The Only Way is Up

Part Five

That and several glasses of wine was not a good combination, and at just after ten in the evening, she found herself calling the man in question. Vincent Brooker.

From the moment she set eyes on her then boss and later husband she'd been overwhelmed. He was suave, in a way she's always craved, worldly, intimidating. But he immediately singled her out. Within a few weeks they were having clandestine meetings, and she was besotted in not very long. She'd had her fair share of boyfriends, but nothing significant, and nothing as special as this had immediately seemed, she was obsessed and totally in love.

Kim never liked him, and Nicole knew that she should have listened to her best friend, but retrospect was a wonderful thing, and even now she still loved him. After all he'd done. Since she'd learned of his infidelity, his adultery, she'd sat back and watched the world go by, everyone carrying on regardless. And him? He'd plotted, he'd done this on purpose. She knew it. Sabotaging her work, making her realise that he was so superior to her in a way he'd always wanted. He was threatened by her family, her social standing and her money.

Calling him was a bad move, but it was her only option. No one else had the ability to hurt her, to make her feel so worthless, but the moment she stepped outside, connected the call, his sarcastic and condescending voice echoed through the handset.

He'd ignored her last dozen calls, so the fact that he answered this one told her he was expecting it, she hated that she was desperately playing into his hands, but that was the way this was unwinding.

"Nicole."

She sighed, she'd spent so long wanting to hear that voice again, "Vincent. I need to talk to you."

With a rather exaggerated exhale he replied, "I'm busy."

"It won't take long. It's about the Franklin account."

His laugh was both loud and prolonged, it was an age until he was able to speak again, "you want me to back down from a business decision that you aren't strong enough to keep?"

"You KNOW my diary, my portfolio," she hissed. "Every single one of my clients, is this what you plan to do? Steal everything I've worked for?"

Again he laughed, "welcome to the real world, about time you woke up."

With that he hung up and left her feeling worse than demoralised.

"Hey Maxim, what is it with the LOOOOOONG face?"

Max looked up from his position at the end of the bar to see the closest thing he had to a friend wobbling beside him, her voice as unsteady as her feet. He'd met Saskia when he was modelling, a chance to get some money between fights and sponsorship deals in Miami. He had always had a lot of female attention...and male, he knew that he classed as being attractive, and when he was approached by an agency he thought, literally what the hell? And it was like taking candy from a baby.

His second job had been an underwear shoot for a big designer, and he'd met Saskia, she was as blonde as he was dark, her Scandinavian features a compliment to his Slavic ones. They looked amazing on screen, anyone could see that. And she was the only woman who wasn't throwing herself at him. He lived in a very transient world where money, fame, success...all came and went, and for whilst he was top of the tree, half famous, wealthy, successful, everyone wanted a part of him, or what he had. Women wanted sex...and gifts. He obliged some, denied others, but Saskia was different. Not least because she was gay.

So when he was at a loss, needing to get out, he was extremely grateful to find out that she too was in town. But sat at a bar drinking barely adequate vodka whist she danced and flirted with every person under fifty wasn't working out to be as much fun as he thought. She was bouncing beside him, literally on the spot as she watched him and waited for an answer.