you’re pissing around with your food, and you’re my responsibility tonight.’ I take a deep breath, willing myself not to get riled. I will do everything in my power to ensure she never spends a second fearing me.

‘I need to be able to check that you’re stable.’ I won’t let another person have a fatal hypo on my watch. ‘ We can do this one of three ways. You can give me your phone, which I assume you have no interest in doing, you can add me to the app, which I assume is relatively straightforward to do, or we can go old school, and I’ll prick your finger every hour, on the hour. Dyson left me some testing kits. What’ll it be?’

Our gazes are locked. Her breath is coming quickly. She’s doing a far worse job than me of not rising. She pushes her plate away and climbs down from her stool, standing so she’s facing me, and only then does she deliver the sucker punch.

‘Once a bully, always a bully, I see. I’m going to bed. Thanks for dinner.’