Page 88 of Audacity

I may be a greedy little thing, but that’s silly money. Gabe said Mairead was all over the concept and will probably pledge an even greater share of her fortune to the foundation. She said she’d rather be “normal rich” than “will-someone-kidnap-my-kids-rich”.

According to Gabe, Brendan was the least amenable, but he came around. He also has a shit-tonne of money—tens of millions at least—tied up in Sullivan Construction stock, too, which isn’t on the Rath Mor books.

I don’t think he’ll starve. I don’t think any of them will.

The second incredible thing that happened was that they all apparently lapped up the idea of installingmeas the CEO of the foundation. Gabe tells me I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, I’ve made various pointed comments in the past about how painful it is to watch do-gooders with fuck-all business sense trying to run charities, and he claims his family feels the same way. Seemingly, my radical ideas and my “aggression” (Gabe’s word) around the table at the pitch meeting cast Eleanor’s halfhearted efforts to date in a rather unflattering light, and they’re all up for taking a chance on some fresh blood. I even had a lovely text from his sister claiming I was a breath of fresh air and exactly what her family needed to shake things up.

I knew I liked her.

My background may fall somewhere between the raw hunger Gabe’s father and grandfather’s tough upbringing instilled in them and the aristocratic, inbred passivity of Eleanor Whitmore, but I hope my business drive falls somewhere closer to the former. If my results to date resonate with some members of the family, my educational and cultural pedigree is, according to Gabe, pretty much orgasmic from where his mum’s standing.

There’s no doubt I’m young and green for such a huge job. But this foundation will be a collective effort, an opportunity to draw in leading minds from all over the world. All it needs is an audacious little pit bull like me to pull it all together with my customary tirelessness.

Apparently.

I’m working out my notice period this month. Next month, I will move from being a Seraph contractor to an employee of Rath Mor, under whose umbrella the foundation will sit. Also next month, my salary will drop like a stone. Gabe’s actually been pretty concerned about it. He seems to feel terrible, to the extent that he offered to pay a Seraph-level salary out of his own pocket.

I told him, quite eloquently, exactly where he could shove that idea.

You don’t take money from your boyfriend.

You don’t take a penny from the man you’re infatuated with in order to fuck him.

And you certainly don’t take it from a man who has looked at you and seen your whole self and saidyes, you.Who has offered you purpose and opportunity greater than you could ever have imagined. Who has struggled so gravely with his own perceived worthiness of grace and has come from a world of moral absolutes and yet has put the sum total of his faith—a staggering amount—inyou.

So I’ll make do with five figures a month instead of six, and I’ll lean into this gift, and I’ll even allow myself to revel, like the callous little bitch that I am, in the lowkey schadenfreude as Gabe tells the entire firm about my new positions: professional and romantic. George is ecstatic, bless him, other individuals less so.

My crowning glory, my anointing as a Sullivan WAG and a power player in the family’s bold philanthropic efforts, will be a charity gala that takes place next week. Its profoundly ironictitle, given that it’s being hosted by the ancient Cadogan Estate, isThe Future of British Philanthropy.We’ve taken a table for the Sullivan family and Rath Mor team, and Eleanor is positively orgasmic at the prospect.

The only bright spots are that Gabe is giving the keynote speech during dinner, and that he has insisted on treating me to a very fabulous gown for the evening.

Thus I find myself one lunchtime outside the headquarters of demi-couture brand, Gossamer. I know the brand, of course—I followed it on Instagram long before it was folded into the Wright Holdings stable of luxury brands—but I’ve never owned a Gossamer piece. Having a designer dress habit is one thing, but demi-couture, with its incredible workmanship, is a whole other ballgame. That said, when your new and extremely generous boyfriend hooks you up with the Creative Director of such a brand, it would be rude to say no.

I know Natalie Bennett’s romantic partner and principal investor, the outrageously hot billionaire Adam Wright, is a good friend of Gabe’s. It seems I have him to thank for the suggestion that Gabe should give Seraph a spin, in fact. It was he who brought it up one night at Alchemy, prompting Anton and Max to hit my now boyfriend with The Great Athena Pitch.

Clearly, I owe Mr Wright a drink or two. What’s less clear is if Natalie, who is hosting me at her studio today, knows the true nature of my and Gabe’s working relationship to date.

Whatever she knows, she’s delightful. She comes down to the gigantic lobby of Wright Holdings to greet me, a svelte figure in a beautifully tailored black jumpsuit. Her makeup is perfect, the diamonds in her ears and around her wrist absolutely enormous, and her smile is wide.

‘Congratulations on the acquisition,’ I tell her as we enter the lift. I followed the news on her social media as well as in thefinancial press. With Gossamer now an official part of Wright’s empire, I imagine the sky is the limit.

‘Thanks. It helps to sleep with the boss, am I right? Though he insists he bought Gossamer on its merits.’

I throw back my head and laugh, her candour taking me by surprise. I like her instantly. ‘I know something about that.’

‘I bet you do.’ She winks at me, and I know for a fact that she knows. ‘I hear congratulations are in order for you, too. The foundation?’

‘Thank you. And yes, I apparently got the promotion onmyown merits, but who really knows?’

‘I’m pretty confident they’ve fallen for our business minds,’ she tells me as we trot out into a huge, light-filled room that must stretch the entire width of the building. ‘But if they’re enamoured of our other attributes too, who are we to argue?’

The studio is incredible. My knowledge of fashion is limited to avid consumption, so it’s fascinating to see the banks of desks, and the enormous white tables piled high with rolls of fabric, and the stylish, quirky people who populate the space, each bringing their own brand of cool. It couldn’t be more different from most of the places I’ve worked.

Dotted around the space are mannequins in various states of undress. We pass one that’s nothing but a canvas torso on whose décolletage is pinned the most sublime array of pearl beading and tulle.

I could play in this place for hours.

The client area is at the end of the room, set away from the main space.

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