Page 97 of Audacity

But it’s too late. The word is already spilling from my lips.

‘Minerva.’

His face collapses in disbelief.Grief.That’s the only way I can describe it.

This man has watched me get dicked down by a roomful of guys and not utter a word of complaint.

And now I’ve safed out over a kiss from the only human being who’s ever really seen me as more than a pretty face and a useful brain. The only human who believes my soul may be just as worthy of veneration as my looks and my mind.

The reason?

The raw vulnerability I feel in this moment is more life-threateningly terrifying than I have ever felt in any sexual encounter.

If this isn’t rock bottom, I don’t know what is.

CHAPTER 50

Athena

Iwill allow myself precisely one weekend to fall apart.

One.

And then I will assume my armour and sharpen my weapons and go forth in the world like the glittering goddess after who I’m named, and I will be as implacable and impenetrable as I’ve ever been, and woe betide anyone out there who tries to belittle me.

In the meantime, though, I have some thinking to do as I fall apart, because a call late last night from Jenny Baldwin proved eye-opening in the extreme.

When I threatened that creepy shit, Giles Harrington, it was a matter of principle. You have to learn that you don’t get to mouth off and ruin someone’s life without serious consequence, no matter how much of an entitled prick you are. In that moment, I lashed out in an attempt to make him feel a fraction of the fear, the disempowerment, he made me feel with his vicious, unnecessary words, and I absolutely intended to follow up and make him pay.

What I hadn’t bargained on, really, was that the payout itself could be significant for me.

Not until last night, that was.

‘He’s the CEO of a FTSE 100 company that’s already been dragged through the press for governance issues, and he’s a non-exec on three more FTSE 100 boards,’ Jenny pointed out with her trademark straightforwardness. ‘Believe me, he doesnotwant this going to court. Given that his behaviour was deliberate and malicious, I expect you’re looking at seven figures, easy. Maybe as much as three million.’

I almost spat out my wine, and I’m still reeling this morning. That’sthree yearsof a Seraph salary. If I allow myself to press pause on my plans to ascend that express lift right to the top, then that kind of money buys me time and, more importantly, freedom.

I believe in Seraph. I wouldn’t do a job like this without the protection a firm like that offers, and the team has proved its mettle over the past thirty-six hours. But, at some point, I’ll want to leave and do my own thing. I’ve always thought that would be in a C-suite somewhere, but perhaps it’s time to pull a Taylor Swift and bet on myself, to create myownC-Suite where I call the shots and I’m not beholden to the favour or discretion of any man for my success.

Of the many blessings Gabe has given me, one is that self-belief, and another is a taste of how it could feel to be at the helm of something important. To be the key decision maker.

Three million pounds would not only buy me a very long holiday, but it would make for a shitload of seed capital if I wanted to start my own venture. The only question is what kind of venture?

That such a huge payout would financially crucify Harrington makes the entire thing even sweeter.

As the day goes on, I cling to this idea Jenny has planted like a life raft. It’s the first development that’s allowed me to feel remotely empowered; it’s the only thing that stops me fromcurling up in a ball on the floor of my shower until the water runs cold.

Because every other thing that’s happened, from the loss of a dazzling new opportunity to the way I’ve treated the best man I’ve ever known, has me aghast and grief-stricken and hollowed out with shame.

Daytime drinking is something I should do more often. I pass the hours with the numbing effect of an excellent Meursault—drowning my sorrows in cheap wine would be an indignity too far. I forsake my usual educational documentaries in favour ofThe Parisian Agency, hoping in vain that the arresting combination of French house porn and French man porn will visually overwrite the image of Gabe’s devastation when I safed out and basically ran from the room after his declaration of love.

Around four o’clock, Marlowe joins me on my sofa, having dispatched Tabs to a sleepover party at a friend’s house. She has far too much on her plate right now to be worrying about me, but she’s here anyway. I don’t want to talk about any of it—I just want to watch hot French guys deal with totally contrived drama—but she stays anyway and even helps me drink.

When Sophia turns up around an hour later, looking altogether too healthy and happy and holding a massive bag of takeout from my favourite Lebanese, I’m genuinely surprised. I know for a fact she’s been in Athens this week.

‘How the hell did you get here?’ I ask her as she engulfs me in one of her signature bear hugs.

‘Camille called me yesterday morning. That fucking twat. I knew you wouldn’t reach out, you daft cow, so I thought I’d come to you. Thad gave me the jet for the weekend.’

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