Page 55 of The Devil's Torment

“Oh, Mr. Davidson. My name is Victoria De… Victoria Montague.”Screw you, Nicholas. My business, my fucking name.“Eloise Addington gave me your contact details. She said you were a good person to talk to about my business, Montague Interiors.”

There’s a pause, then, “Oh, yes. I remember now. You took your time calling, Miss Montague.”

“I know. I apologize. My sister passed away quite suddenly a few weeks ago, and we’ve been… well, it’s been difficult.”

“I see. My sincere condolences.”

“Thank you. But I’m ready to push on with my company now. I’d appreciate any time you can give me.”

“Hold on.” The sound of tapping on a keyboard comes over the line. “I have thirty minutes an hour from now.”

Jesus. An hour? It’s already past four o’clock, and I’m not even suitably dressed for a business meeting, but neither can I let this opportunity pass me by. What if this is my one and only shot with this guy? I can already sense his impatience, but I ask anyway.

“Um, I don’t suppose you have any time tomorrow. Or next week?” I add hopefully.

“I’m afraid not. My diary is full tomorrow, and I’m traveling next week.” I swear, he huffs.

“That’s fine. I can be there.” I scribble down the address he gives me and launch into action. Pencil skirt, white blouse, smart jacket, a pair of sheer tights, and high heels. The whole works. I pull my hair back into a neat bun secured at my nape with a silver clip. After giving myself a once over in the mirror, I grab the leather folder that contains my business plan and dash downstairs. It’s here I come to a stuttering halt.

Fuck.

I don’t have a car. Mine is still at home. I’d planned to get it sometime this weekend, but I need wheels now.

“Mrs. De Vil, do you need something?”

I spin around. “Andrew. Perfect timing. I need to go somewhere. Can you drive me?”

“Of course. Where do you need to be?”

I reel off the address, and within five minutes, we’re on our way. I think about messaging Nicholas to let him know where I’ve gone, you know, in the unlikely event he remembers I exist, but I decide against it. He can wonder where I am just as I’ve been left to wonder whereheis. Besides, if he wants to know that badly, he can call.

The irony that I haven’t called him either isn’t lost on me, but I don’t care. I’m feeling petulant.

It takes forty-five minutes to reach Sevenoaks. Anthony Davidson’s office building is only four stories high, but it’s modern, all glass and brushed steel. Andrew pulls into a visitor’s spot and accompanies me inside. I give my name to the receptionist and take a seat on a cream, leather couch. Andrew stands to my right, his gaze a constant sweep as though he’s expecting militia to storm the building at any second.

Just as I’m stifling a giggle, which I’m sure Andrew wouldn’t appreciate, I’m called to Anthony’s office. When Andrew moves to follow, I raise a hand to stop him.

“Wait here.”

His face screws up, and he gives the space another wide sweep. “I don’t think Mr. De Vil will like that, ma’am.”

“You don’t work for Mr. De Vil. You work for me, and I’d like you to remain here. I’m perfectly safe.” I can imagine Anthony’s face if I turn up with a burly bodyguard shadowing my every move. That’s not the impression I want to make.

“Yes, ma’am.” Andrew looks about as happy as if I’d told him he’d been demoted to horse shit shoveler, but too bad. Before he can think of another argument to accompany me, I stride to the lifts and press the button for the fourth floor.

As I exit on Anthony’s floor, my phone rings. Digging it from my purse, I groan.Nowmy errant husband chooses to call me. Just my?—

“Miss Montague, Mr. Davidson is ready for you.”

I drag my attention away from my phone and smile at the blonde woman around my age. Stuffing the phone back into my purse, I nod. “Thank you.” Nicholas will have to wait. He made me bloody well wait.

I’m not sure what I expected, but Anthony Davidson isn’t it. I’d guess he’s around forty-five, with salt and pepper hair, a trim physique, and a Hollywood smile. He rounds his desk, hand outstretched.

“Miss Montague.” I take his hand. Gesturing to a chair in front of his desk, he says, “Have a seat.”

“I appreciate you seeing me.” I set the leather folder on his desk and smooth my skirt beneath my thighs as I sit.

“Time is short. I suggest we make a start.” He points to my folder. “Is that your business plan?”

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