Page 73 of Audacity

With his fingertips, he traces the bumps of my spine through my dress, one by one.

He calls them his rosary beads.

He callsmehis rosary.

Says I was sent to him as a channel for his prayers.

His voice is soft when he speaks.

‘If you knew what I had planned for your birthday, you wouldn’t say that.’

CHAPTER 37

Athena

On your birthday, you dress up.

That’s my rule, anyhow.

You dress up particularly carefully if your gorgeous boss has been dropping intriguing hints that he has something special planned for you. I know he plans to take me out for dinner this evening—he’s already asked my permission—but I suspect he has something else up that Italian wool sleeve of his.

Today, therefore, I’m in a frothy silk Gucci dress whose powder blue georgette complements the dusky tones of my hydrangeas perfectly. Gabe may have instructed George to change my desk’s floral arrangements weekly, an indulgence that pleases George and yields me no end of pleasure, but he’s pushed the boat out for my birthday, with masses of blue and white hydrangeas, white snowberries, and green-grey eucalyptus.

Regular check-ins from Gabe and a thoughtful gift from George aside—a gorgeous coffee table book devoted to the Birkin which will go perfectly in my flat—my day has proceeded much as usual. I sit in my finery and work away on the foundation, eager for the hours to tick by and my surprise to unfold.

Christopher Marlowe’s famousDoctor Faustusquote, lifted from Ovid, goes thus:lente, lente, currite noctis equi—slowly, slowly, run, horses of the night. I feel the opposite. Quickly, quickly, run, horses of the day, and pull the hand of time around that clock face, for God’s sake. Gabe hasn’t even touched me today, despite telling me how exquisite I look.

Mid-afternoon ticks by, then late afternoon. I’ve tried asking George if he knows what my surprise is. The upshot is that he does, but that he has no intention whatsoever of telling me. Smug, discreet bastard.

It’s late afternoon, and all that stands between me and sinful freedom with Gabe is a meeting he’s put in the diary with some individuals he’s hoping to sound out about the foundation. Apparently, they’re all business leaders who may sign up to collaborate with us on various social and environmental initiatives. I asked him if he wanted me to put together any briefing notes for the meeting, but he said he had it all in hand.

At just before five o’clock, he swings past my desk, tugging on his suit jacket. ‘I’m going to go greet our visitors. Follow me up in ten minutes, why don’t you?’

I do as he says, checking over his inbox one more time before I leave my desk. With any luck, we can both head out right after we’ve wrapped this meeting up.

One floor up from Gabe’s office is the hospitality suite, where a variety of meeting rooms of various sizes are situated. It’s decorated just as beautifully as our floor, with plush cream carpets and perfectly lit oil paintings. When I enter the appointed meeting room, I count Gabe plus four other guys, all in suits, standing around and making small talk. The large projector screen is on, showing the generic Rath Mor screensaver, and the blinds have been shut, giving it an intimate atmosphere on this bright spring evening.

‘Ah,’ he says as I shut the door behind me, ‘everyone’s here. Good.’ He walks over to me and puts a hand on the small of my back, which is more familiar than he’d usually allow himself to be in front of strangers, but I like it. ‘Gentlemen, this is my wonderful executive assistant, Athena.’

They stop talking and come forward to shake my hand one by one. As they do, I can’t help but notice they’re all indecently hot. If I’d known all philanthropists were this attractive, I might have exercised my charitable muscles a long time ago. I note their names. James. Seb. Benedict. Gus.

So far, so aristocratic.

‘Let’s get started, shall we?’ Gabe asks, gesturing to the boardroom table. I could swear I catch a hint of nerves in his voice, which is odd.

We all take our seats except Gabe. He leans forward and hits a button on the desktop monitor. A new slide flashes onto the huge screen—a name and an image.

The name?PROJECT MINERVA.

The image is undoubtedly the goddess Minerva, or Athena, recognisable from the armour, shield and spear with which she’s usually portrayed.

I frown in confusion.

Gabe walks around to where I’m sitting and lays his hands on my shoulders, his fingers massaging them through the silk. ‘These gentlemen aren’t here to discuss the foundation, you see, sweetheart. They’re here to help you celebrate your birthday.’

The effect on my autonomic nervous system is instantaneous. My body stiffens and my heartbeat ratchets up and my palms go clammy. Suddenly the air feels charged in a way it didn’t a moment ago, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt thatwhen he mentioned his plans for my birthday last week in his office,thisis what he meant.

Quite what he has in store for me, I haven’t yet worked out. As my body reels in the most intoxicating way, my usually agile brain is scrambling to catch up.

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