To Have and Hate Read online

  ‘Ms Welland?’

  ‘Yes, of course. My mistake.’ Because there are more men named Beckett in London than him. I mean, I don’t have a phone book on hand or the time to search the internet for confirmation as I juggle my laptop bag, purse, and coat to sign in, but I’m pretty certain that’s the case. The same way I’m pretty certain finding two Becketts in the vicinity of this building is purely a coincidence.

  There.

  No need to panic. Or stress.

  I make my way to the elevators and don’t even mentally genuflect as I step into the little glass box of potential death. I pull out my phone to check my email, suddenly doubting what I’d read, but I can’t get a signal. So all the way to the thirty-fifth floor, I’m giving myself a pep talk.

  It’s a coincidence.

  Get your head in the game.

  Today, you’re going to show him—not him-him, the other him—how E-Volve works.

  How it can help people find love while also making those involved an awful lot of money.

  I rub my sweaty palms against my thighs as the doors ping open on the thirty-fifth floor, and I’m met by the young intern I’d noticed last week who greets me with a warm smile.

  ‘Ms Welland, Mr Beckett is waiting for you. Right this way.’

  On the tip of my tongue, I have a dozen questions balanced. Did this particular Beckett attend the meeting on Friday? What’s his position in the company, and how the hell did I end up with a meeting with him?

  We walk through the same sleek and stylish open-plan offices, past glass-walled meeting pods and the larger boardroom to the far end where a bank of private offices are housed. Private but for the glass walls facing the more public spaces. I count four doors that blend seamlessly with the walls they’re set into. Glass doors set in glass walls. But at least it makes it easy to see what’s in the rooms. Offices as big as my apartment with desks and chairs, and fabulous views. But it must be like working in a goldfish bowl. The woman turns left, leading me to the door at the very end.

  Without knocking, she pushes it open, then steps aside, gesturing me inside an absolutely huge corner office. Whoever said size doesn’t matter obviously hasn’t been in here. Despite the grey gloom of the day, the stark space is suffused in light. An atrium terrace runs the length of one side with rain currently lashing against the glass. An industrial looking partner’s desk sits almost front and centre of the room framed by an almost panoramic view of the city beyond. To the left, several oversized canvases hang against the bare wall, the bold splashes of colour almost a shock to my retinas. A plush geometric-patterned rug denotes a seating area, though nothing about it looks casual with a console table and some stylishly placed objet d’art definitely not picked up at Ikea. The grey fabric of the original looking Knoll sofa and a pair of matching chairs is perfect complement to the clouds that seem to be hanging just beyond the window frames.

  ‘May I take your coat?’ The woman’s voice brings me back to the moment and the fact that she’s stepped into the room behind me.

  ‘Oh. Yes. Thank you.’

  ‘Would you like something to drink? A tea or coffee?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  In response, she inclines her head. ‘Mr Beckett will be with you shortly.’ She smiles blandly before closing the door behind her.

  No way am I sitting. I’m not sure why, but nothing about this feels right. As I place my purse and laptop next to the sofa, it also occurs to me that I haven’t seen Luke. Is that a good omen or a bad one? I wonder. But as he knew I had a meeting, I guess that means he’s hiding from me. I’m not sure how that makes—

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’

  At the sound of Beckett’s voice, my blood turns to ice water.

  ‘You,’ I growl as I turn. The man has the audacity—the gall—to lean in and kiss my cheek as if the whole scene in the car never happened. ‘Er, no!’ And hell no, as I place my hand in the centre of his chest and turn my head. ‘I have no idea what this is about,’ I add quickly, turning and gathering my things, my frozen blood heated now by a million degrees. ‘And I really don’t care.’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  My gaze whips to his sardonic one, and I notice today’s suit is a blue one worn with a matching baby blue shirt. A tan belt and tan brogues complete the ensemble. The devil in corporate clothing.

  ‘I don’t care to discuss what happened on Friday.’ I aim for an imperious tone and hope that I carry it off.

  ‘I can see how the evening may have left you feeling out of sorts, but I assure you, it has nothing to do with today’s meeting.’ His words are even, his tone oh, so reasonable, even if it’s all bullshit as he drops his jacket to a chair facing the wall of glass.

  ‘I really have nothing to say to you about any of it,’ I mutter, flinging my purse over my arm before rushing for the door. Belatedly, I realise the wall of glass is now opaque. But it doesn’t matter because I have a pretty good idea of where the opening was. ‘If anyone, anyone else in this company is seriously interested in E-Volve, they can call me.’ Hell, I’ll even take the janitor’s call over this face to face.

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t happen.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t speak for everyone. Maybe I’ll just drop Mark Jones an email.’ I push on the door, but it doesn’t budge.

  ‘You either speak with me or discount JBW as a partner.’ That steel in his tone? That’s new. ‘The choice is yours.’

  ‘Fine,’ I throw over my shoulder. ‘You aren’t E-Volve’s only option.’

  ‘Aren’t we?’

  ‘Open the damn door,’ I grate out as steam begins to build between my ears.

  ‘It isn’t locked. You’re pushing the wrong portion.’

  I make a noise through my nose that would best be described firstly as derisory and second as inelegant when I whip around to face him. ‘And you’d know all about pushing wrong doors’—and by that, I mean buttons—‘wouldn’t you?’

  Leaning against the desk, he crosses his long legs at the ankle, making a show of folding his arms over his chest. His expression remains as blank as a mask. A devilishly handsome mask, but a mask all the same.

  ‘If you’re talking about Friday evening, you might give me a moment to explain.’

  ‘What makes you think I want to hear whatever sorry excuse you’re about to make?’

  ‘I wasn’t about to excuse myself,’ he answers as though the idea was ridiculous. ‘But I could explain. Or you could just leave.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll do just that.’ I turn back to the glass wall.

  ‘A brave choice for someone with so few resources.’

  This time, my head turns almost like a turret on a tank, and if I could, I’d blow off that man’s head.

  ‘What do you know about my resources?’

  ‘I know E-Volve has advanced solely due to your personal finances, that you’re paying for everything from the software to the salaries, and that your capital is rapidly drying up.’

  ‘That has got nothing to do with you.’ My words are as hot as my burning cheeks. How dare he go snooping, but more than that, how dare he make me feel like a fool. ‘That is a serious invasion of my privacy, morally reprehensible, and—’

  ‘And not quite as bad as ensuring E-Volve won’t gain finance.’

  If it’s possible for words alone to stop a person’s heart, I think that’s what just happened. I turn slowly, pressing my back against the glass in case my legs give out.

  ‘You would do that?’

  ‘I would.’ With a ghost of a smile, he shrugs lightly. ‘But while you’ve made your thoughts on my character more than clear, I can confirm I am not on first name terms with Satan. Though if I were, I wouldn’t hesitate to use his influence to get what I want.’

  ‘And you want E-Volve?’

  ‘You mistake me. It’s you I want.’

  Chapter 9

  BECKETT

  Her response surprises me.

  I’m not often surprised. />
  ‘So you can stop me from getting finance?’ she asks carefully. Pushing off from the glass, she then seems to think better of it and presses her shoulders against it once more.

  She heard yet she chooses not to respond. For now, at least. Curiosity will win out in the end.

  ‘As I’m sure you’ve already discovered, gaining finance is near impossible to begin with. I shouldn’t need to point out you’re here because of the introduction facilitated by your friend.’ Olivia glowers over at me. Quite cute, really. Red cheeks and eyes gimlet green. ‘Do I need to mention his name? I think not. We can just call him the bad penny, if you like.’

  ‘If he’s the bad penny, what does that make you?’

  ‘You can’t insult me, Olivia.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘What most people don’t understand is that offence exists not within the insult but within any reaction to it.’ Her expression clouds. ‘Most people find difficulty with the concept, not because it’s terribly far-reaching or beyond the ken of most, but rather because they’re too emotional to see the beauty in this. To put it bluntly, your opinion is so irrelevant, I can’t be bothered to take offence.’

  Emotional, see? As I said. She’s like a struck match and not just in her colouring.

  ‘If I’m so irrelevant, why would you want me?’ She throws out an arm, though I sense she’d rather be throwing it around my neck. To choke me.

  ‘Ah. So you did hear me. Good, because I have a business proposition for you.’

  ‘I . . . I’m not sure I understand.’ Of course, you don’t. And that’s the way I’d like to keep it for now. ‘You work here?’ She attempts to turn her question into an assertion by adding, ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Obviously.’ Some would object to the validity of her assumption.

  Do I appear in this office regularly? Not really.

  Am I employed by the company? Somewhat.

  Are my investments sound? Absolutely. I’ve made the partners, my investors, and myself very rich in the process. In all fairness, I’ve made all parties wealthier, not necessarily wealthy. People in this business aren’t exactly the rags-to-riches sorts.

  This isn’t the lottery.

  ‘So why weren’t you there for my pitch?’

  ‘Who says I wasn’t?’ I see in her eyes the moment the realisation hits her.

  ‘You! You were there—in the doorway!’

  ‘A happy accident following a not so happy one. I see your knees are healing nicely.’

  ‘Don’t you stare at my knees,’ she declares, pulling at her skirt as though the whole thing had suddenly become transparent. ‘How dare you call me in here to play with me?’

  ‘I never play games where money is concerned.’ That’s not strictly true. Venture capital can be a little like playing poker. Experience and a sound strategy will serve you well, skill will get you so far, but there’s always an element of luck involved. ‘I can assure you I’m not playing with you.’

  ‘So what was Friday night?’ So we’re getting to the heart of things. A fickle and a changeful thing is a woman ever. The Romans were right. But Friday evening was unexpected, tempting, and nothing I can afford to think about right now.

  ‘We’ll get to that soon enough.’

  ‘No, I think we’ll get to that now,’ she says, pushing off from the glass wall. ‘What were you doing there?’ she demands, pointing her finger at the office floor with her eyes narrowed to glittering slits. Her purse begins to slide from her shoulder, and she hitches it higher, advancing like a villager in need of a pitchfork.

  ‘Must we keep going around this? I heard your pitch, and while I applaud your passion, frankly, I’m not interested in E-Volve.’

  ‘Your loss,’ she retorts, batting off the barb. But not before it stings.

  ‘Not at the moment, it isn’t. It’s yours. Your redundancies to effect. Your leases to break. Worst-case scenario? Creditors chasing you. Best? A return to the States with your tail between your legs.’

  ‘You know nothing about my business and even less about me.’

  ‘I know this business is all about connections. As I also understand that, without Luke, you might’ve waited months or not have been invited beyond this threshold at all.’

  ‘There are other companies. Other ways to finance.’

  ‘I’ve asked around, spoke to the companies you’ve approached. You didn’t have many takers. Why don’t you just admit that this was your one great hope.’

  ‘A hope you’ve stolen from me.’

  ‘Perhaps you should look closer to home when apportioning blame.’

  ‘My pitch was not the issue here,’ she almost growls, jabbing her finger in the air in my direction. I want to bite it, but I can’t afford to accede to whims.

  ‘No,’ I agree. ‘It was . . . cute.’

  ‘It was not cute. It was smart and professional. It was on point!’

  ‘Tell me, do you have a thing for tattoos?’

  ‘It was sexy!’ she almost yells, ignoring my question. But she’s right. It was a good pitch. And she made it sexy with her confidence and delivery. The way she had her audience in the palm of her hand. And the way her skirt fell to her knees, revealing nothing yet promising everything.

  On reflection, I hope the latter was just my take on things.

  ‘It was . . .’ I reach up and run a considering hand over my jawline. ‘Of the moment.’

  She accepts my condescension like a slap, recovering quickly.

  ‘Like that even means anything.’

  ‘It was Instagram worthy. All sparkle and no substance.’

  ‘You . . . fucker.’ By her harsh fricative, I deduce she’d tried very hard not to curse.

  ‘Tell me, how is Luke adapting to his news of impending fatherhood?’

  ‘How would I know?’ she hurls back at me, her eyes skating away, perhaps unsure if she should come closer to cause me harm or cut her losses and run.

  ‘Hmm. He hasn’t yet made it to the office this morning, or else I’d call him in to ask.’

  ‘I don’t care—’

  ‘And if he were here, we could also ask him where I got your financials from.’

  ‘He wouldn’t . . . He didn’t.’

  ‘One could argue it’s his job. Due diligence, perhaps. Or a friend selling you out or trying to gain access to your underwear. Or the behaviour of a jilted, jealous would-be lover. It might be any of these.’

  She takes two steps, dropping a battered leather satchel and her purse to the console table. Her palm press into the wood as she shakes her head, muttering words not meant for my ears. I hear her distrust and confusion anyway. But as her head comes up, and she turns, she mirrors my stance. With her bottom pressed against the console table, she folds her arms across her chest, effecting a relaxed demeanour. She’s a sea of calm, but for the way the toe of her shoe itches to tap.

  ‘You’re saying Luke is the reason JBW won’t be investing in E-Volve?’

  This isn’t strictly true, but for the purposes of today, I neither confirm nor deny.

  ‘That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Or pound sterling in this case.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for that level of investment. I don’t need that much.’

  ‘I disagree. If you want to attract the big players, a million-pound cash injection right now is the least you’ll need. While your dating anecdotes were childishly charming, your marketing requires work. I’d also suggest recruit an information architect, as the prototype could be more professional. You might also consider hiring a user experience designer. You need a cushion and to start thinking bigger. That is, if you want to catch the bigger fish.’

  ‘Why? So you can commit me to the poorhouse?’

  ‘How positively Dickensian. And I suppose that casts me in the role of Compeyson?’

  ‘If the top hat fits,’ she sneers. It doesn’t last long. Not in the face of my smile. A genuine smile that seems to have thrown her. But what can I say? I’m oddly c
harmed that she’s familiar with Great Expectations, though I can’t see her rotting away in a wedding dress somehow.

  ‘It’s strange that particular character should come up in our conversation.’

  ‘This whole day is strange,’ she mutters. ‘Mercury must be in retrograde or something.’

  Now it’s my turn to sneer. ‘Don’t tell me you believe in such rubbish.’

  ‘Talk to the hand,’ she replies, ‘because the universe isn’t listening. Not to people like you, anyway.’

  ‘People like me who are trying to invest in your company?’

  ‘But you just said—’

  ‘I’ve said a lot of things, Olivia. Most of which seem to have gone over your head.’

  ‘I’m beginning to get motion sickness. You trip me,’ she says, beginning to check things off her fingers. ‘You get me all riled up in the back seat of your fancy car, you tell me my pitch was no good, that JBW won’t invest in me, and then you start throwing around a lot of zeros.’

  For the first time since I’d entered my office, I trust myself to push away from the desk. Since leaving her sprawled across the leather back seat with her summery dress around her hips and her creamy lacy underwear on display, I’ve thought of little else. The scent of her skin, and the feel of her heated centre, and the noises she made, which now play on a loop in my head. I’ve imagined the dozen ways I’d take her—a bed, a wall, over a table, her mouth and her pussy wet and open for me.

  As I stalk across the room, I get a kick out of the widening of her gaze, the way her fight or flight instincts kick in, and how she strives to conceal these. She stands her ground and even elevates her chin, offering it to me like a prize fighter ready for another blow.

  Naturally, she seems confused as I take her hand and lead her to the sofa. But it’s that or lifting her to sit on the table and wrapping those soft thighs around my hips. Bigger things are at play right now. And good things come to those who wait, and they’re usually all the sweeter for the delay.

  ‘JBW isn’t going to invest in E-Volve,’ I say. Taking my place on the sofa next to her, I pivot my body to face her while keeping a good twelve inches between us. She stares ahead, though I can tell it’s taking some effort to sit still as I appreciate her profile. The upward curl of her lashes as she blinks. The slope of her nose and the pout of her lips that make her seem constantly sulky. Or perhaps that’s just around me. ‘But the B in JBW will.’