Page 6 of Audacity

Athena

When Anton Wolff’s name lights up on your phone’s display, you don’t decline the call.

For a variety of reasons.

I pause the documentary I’m watching—Winter on Fire, about an uprising in Ukraine a decade ago. It’s compelling and confronting in equal measure. Mr Wolff is guaranteed to provide some light relief.

‘Anton. Hello.’

‘Hello, Athena. How’s tricks?’

I can hear the smile in his voice as he drawls my name, and I swear to God my entire body breaks out in goosebumps. I’m a dog whose owner is clanging a bell and offering me a tasty chicken treat.

‘Still turning them.’ I set down the remote and sit up straighter, shifting in my cashmere cocoon. The sofa is a nest of Loro Piana blankets and throw pillows, all presents from Steve Goodall—the man I currently work for—who is a thoughtful and generous gift giver.

He chuckles. ‘That’s my girl.’

I would like to clarify at this point that I was never actually in love with Anton while I worked for him—not entirely, anyway.He was merely my billionaire boss who, at more than twice my age, commanded me and used me and consumed me, rendering my seven-figure salary thesecond bestthing about working for him.

Not something I can say about my current boss.

Alas, that’s not to say Anton can’t have my nipples hardening with a phrase likethat’s my girl, because the things I used to do—willingly—to earn that phrase in that particularly filthy, intimate tone aren’t easily forgotten.

‘How’s monogamy?’ I ask. It still smarts that he kicked me out as soon as his now-wife, Genevieve, rolled over for him. One Wednesday, he sidled off to Cannes with her and his number two, Max, for a recce of her sex club, the one he was investing in, and by the following Monday morning he was grinning and sun-kissed and telling me, kindly but firmly, that our gig was over.

It made for a hell of a nightmare trying to pass things over remotely to his new EA, that’s for sure. And, while it’s the nature of the job, it can sting.

‘Bloody amazing,’ he says in that cheerful, larger than life voice of his, and I know that this particular instance ofthat’s my girlis a figure of speech and nothing more.

I have to admire his total commitment to this relationship. Genevieve may be his fourth wife, but this one is here to stay. That fact was clear to me as soon as I laid eyes on her. As soon as he lured her into his office and got Max and another colleague to rail her while he let me get him off, I knew that man’s heart was toast.

Along with my job.

‘Glad to hear it.’ I clear my throat. ‘What can I do for you, Anton?’

‘I have a potential position for you,’ he says, and I roll my eyes.

‘I have a position, thank you. And I don’t need a pimp.’

‘Goodall keeping you overflowing with orgasms, is he?’

The derision in his voice is clear. Steve is a thirty-something, socially awkward nerd who runs an innovative hydrogen fuel cell company. I took the role to learn all I could about the renewables sector and because the salary was exceptional. It’s easy money in a fascinating space, and the fact that I have to fake it every Monday, Wednesday and Friday when Steve fucks me, missionary-style, on his office sofa, isn’t a huge deal.

‘That is precisely none of your business.’

It really isn’t, and he knows it. He also knows that I’d never allow any indiscretions where my employers are concerned, ironclad NDAs aside.

His voice softens. ‘Look. I know it isn’t. I’ve just—I’ve got a mate who could use someone exactly like you in his life, and I wanted to at least make you aware of the opening. You’re far too shrewd a businesswoman not to have an eye on the market at all times.’

I sigh. ‘Who is he?’

‘You know I shouldn’t tell you without an NDA.’

‘Your call. Butyoucalledme, remember? And you know I would never repeat our conversations.’

‘His name is Gabriel Sullivan. Gabe.’

I frown, trying to place the name. ‘Sullivan…’

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