COPY RIGHT: 2011 All Rights Reserved
'Give the lady another vodka and red bull,' Tessa heard the crisp voice from the other end of the bar. He had to be referring to her. She was the only female left amongst the late evening bar flies. She coiled her head to look in his direction and liked what she saw.
Blond, grey brown eyes. Such an unusual combination. He had a pretty boy face and the arrogance to go with it. He probably drove a flashy Italian car and earned a six figure income like the rest of the young executives who hung around this trendy and very expensive bar. Nobody asked the price of a drink, nor paid in hard currency. The common legal tender seemed to be black plastic cards. Not that the owner requested that, it just seemed the only method the super rich patrons preferred. Tessa smiled now at the blonde, raised her glass thanking him for the drink, and downed it in one quick gulp. He seemed to think his purchase would get him to at least first base and boldly sauntered over to Tessa.
'How about we get a table?' he spoke softly in her ear. Fumes of expensive whiskey tinged his breadth.
'Thank you for the drink,' Tessa smiled, her eyes locking with his, but I'm leaving.'
'I thought we were just getting started,' he attempted to block her exit.
'Put that drink on my tab will you Marco,' Tessa instructed the barman and brushed past the blond.
'Right you are Tess, Marco saluted.
Tessa slung her bag over her shoulder and with only the slightest difficulty climbed into her tomato red convertible. She should not have had that last drink, she did not want to be over the legal limit, but the blond was wanting to make contact and she'd seen him there for the third night in a row. She thought he was good looking enough, but she wanted to play him for a while. That always increased the adrenalin rush and made thinks so much more exciting. It was late, or rather the early hours of the morning, when Tessa tried to sneak upstairs, hoping nobody was still awake.
'Is that you Tessa?' she heard her fathers' sharp voice.
'Daddy, I thought you'd be in bed,' Tessa dropped her keys softly on the cabinet.
'When are you going to stop this wild party ways of yours and marry a decent man,' her father sang the same old song she'd been hearing for close on a year now.
'Define "decent" daddy,' she threw at him, 'someone like you perhaps?' she challenged, the green rims of her eyes becoming glacial.
'Don't you use that tone of voice on me young lady!' he growled.
'Cut you off and throw you out, is what I should do,' he threatened like he did everytime he sensed his daughter getting the better of him.
'Should I move out tonight then daddy?' she picked up her keys again. She loved this home she was born in, grew up in.
She had been to many picturesque parts of the world. London, Wales, Sydney, Hong Kong, Italy, Paris, Cape Town. None compared to this paradise. She had precious fond memories here, but if her father wanted her out. She was not going to beg to stay.
Her father glared at her before turning his back on her and stormed back into the living room. Tessa wondered why she put up with her overbearing father. Why did she continue to make the thirty minute journey every day from Scarsdale to the Manhattan and back? Not that she needed his roof over her head or his allowance. She did have an apartment in the city, when she needed privacy, and she was earning her own salary, but her father continued to give her a lavish allowance. Numerous attempts to dissuade him fell on deaf ears, so Tessa just diverted the funds into a trust account which was untouched for almost three years and doing very handsomely for her thank you very much.
'I should not have had that last drink,' she chastised herself after showering and sliding into bed. Tomorrow would be another long day in the office. She did not want to be reeking of alcohol or nursing a mother of a hangover. She popped two pills, downed a bottle of sparkling water and lifted up the satin sheets over her naked body.
'Hey Tessa got one for you,' Fabian the accountant knocked her shoulder playfully.'
'I'm listening,' she tilted her glass of martini to her lips.
'I met the devil himself this morning,' Fabian started.
"Mmm mm,' Tessa prompted'
'He said "I should tell you that , "he can arrange some things for you, increase your income five-fold. Find you a partner who will love you; clients who will respect you; you'll have four months of vacation each year and live to be a hundred. All he requires in return is that you hand him your boss's and your father's soul to rot in hell for eternity," Fabian concluded.
'What's the catch?' Tessa smirked, popping an olive into her mouth.
'No,' Fabian groaned, dropping his forehead over his arm.
'I've got one for you,' Tessa pulled him up by his hair.
'I don't want to hear it,'
'What do accountants use as birth control?' Tessa quipped.
'Their personality,' the blonde from the previous day butted in.
'That was low even for you Tessa,' Fabian swiped her glass and finished her drink.
'I'll dance with you if you guess my name,' the blonde arrogantly whispered in Tessa's ear.
'I don't need to guess, ' she confidently held his eyes, 'you're Trace Douglas.'
Trace elaborately bowed before Tessa and extended his hand. There were couples already dancing on the tiles. A familiar pop song was thumping out of the sound system, Tessa placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. She loved dancing. She danced exceptionally well. She did not often find partners who could match her flexible dance moves, but Trace held his own, quiet comfortably. Tessa smiled, acknowledging him as a worthy partner. She placed her palms on his shoulders and moved closer to him. His sturdy palms cupped her waist and glided her skilfully on the limited space on the dance floor. They danced nonstop for three consecutive dances trying to outdo each other, neither seemed to gain the victory, then suddenly the music turned slow tempo. Trace refused to relinquish his hold. His arms circled her waist, pulling her up closer against his body. She let him, her hands wrapping around his neck. They twirled around almost in slow motion, gazing into each other's eyes. Trace lowered his head, and his lips captured hers. Her lips teased his then pulled away. He reached for her again, but she playfully angled her head away. Impatiently he gripped the nape of her neck, holding her in position so she had no escape. Tessa laughed softly, and yielded to the kiss. Her fingers raked into his hair, taking from him what she wanted, both fighting for the dominant position. Somewhere a flash went off. Tessa ignored it. She was tired of cameras snapping her. She was tired of the hide and seek she played with photographers. She tugged his arm.
'Let's get out of here,' she urged, dragging him along.
'My car__' Trace spoke.
'I have an apartment nearby,' Tessa spoke hurriedly, 'we can get there quicker in my car.'
She knew the cameramen would catch her outside. They knew her car only too well. The cameras went berserk when she stepped out.
'The red Ferrari,' Tessa spoke softly and dashed to the driver's seat.
Trace whistled as he held the driver's door open for her.
'Hurry, get in,' she exclaimed as she snapped on her safety belt.
'Wow talk about diva status!' Trace whistled again.
'I'm not a diva,' she grinned, 'now buckle up.'
'You're the media baron's daughter. You are a diva,' he insisted.
She refused to argue with people who had preconceived ideas about her. She was not going to argue with Trace. She only wanted one thing from him tonight. The same thing he wanted, after that they would part company, and she would not need to worry about his ill conceived opinions. He was good looking he had an attractive body, that was all she was interested in tonight.
'What car do you drive?' she smiled, as she skilfully changed gear, taking the car around the bend.
He proudly named the top of the range sports convertible he drove, and she looked across at him and nodded as if the car bespoke his own status. Tessa checked her rear view mirror, and saw she was being followed by motorcycles. She tapped on the accelerator, but kept to the speed limit, they knew exactly where her apartment was, why break the law?
'This is no apartment,' Trace murmured against her lips, 'this is a diva's penthouse,'
'Shut up. You talk too much,' she ripped his shirt off and captured his mouth again.
'This is a beautiful number you're wearing, but I want you out of it,' Trace groaned unzipping her dress. 'Good lord, ' he cried out huskily, as his fingers touched lace suspenders.
'Tessa grinned,' making light work of removing his trousers.
'Wow you're so hot,' his fingers trailed over her slender thighs.
'Did I tell you, you talk too much?' she playfully moved away, as his fingers sought to capture her moist sensitive part.
'Don't tease me now sweetheart,' he pleaded.
She helped him slip on the condom. They went on a journey that always made her feel ecstatic pleasure, sheer bliss, temporary heaven and they did it once more, before they both showered. Tessa slipped on more comfortable clothes and had a cab drop Trace of to where his car was.
'Have you seen this morning's paper?' Joseph von Biljoen raised his voice at his daughter.
'Is it different from last week's, or last month's?' Tessa glared at her father.
'You are a constant disgrace to me Tessa,' her father hurled.
'You are the owner of that gutter press daddy. Why don't you stop printing rubbish?'
'The public has an interest__'
'I am not a terrorist,' she started, 'neither am I a murderess, or a treasonist or in possession of weapons of mass destruction. That is news worthy material. That would be in the public's interest, not whom I sleep with,' she spat at her father.
'The media have been insanely obsessed with you since you turned sixteen,' he raged. ' Can you not be discreet about your__activities?'
'I was hardly having sex on the bar counter at JeTag,' Tessa glared at the photos of her and Trace kissing on the dance floor. It did look obscene how close their bodies were to each other. Trace's palm low, almost on her buttocks. Her glamorous cocktail dress lifting, almost revealing her slender inner thighs, but she was never going to concede anything to her father.
'I wish somebody would close down that trashy bar you frequent,' he father groaned, his palms covering his face.
'JeTag is not trashy daddy. It's an exclusive and classy night spot. Your newspaper is what's trashy. If something needs to be shut down it's your gutter press__'
'My gutter press is what bought you your flashy car, the designer clothes you wear. The fancy private school you went to and your Harvard tuition fees,' he threw at her.
True he did gift her with the Ferrari. He also pampered her with every luxury she had ever desired, but he had not needed to pay her university tuition. Tessa had, had a list the length of her arm of companies that had wanted to sponsor her university tuition, but she had been weary of all the restraining clauses all the companies threw into their contracts, so she'd opted for her father paying the fees, something she was constantly beginning to regret.
'Father,' she stood up determinedly.
Her father's head swung up, she only ever called him father when she was furiously angry with him.
'I want you to stop paying me the allowance you do. Do you know I have not touched a single cent of your money in three years. It's all collecting dust and interest in a trust account. I am sure there is more than adequate funds there to cover your expenses of my car, all the fees you ever paid and still some left over. I want you to have it all,' she shoved her chair back.
'You think I need your money. I make more than what you have there in one day__'
'No doubt the filth your gutter press publishes is a cash cow you and your trashy journalists thrive on, irrespective of the fact that you invade people's privacy. You own daughter's privacy, just to sell your trash,' she yelled back. 'Perhaps I should become your official brand ambassador, after all my body sells your newspaper father!'
'Don't you__'
'Forget it!' Tessa interrupted her father slicing her hand into the air. 'I am moving out father. You sicken me. You vocation and your business empire sickens me. You should sell that company you own__'
'Sell my company! My grandfather started __'
'I've heard it all since I was two bricks high father. Only your grandfather and your father were credible and ethical journalists,' Tessa let that sink in, and observed her father's eyes narrow with disappointment. Whether with himself or his daughter, it was difficult to tell.
'A penny for them?' Marco spoke softly
'What?' Tessa lifted her head.
'You're very quiet. You don't normally come in here this early,' he noted. 'You're sitting with the same glass for more than half an hour. You usually down about three drinks in that time,' he concluded.
'I should have shares here,' Tessa smiled looking around.
'You can't afford to buy into this place,' Marco joked.
'I'm not surprised with the exorbitant prices you rip the customers off with,' she grinned.
They were shamelessly expensive, she always checked the expenses when she meticulously reconciled her credit card account. A drink at JeTag cost almost double the price of a whole bottle of whatever alcohol one drank. Patrons did not frequent JeTag for the alcohol. They came to network with other wealthy socialites and executives. Money was no object to any of JeTag's loyal patrons. Tessa loved the vibe at JeTag, and often it was like acquiring insider trading information when she sat at the bar counter. Men spoke freely, openly after a few drinks. Most deals were cemented here at JeTag's before it was signed and sealed in boardrooms. She trusted her instincts when she carefully drafted contracts for her clients. Instincts honed from studying the behaviour of some of the patrons who were often indirect clients of her company.
"I say we put in an offer for forty cents and merge our systems," Tessa overheard Fabian's principal suggesting.
"They won't want our system. We certainly can't use theirs," Fabian commented.
Tessa swung her head around. She knew exactly the merger they were talking about. Fabian's principal had enlisted her law firm to draft the merger and acquisition proposal. She had been studying their hundred and three page document before she'd left her office. Too keyed up after the argument with her father that morning, she'd locked the document in her safe and headed for JeTag's.
'Ms von Biljoen, I did not know you frequented __this establishment,' he looked to find the name of the bar. Both men rose simultaneously.
''Oh she has shares here,' Fabian joked.
'Sit down please, and call me Tessa, Mr. Jackson.'
'Well if you're Tessa, then I'm Carl,' he smiled, extending a chair for her.
'No I must be off, but you need to check page six__.'
Tessa stopped speaking, her brain went into freeze frame of its own accord. The hairs at the back of her head stood up as she stared mesmerized at the face of the man sitting across the table from them. His head was down studying something, a file on the table. His nerd looking bespectacled companion watched Tessa with interest, his eyes amused, a grin beginning to twitch at his lips. Oh she recognized that look in his eye, she responded to it often. She was not interested in him, but his companion __.
'Tessa!' Fabian hissed, knowing only too well the cause of her distraction.
Tessa dragged her eyes back, called on her brain to function again. Now what were they talking about?
'You mentioned page six?' Carl prompted, oblivious to the cause of her distracted state.
Tessa nodded, 'you cover a niche market. They don't. Your I.T. system is much more advanced. Their outdated system cannot be integrated with yours. You have to look at long term growth and sell off some of their non core products. In view of that, the forty cents you're proposing is too high,' she concluded.
'How do you know we want to offer forty cents?' Carl looked accusingly at Fabian.
'I overheard you, before I joined you,' she spoke apologetically.
Carl looked down sheepishly.
'No conversations are safe or secure here,' Tessa stole another glance at the table opposite her. He was still pouring over whatever was in the damn file.
'I see,' Carl nodded.
'Anyway gentlemen, I must be on my way,' Tessa stood up.
Both men stood as she walked off. She had to pass that table from across, on her way out. She was almost near that table when Carl called out to her.
'Tessa?'
She looked over her shoulder in response to Carl calling out to her. Self consciously she ran her palm down the side of her pencil skirt, something she'd never done previously. She was normally bold and confident, but for some reason not right now.
'In light of what you've just mentioned, can I see you tomorrow?'
'Anytime after ten,' she smiled and turned around again.
Her voice seemed to have distracted him, for his face was now trained on her, his eyes locked with hers. Tessa kept walking, the polite smile still on her face, she did not slow her pace or falter, she just confidently carried herself out.
'So that's Tessa von Biljoen,' that man spoke matter of fact.
'Yes sir,' the man's companion confirmed.
'So what do we know about her?' that man asked, ignoring the adjectives his brain reeled about her cascading brunette mane of hair, her radiant, intelligent emerald eyes, the hour glass shape, the longest sexiest legs he'd seen on a female, and the voice when she'd spoken, husky and appealing, and her scent, a mixture of expensive French perfume and the lady's unique scent. She was classy, she was stylish, she was sex on wheels. Bradley Blakely compelled his brain to pay attention to what the investigator he'd hired, to find all the information he could on Tessa von Biljoen, was saying to him.
'Tessa von Biljoen went to private school, Mr. Blakely,' the investigator spoke. 'She was a model student worked diligently all through high school, achieving distinctions in all her subjects. She has an impressive IQ and was accepted at Harvard at age sixteen. She was amongst one of the youngest students to qualify with an honours degree in commercial law at age twenty two. She was spoilt for choice when she walked out of university, but for the last three years has been working for the international law firm Kern and Byron. She is twenty five years old and has a penchant for kick boxing.'
I could think of some delectable ways to put those sexy unending legs to use, Bradley Blakely's stoic face did not reflect his thoughts. His mind conjured a picture of her lying naked under him. Her slender unending legs wrapped around his hips.
'She works hard and she plays harder,' the investigator smiled.
Bradley Blakely resented the investigators' tone of voice and glared at him menacingly, resulting in the investigator cowering and shifting his papers nervously.
'I pay you an astronomical fee for facts, not your opinions, Mr. Canning,' Bradley Blakely growled.
'Yes sir,' the man recoiled.
'This is the bar Ms. Von Biljoen frequents most evenings,' the investigator added. 'She goes to gym regular like clockwork four mornings a week. Most weekends she spends on her father's estate in Scarsdale. She has a penthouse suite right here in Manhattan. She __enjoys playing a certain game here in this bar. It's all in my report,' the man quickly finished.
'Thank for your services Mr. Canning. That will be all,' Bradley Blakely handed an envelope to the investigator, who promptly nodded, and scurried away.
Bradley Blakely studied the file of photographs the investigator had taken of Tessa. Photos of her, laughing happily, here around a group of men at the bar. Another photo of her in a mini cocktail dress dancing erotically with a blonde youngster about her age. There were many more photos of her, pumping iron in the gym; entering her offices; at her father's mansion. One photo had her entering her penthouse on the arm of that same blond gentleman. Another photo of her and a different gentleman leaving her penthouse in the early hours of a different morning. Ms. Von Biljoen was almost a standing item either on the back page or page three practically every week of the International Reporter newspaper that her father owned.
The first thing Bradley Blakely was going to do when he took ownership of that trashy newspaper was change its name, then he will give it new strategic direction. It seemed the only brief the newspaper had to report on was Who is Ms. Von Biljoen doing today? She might be stunningly beautiful. She might be the ideal centrefold, but Bradley Blakely will be damned if he was going to rely on the sultry Ms. Von Biljoen to sell his newspaper for him. Joseph von Biljoen and his daughter may think that, that was the best strategy to sell newspapers, but he will present his new strategy to the Board of the International Reporter, once he acquired Ms. Von Biljoen's twenty three percent share of that company. And he knew just how to go about acquiring those sharers, for he was well informed that the striking Ms. Von Biljoen never said no to a challenge.
-end chapter one-