50. Max

I've been to Loeb a couple of times before, for some industry events.

Never been this… wound up, I suppose.

If the little shit thinks he can hide from me—if he thinks I'll stand by and take no action while he disrespects Darcy—then I'm about to demonstrate to him how wretchedly mistaken he is.

I accept that commandeering an entire meeting around our imminent IPO may be overstretching, but this isn't just an excuse to see him. If I wanted to see him I'd show up here and demand a meeting.

No. This is a power play. This is a chance to show him who's boss.

I want to watch the arsehole squirm.

I'm all benevolence and easy charm as I stride into the large meeting room on Loeb's corporate entertaining floor. It's on the tenth floor of their offices, decked out with thick white carpets and linen-covered walls, its floor-to-ceiling windows affording the space plenty of daylight and an impressive view over the City.

There's a dozen or so people in the room when Moira and I enter with our Head of Strategy and a handful of others from our Strategy and Finance team. Good to see they've rallied the troops. But I'm not interested in numbers. I'm interested in?—

Ahh.

There he is.

And he's lovely. Achingly lovely, in fact, to an extent I could well do without. In my mind, this past few days, he's been all petulance and spinelessness, but here, standing in sunlight so glaring the air around him is a swirl of dust mites, he is, in fact, quite something. I take him in at a glance. His suit is navy, his tie—probably plucked from his desk drawer in light of this unexpected meeting—is a pale pink one that looks like classic Hermes and works perfectly against the blue of his shirt and the olive of his skin. His hair's brushed neatly back, and he looks far better than a man who should have spent the past five days stewing in the shit-tip of his own poor decision-making has any right to look.

Those eyes, though. I swear they widen when he spots me from across the room, and I shoot him a neutral smile that's really more a purse of my lips, because I'm not giving this guy an inch.

If he hasn't been stewing already, let him stew now.

Jochen Thum, the CEO here in London and an all-round decent chap, approaches with his arms outstretched. He kisses Moira on both cheeks before shaking me heartily by the hand.

‘It's wonderful to have you here,' he says, all jocular welcome. I bet it is. Truth is, Loeb punches far above its weight with the quality of its research, and we'd be na?ve not to factor that into our decision making. We'll probably end up in the top five companies in the FTSE 100 by market capitalisation, which means everyone will have to hold our stock. They'll need as much decent equity research as possible to help them with their investments.

‘Thanks for accommodating us at such short notice,' I tell him. ‘I hope it hasn't been too much of an inconvenience.'

‘Not at all, not at all,' he says, hands flapping. ‘Come and meet our team.'

I shake hands with two women and a handful of men from the various equity research and trading teams before we come to a halt in front of Dex. I stand there, left hand in my pocket, and watch him closely. He's too professionally assured to show his discomfort, but the panicked darts of his eyes between me and Thum tell me he's trying his best to read the situation and act accordingly.

‘Now, this is our new Head of Equities, Dex Scott,' Thum says, slapping him fondly on the shoulder. ‘He's come to us from Goldman in New York, and we're very excited to be investing in our Equities business through experienced hires like him.'

There's a second, just a second, where he opens his mouth like a suffocating fish, and I can tell he's deciding whether or not to divulge that we know each other, and it's so fucking tempting to leave him hanging.

But I don't.

‘Actually,' I interject before he can say anything, ‘Dex and I have met each other socially. Haven't we, mate?' I stick out my hand, and he takes it, and his grip is firm, and his lethal fucking eyes are fixed on mine, and he's not smiling, and I can't help but squeeze a little tighter.

Haven't we, mate?

‘Uh, that's right,' he says.

Thum chuckles delightedly. ‘Well, you kept that quiet,' he tells Dex. ‘I had no idea!'

‘It's a very recent introduction,' I say smoothly. ‘We just met last week. We have a… friend in common. Don't we?'

‘Exactly,' Dex manages. He extricates his hand from my grip and directs it at Moira, bestowing on her the blinding smile that he seems to save only for women, the same smile that had me wishing I was Darcy after he'd finished shooting his load inside her. ‘Dex,' he tells her, ‘It's a pleasure.'

I can only stand politely and pretend I'm not drinking in every fucking second of our proximity.

‘How do you do?' Moira asks, and she may be fifty-five if she's a day, but I swear she preens at Dex's panty-melting grin. Who fucking wouldn't?

‘Let's get you all a coffee,' he says, stepping back and ushering us over to the long console bearing the cafetières and china cups.

I incline my head as I saunter past him.

The game is only just beginning.