“Off for a romantic rendezvous, huh. Who’s this week’s lady?” Victor closed his eyes at the innuendo in Mark’s voice, thankful he didn’t have anyone sitting in the passenger seat. He’d long left his playboy lifestyle behind, but—London society being what it was—his past would probably shadow him into his dotage.
“No one. Just heading home to see the parents.”
“Right. Well, I won’t keep you.” Mark cleared his throat, and Victor sensed the shadow of bad news approaching.
News he couldn’t accept. Even though he knew there was no logical reason why Enrite would attach their business to the scandal-plagued Wyndham brand.
“I have some good news and some bad news.”
Victor’s hopes lifted. “Go on.”
“For obvious reasons, the executive team are reluctant to give Wyndham House the account.”
“It was one bad egg. We’ve had the coppers crawling all over us ever since this broke, and they haven’t found any evidence that anyone else was involved, let alone there being some kind of company-wide practice.” Darn Garrett for tarring them all with his brush.
“I know. But you know as well as I do that perception is more important than reality in this business. And it’s not just that. We’ve heard the news about Meredith merging Wyndham House which brings in another aspect of instability. Why would we give you the account when you might not even be there once Meredith is through?”
Both excellent points.
“I’ll be honest. None of that is sounding like good news.”
“It’s not. The good news is that we’ve had a delay of a couple of months on analyzing some of the data from a couple of trials. So I’ve managed to convince the exec to hold off on appointing our external advisor.”
“Okay.”
“You’re still in the running, but bluntly, you’re an outside chance. Most of them are leaning toward McMillan, but you’ve got a couple of things in your favor.”
He’d take whatever he could get.
“The CFO went to Oxford and is a big Boat Race fan, so you have a fan there. Also, I’m pretty sure one of the others has a soft spot for Meredith and wouldn’t be averse to sending a bit of business her way. But that’s only two out of five.”
Victor waited a second as another lorry roared past, rattling the car. “I’ll take whatever I can get.”
“Rumor around town has it that Meredith is going to move quickly on the merger and restructuring. When the dust is settled, you not only need to be left standing, but you need to be in senior management. That’s the only thing that will give you a real shot.”
Victor stifled a groan of defeat. Senior management? It would have been better if Mark had put him out of his misery now. There was no way he was going to make that happen. The people currently in those roles had ten years plus of experience. He was going to assume the same across the ocean. He had three. And he’d only been heading his own accounts for one. In what world was he going to somehow crack the upper organizational echelons in a restructure pitted against all the highly qualified and experienced people already competing for fewer chairs at the table?
Mark seemed to read his mind. “Do you know what the CFO said at the meeting when I named you as the account lead for Wyndham? He said that you walked into the blue boat with no rowing history, beating elite-level men who had been rowing for years. Even I know that’s unheard of.”
To his eternal shame, he’d only trialed to get a rise out of Peter. He’d been as surprised as anyone when he turned out to be freakishly good.
His brother had never forgiven him. And Victor could hardly blame him. What kind of man took up a sport just to rub his brother’s face in everything he’d lost?
Mark’s voice came out of the phone. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t even know if it’s possible. But Meredith is nothing if not unpredictable, and she’s obviously intending to give things a good shake-up. And if she does decide to go unconventional, you could be in with an outside chance.”
Something shifted inside at Mark’s words. He was right. Meredith smashing these two companies together gave Victor his best chance. All bets were off. A clean-out at the top and some fresh blood might be exactly what the new company needed.
He had to try. Because if he somehow made it and landed the Enrite account, the prodigal son might finally be able to return home with something of value.
CHAPTER THREE
Love you, Auntie Lacey. Libby’s declaration echoed in Lacey’s head as she made her way down the stairs. Her mind tripped back years as she tried to uncover the last time she’d heard the words.
Blake—the last guy she’d dated and who was long gone—had called her many things. Great. Sexy. Intimidating. A workaholic. It had been the last one that had been the deal-breaker. But they’d never said they loved each other. Not even close.
She’d liked Blake enough to date him for three months. Then he’d had gotten a bit too whiny about how much she traveled and the hours she worked, and she’d called it quits during a fractious FaceTime conversation from a hotel somewhere in the Midwest.
The only thought she’d given him since was the following morning when she’d realized it would have been handy if she’d held off a couple of weeks and broken up with him after the company Christmas party.
Hardly the kind of heartbreak anyone writes books about.
She had dated plenty of men. Hadn’t said I love you to a single one since she was seventeen.
Emelia was probably the last person to say she loved her. In a rushed end-of-a-conversation kind of way. Or Anna, who ended every other text with one of those heart blowing emojis. But that didn’t count. Anna loved everyone. Down to and including the UPS guy.
But as the last thing someone said as they were drifting off to sleep?
Not ever.
Her feet hit the bottom of the stairs, and she kicked off her heels near a pile of Anna and Libby’s shoes. She only had one more night here. No point wasting it on unnecessary melancholy.
Tomorrow night she would be back in New York. She’d spend it with more research on Meredith and Wyndham, looking for anything else that might give her an edge in whatever was coming.
The kitchen was empty. Rachel and Anna’s low voices drifted out from the lounge. “Can I make a coffee?”
“There’s a pod in the machine waiting for you and the milk in the cup is hot,” Anna called out, ever the consummate hostess.
Lacey hit the button on the Nespresso machine, savoring the familiar whirring sound and the brown crema dripping into the mug Anna had placed underneath the spout. She wrapped her hands around the warm pottery and carried it into the bookshelf-lined lounge where Rachel and Anna sprawled on opposite couches.
“Here.” Anna curled up her legs to make room for Lacey on her couch.
“Thanks.” Lacey propped her feet up on the coffee table and took a sip of her coffee before settling it on her knees.
Rachel placed her phone on the cushion beside her with a dreamy smile. No doubt Lucas was at the other end of whatever little electronic love note had just been sent.
“Do you want to do something in the morning while Anna’s at church?” Her flight wasn’t until four, so they’d have time for lunch after Anna was liberated. Lacey might not understand the appeal of church, but she had to admit she’d never seen anyone support someone the way Anna’s church had after Cam died. Right after she’d arrived the night before one of the vicars—or whatever they were called—had dropped off a meal and collected her teenage son who had been mowing Anna’s lawn with the familiarity of someone who had done it many times before.