Shades of Trust

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

London, The City, Victoria Embankment

The City of London Bank Headquarters

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

10:06 a.m.

Sophia gazed at her watch and whispered to Edward, “I hate waiting.”

“Heavens, Sophia. It’s only been ten minutes.” He smiled at her. “How did you cope with being pregnant with Gabriela for nine months?”

The corners of her lips twisted. “Perfectly fine. I was already working then and if I was bored, I just invented a new idea for her room or bought something new for her.”

“Poor, poor Gabriel.” He chuckled.

“Poor Gabriel?” She giggled, remembering how protective and overwhelming her husband had been. “Poor, poor me! He panicked when I told him I was pregnant. In the last month, he almost locked me inside the apartment.” She repressed a laugh and whispered to him, “When I told him it was time to go the hospital, I thought he was going to faint. But he stayed by my side the whole time. Gabriel was the best husband a woman could wish for, Edward.”

Edward opened his mouth to say something when The City of London Bank CEO’s secretary approached them. “Mr. MacCraig is ready to receive you. This way, please.”

“Sophia, let me do the talking,” Edward whispered in her ear before entering the meeting room.

She paused at the tall, wide door, raised one eyebrow, looked at him, and made a face. Men! “Trust me, Edward, I won’t put my foot in my mouth.” She put a hand on his arm, squeezed and stepped into the room.

Alistair entered the meeting room from the connecting door of his office. The room was empty. He looked at his vintage Patek Philip watch. Wales is already six minutes late.

Alistair didn’t do late. He opened the door to the reception room, looked around and noticed the back of two heads, one dark, one fair, inclined close together, engaged in an intimate conversation. He motioned for his personal assistant to come in. “MacKeenan, could you please let Wales know that he is late while I start the meeting?”

He then scowled at his watch again and turned to look out at the London skyline. A well-known boredom took over his soul.

Another unvaried, insipid day. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. Every day is the same. Will light ever come back to my wearisome life? He heard the door open again.

Another dull meeting discussing this contract. Today, I’ll get this account. At least, something to brighten my day. He pasted a smile on his face, turned on his heels and stepped forward to greet the CEO of Leibowitz Oil.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Suddenly, Alistair’s private sun shed a bright ray of light from behind the dark, heavy clouds that had enclosed his life for more than five years.

Fuck! Davidoff is accompanied by a woman. Nae, not a woman, a beauty. His world spun on its axis, leaving him lightheaded.

He watched, paralyzed, as Sophia paused at the door, made a teasing face at Edward, rested an elegant hand on his arm, spoke something, and gave him a reassuring smile.

Are they lovers? The thought annoyed him. He didn’t know why.

She advanced a few steps and looked around the room, halting with parted lips when her gaze locked with his.

The most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen. Black as night, endless as the universe. Her flawless and honey-dipped skin. Her light caramel eyes, fringed by long lashes. Her thin and straight nose, and her mouth… He felt unsettled. Christ! Her mouth is full and moist. Red. No lipstick, no gloss, just a natural, lush, f*****g mouth.

His gaze surveyed her as she looked at Edward. Her long and slender neck. And she’s biting her full bottom lip and I—I’m getting an erection from this simple action. Ah. f**k. The way she just licked her lips. His lust applauded and he gave himself a brisk mental shake.

For Christ’s sake, Alistair Connor. You’re not a horny teenager anymore. His eyes remained glued to her as she moved in his direction, taking in the movements of her long elegant hands flattening her dress onto her body. Desire and heat shot through him. Lean, voluptuous body. Her legs— Is she a model? He c****d his head to the side. No, not tall enough. What is she doing here? Alistair shook himself inwardly. Stop this. Stop! It’s just another woman. And much too young. Most likely a trainee, or Davidoff’s assistant. In all probability, she’s sharing his bed.

She has an angelic aura around her, but no woman is an angel. He knew women. They fell at his feet every day, offering their bodies for money and status. This one won’t be any different. Christ, I really am a cynic. Come now, Alistair Connor, this is work.

With a smile, he extended his hand.

Sophia looked around the room and froze, dumbstruck. Her heart gave a slam and stopped in her chest. She forgot how to breathe.

A man stared at her. Fixedly, intensely, consuming her. She couldn’t exactly make out his features because of the light coming through the windows.

He remained motionless. So muscular, so tall and so large that his frame shadowed the light that came into the room from the enormous glass windows. His height intimidated because of his broad shoulders and chest, which were not at all hidden by the extremely well-tailored dark charcoal suit, white shirt, and grayish-blue striped tie. His stare never wavered from hers, piercing her soul.

Hmm…he must workout daily. Sophia, focus!

She squinted to have a better look at his face. The exceedingly handsome features and forest-green eyes struck her core. These are the most wonderful eyes I’ve seen in my whole life. They were intense, so intense that they seemed to burst into green flames, enhanced by ink-dark, long and full lashes and his slightly tanned skin. Perfect. God was inspired when He made him. He seemed designed by an Italian master painter.

He had midnight-black hair, worn in an unfashionable way, longer than usual, with uneven, long shredded bangs on the left side of his face and jagged ends, falling in straight and thick strands to his shoulders, almost past them.

Windblown! I have never seen a sexier haircut. If it is cut at all. It seemed he has scissor-cut them himself. And in a hurry.

He had a straight nose, high cheekbones, chiseled large jaw. His upper lip was thin, but extremely well shaped and his bottom lip was fuller.

Delicious. Pink lips. Dark pink lips. I want to lick these lips.

Unconsciously, Sophia wet her own lips with a sensuous glide of her tongue and felt desire building in her body.

He absentmindedly brushed aside a lock of midnight-black hair when it fell over his eyes, smoothing out his stern and stiff stance.

She wished she could repeat the gesture herself. To plunge her hands into that hair and grip it to bring his head to her and kiss those lips.

How can pink be so male? Sophia shook her head, as if to free herself from the spell that he’d cast on her. But he had ensnared her in his trap. She turned to glance at Edward, who stood behind her, as if asking his permission.

Permission? Permission to do what? She didn’t know. It seemed Edward knew, because he gave a small imperceptible nod.

She walked in his direction. Step-by-step, as her high-heels sank into the plush carpet, her body seemed to move in slow motion. Sophia became conscious of her light pink YSL dress with a large turquoise alligator belt and she ran a hand down her stomach and thighs to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles of her dress.

She almost choked with the force of his lustful gaze as his eyes followed her movement, appraising her.

Sophia halted less than two feet from him.

Oh, my. He looks like a god, a perfect Roman statue in flesh, oozing raw sensuality… She craned her neck to look at his six-foot-six stature, and his eyes. God! These eyes…they see through me. His mouth—it’s totally succulent—and it’s moving. Damn!

He spoke to her and she hadn’t understood a word.

She looked down and saw he had stretched out his hand toward her. In a haze, she put her suddenly cold hand in his warm one and he closed his around hers. A shock flared her blood into lava. “I-I’m sorry?” she stammered.

Aye, it’s always the same. Another one falling for handsome features and body. Pity. But, f**k it. Wasn’t I bored? Why not have some fun? Make your move, Alistair Connor.

“Alistair Connor Davenport MacCraig, CEO of The City of London Bank. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he repeated, raising a devilish black eyebrow at her speechless state.

“Good morning, MacCraig. This is—” Edward said from directly behind her.

“Sophia Santo,” she said, recovering from her state of bewilderment, and shook his hand.

A firm, pleasant handshake. Good. He eyed her again from head to toe.

“I’m head of the legal department at Leibowitz Oil, Mr. MacCraig. How do you do?”

“Head of the legal department?” Alistair’s smile waned. “Any problem with the contract, Davidoff?” He greeted Edward and motioned to the table. “Please, let’s sit. Mr. Wales will arrive any moment now. Can I offer any refreshments? Water, tea, coffee?” He pressed a button on the wireless telephone that sat on a side table.

“Coffee and water would be fine, thanks.” Sophia seated herself at the head of the table and received a startled gaze from Alistair that she countered with raised brows and an inquisitive look.

“Davidoff? Anything?”

“The same, please.”

While he asked for the refreshments, he noticed Sophia glancing at her watch and thinning her lips.

He glanced at his. Damn. Wales is really late.

“Mr. MacCraig, Mr. Davidoff assured me that you were fully aware of the contract terms and that we could discuss them with you. Shall we start?”

Alistair looked at Edward, who glared at Sophia. “If it pleases you. So, Ms. Santo—”

“Mrs. Santo,” she corrected him. “My points,” and she emphasized the plural, “are…” She raised her left hand to stress the points.

He noticed her bare ring finger. Interesting! Mrs. Santo doesn’t wear a wedding band.

“—fees are too high; secondly, the guaranties asked are exaggerated; and lastly, the penalty clauses are absurd.” She took out four copies of the draft from her briefcase, handing one to him, the other to Edward, and kept two.

Hmm. Organized. His copy was all marked and noted. Her handwriting appeared neat, clean, and firm, with a touch of swirls showing her feminine side. The right amount of flourish and power. Feminine and bold. I like that. Mrs. Santo isn’t prudish.

She leafed through her copy. “If you please look at clause number eleven you will see that you’re demanding a hundred and fifty percent as guaranty for the loan. We are a solid firm, Mr. MacCraig, there’s no reason for this.”

He flicked his eyes at an impassive Edward. Seems that she’s more than a gorgeous face on a wondrous body. Mrs. Santo has brains and wields power. “I should say, Mrs. Santo that we demand this percentage because of the large loan amount. It’s a long-term loan and we’re charging you quite a low rate of interest.”

“Maybe you think so. We don’t.” Sophia didn’t even look at Edward. She could see from the corner of her eye his unhappiness with her. “With such a high guaranty, we could surely find a cheaper way of raising funds. You’re making exaggerated claims. We aren’t devoid of other possibilities or in such a hurry. I perfectly understand that your bank is a private institution and what your main goal is.” She leaned in his direction.

Christ! Alistair noticed the swell of her breasts pushing the neckline. He wished for an even lower neckline.

“But ours is the same and—”

MacKeenan entered the room with the refreshments and served them. “Mr. Wales arrives momentarily, Mr. MacCraig.”

“Thank you, MacKeenan,” Alistair said. “So, you were saying…”

Edward used the gap to jump into the conversation, “What Mrs. Santo is trying to convey is that the conditions are too harsh and that we could arrange for milder fees—”

The door opened and Charles Wales came in. The men rose to greet him, but Sophia stayed seated, making a show of looking at her watch.

Aye, Wales is definitely late. It appears she detests unpunctuality as much as I do. Another point for you, Mrs. Santo.

“Miss San—”

“Mrs. Santo,” Sophia muttered dryly, interrupting him. “Seems that your memory fails you, Mr. Wales.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “As always.”

“A pleasure to see you again.” Wales continued as if nothing had happened and he leered at her figure. He extended his hand.

Sophia handed him a copy of the contract, avoiding his hand, being nearly uncivil.

Alistair observed the weird exchange with keen eyes. Something is wrong here.

Sophia impatiently drilled her nails on the glass tabletop.

Long dark-red nails! How did I not notice them before? How would they feel against my back? He almost hissed with the imaginable pleasure. Are her toenails painted the same shade? Alistair found himself wondering how she would behave in bed. Rather, in his bed.

He speculated about her, watching her graceful and sophisticated movements as Wales proceeded with the dull explanations about interest and guaranties. Who is this woman? Not the lawyer, but the beauty that goes home every day to her husb— Husband! She’s married, Alistair Connor. You don’t do married women.

His gaze wandered to Wales, who drooled over her unabashedly. He pictured her as Wales was surely doing. Naked.

This is disconcerting. Perhaps she’s Davidoff’s secret weapon? I should have guessed by the way she ambled in my direction that she has passion in her veins, but she seems so self-control—

“MacCraig?” Edward asked, taking Alistair’s head out of the clouds.

Double f**k! I have to rein in these wayward thoughts. “Pardon?”

Edward smiled at him with a knowing look in his blue eyes.

Aye. Secret weapon.

“Page thirty-three, the penalty clauses,” Edward informed, his smile widening as if he was aware of Sophia’s effect on Alistair.

He browsed the contract and quickly apprehended the notes in the margin. What the f**k? Alistair stiffened in his seat and looked at Wales, Edward, and last at Sophia.

A sardonic look was imprinted on her face. She delicately raised a raven eyebrow and tapped her pen on the center of her mouth.

Christ! Her mouth. Alistair gazed down at the penalty clauses to distract himself from her mouth. These clauses are absurd! “I can see you have made some pertinent notes on these clauses, Mrs. Santo. I’m sure I can arrange to settle them somewhat differently.” He gave her a charming smile.

She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and again, drilled her red long nails on the glass covering the wooden table.

If this continues, I’ll be unable to stand when the meeting ends.

She narrowed her eyes at him, changing her stance.

Oh, come on…you can do better than this, Alistair Connor. He wanted the Leibowitz Oil account and now he wanted this woman to bend to his will. Let’s see how much longer she resists me. Alistair swung the chair in her direction, casually crossed his legs and, slightly bending his torso, stared deeply into her eyes, not concealing his desire. “What do you desire, Mrs. Santo?” he asked in his deep, husky voice, letting the double meaning hang in the air.

Sophia’s mouth went dry and she tilted her head to the side. God. What just hit me? Her lips parted and she forgot what she needed to say.

Edward came to Sophia’s rescue again, “Exactly what is written, MacCraig.”

Oh, hell, Mr. MacCraig, you are so not doing this. Sophia snapped out of her reverie. Don’t push your luck, Mr. I’m-so-handsome-and-I-know-it. This is business. “Let me be honest, Mr. MacCraig.”

“Please,” Alistair said.

She put her jeweled dragon Cartier pen on the contract with finality and entwined her long fingers in an elegant gesture, shifting in her chair to lean away from him. “These penalties are incompatible with a firm of our size and solidity. The fees and guaranty clauses are inconsistent with our corporate policy. You’re dealing with Leibowitz Oil, for God’s sake.”

“And?” Alistair asked.

“You can do better than this, Mr. MacCraig.” She gave him a knowing smile. “We’d like you to modify the highlighted terms as best you can. We could set another meeting to—”

“Miss Santo,” Wales interrupted her. “I have told you before. These are our final conditions.”

“They are legally—”

“Every time you postpone the signing of this contract, you waste a business opportunity for Leibowitz, Miss Santo,” Wales, undiplomatic, put forth and continued pushing her. “You have more to lose than us.”

Sophia’s temper snapped. “Mr. Wales, I think you haven’t properly researched Leibowitz Oil. This loan…”—she tapped the contract with her pen—“is just a means to expand our business. We’re doing extremely well without it, no thanks to you.”

“If I may say, Miss Santo, since the death of Gabriel Leibowitz and the disappearance of his wife and daughter, Leibowitz Oil has lost a great deal of its credibility.” Wales sneered at her. “It’s sinking without him. We’re your salvation.”

Alistair squinted when Sophia blanched.

“I don’t see what the lives of Mr. Leibowitz’s widow and child have to do with the company, sir,” Sophia murmured dryly.

“Well, although Davidoff has been doing great in steering the company, everyone knows Mr. Leibowitz was the brains behind it. It was said that his widow was very astute, but rumor has it she is dead.”

When Wales finished, Sophia held the arms of her chair to avoid reacting but Edward noticed and leaped to steady her. His voice had the sharp edge of barely controlled rage when he said, “MacCraig, seems to me that Wales doesn’t know whom he’s talking to.”

Alistair’s eyes sent daggers in Wales’s direction. “Davidoff, I’ll ask the legal department to review these clauses and Wales will—”

“I think we have concluded our business with your bank, Mr. MacCraig.” Sophia rose and leaned on Edward, who wrapped an arm around her, snaking it around her waist, offering protection, comfort, and support.

Immediately, the other two men rose.

Alistair noticed every nuance of the embrace.

It was Wales’s turn to pale. “Mrs. Santo…please, sit. I’m sure we can find—”

Ah. Not Miss anymore? “We no longer have anything to discuss with you, Mr. Wales,” she stated, her voice as cold as the Arctic.

“Mrs. San—” he tried to insist.

“I’ll handle this, Wales,” Alistair intervened, raising a hand to forestall more damage. “Mrs. Santo, if there is anything I can personally do—”

“We, at Leibowitz, don’t base our conclusions or business decisions on rumors.” Her tone dripped acid. “And, Mr. MacCraig… ”—she gazed deeply into his eyes, any hint of the previous desire gone—“if you really want to do business with us, you will have to accept the terms. Our terms, from now on.”

She calmly put her pen in her bag, packed her draft and Edward’s in her briefcase, closing it firmly. She held her hand out to Alistair.

He enveloped it with his much bigger one as he stared intensely at her.

“I bid you good day, Mr. MacCraig,” she said softly, staring into his beautiful green eyes. Searching. For what exactly, she didn’t know.

Sophia left the room with a cool demeanor.

One that wouldn’t deter Alistair for a second.