Page 61 of The Muse
With the bridge crossed, I quickly take the side streets to get to the offices. It isn’t until I’m back inside that I realise I didn’t even need to come here. I could have gone directly to the Broderick building, or back to Earlwood house, but something’s drawn me here. It’s probably the sound of my father’s tone, of the utter misery in it. Christ, he sounded so defeated, barely a glimmer of the man I’ve known all these years. If this is Landon’s attempt to piss me off, it’s worked. Tally that with another bloody Monday in London, no word from Seffi over the weekend, and the rain continuing to fall, and I'm about ready to kill.
Dumping my bag in my office and shaking the rain from my jacket, I turn to go straight to my father only to find Ricky Pillingsworth in my face.
“Morning, Gorgeous,” he says, winking.
“Not now, Ricky.” I’m almost out the door before I stop, turn back, and look him over again. “What do you know about The Priory?”
His hand goes to his chest, feigning shock. “When did you turn into a naughty one?” he asks, as his eyes draw over my entire frame. “Do I need to get my kinky stuff out of the bottom draw? I'm up for it. You know I am. Whenever you like.”
My eyes roll. “Ricky. Stop it. Focus.”
“Well.” He closes the door behind him as if a conspiracy is about to be divulged. “Jackson Reed, the owner, is a complete monster. A beautiful one at that. It’s all mainly privileged wealth and kinky habits. Drugs, too. Lots of the highlife, but seemingly disguised in backstreets here. Different story in the US according to my colleague over there, but over here it's on the down-low.” He sits and tucks his hair behind his ears, getting comfortable. I don’t have time for comfortable. I need ammunition.
“Where’s the dirt, though? Clientele etcetera?”
“Nobody would dare dig deep enough these days. He’s an East End gangster, with Russian grandparents on his mother’s side. Would you try that? Unless we're talking about fucking, which I obviously would.” I didn't need to know that. Unless Landon’s secretly gay. Doubt it. “But even the best of us know the limits of journalism. He's most definitely it. How have you not heard of him?”
“Twelve years in Paris.”
“Oh, yes. Super hot, anyway. You should see him. All roughened precision and money. Thighs I could eat my dinner off and tattoos that apparently go all the way down to his–” My hand goes up.
“Send me everything you know.”
He eyes me carefully as I move to the door again, seeming concerned. “Scott? What have you gotten yourself into? I know we play, but Jackson Reed isn’t someone to meddle with. A war correspondent would still be wary.”
“I’m not into anything. I just need information. And quickly. Do this for me, and I’ll let you get that photoshoot you’ve been after since I got here.” His brows shoot up. “One piece. That’s all. I might have new work to show anyway. You can have the scoop.”
“Really? All mine. Wearing whatever I choose?”
I look over his dress sense, at least acknowledging his flair for style. “Yes.”
“In that case, Scotty, you’ll have everything I’ve got in the next hour or so. You didn't get it from me, though.”
“Of course not.”
Leaving him in my office, I move through the noise of printers and people and head straight for my father’s. He’s sitting in the chair in the corner when I get to him, his gaze cast out the window and his fingers steepled under his chin.
“Father?” He doesn’t look at me, and from what I can see of him, it’s not a pretty sight. He’s grey, pallid, and looking like he’s about to have a heart attack. “You’re not losing your job. No one is taking you out of here until you’re ready to go.”
“It’s all I’ve known, Scott,” he says quietly. “They said it was safe, that everything was. That bastard sat here and told me everyone would retain their position, you included, and that this seat would stay in my hands until retirement.” A sigh stutters from him as a full glass of Scotch is lifted to his mouth. “Instead, Lissa’s already been sacked. Nile and Frank from accounts have been handed their notice. And then the email came to me last night. Six weeks and I’m gone.” He finally turns to look at me and frowns. “What’s the matter with your face?” He means the bruises put there by the very man who’s now trying to get back at me via my father.
“Nothing. And I’m not staying, so don’t worry about me.”
He half chuckles at that as if he’s known all along that I would never concede to being under their rule. How he’s managed to wrap his head around it, given this ongoing feud between the families, is unknown. But then I suppose I haven’t had to think about the one hundred or so jobs out there relying on him to pay their wages.
“Even our lawyers didn’t find the clauses embedded in the contract,” he mutters, standing. “Clever, I suppose. I should have listened to you more than I did. At least Marian will have me at home more.” Mother will be pleased.
Sighing at the painful thought that any Broderick could display this level of intelligence, and the potential divorce that will come if my father is home before Mother's prepared for it, I sit in front of him. One thing he should know well enough about Broderick is that everything is underhanded. There isn’t a bloody thing about them that does anything unless they’re profiting, and that’s achieved in whatever way maximises their end goal regardless of the fallout. He taught me that, for God's sake. The only thing that even warrants merit about them is Seffi, and that’s only because she’s been so far away from them she hasn’t been corrupted yet.
“Listen, don’t worry about anything. By the end of the day, it’ll be back to normal. Or as normal as it can be, now they’ve got the controlling share. That, I can’t do anything about now.” He looks confused as he picks up the bottle of Scotch from the side table, refilling. “Mother isn’t ready for you yet. I'll deal with it.”
He snorts. “It’s done, Scott. Happening. There isn’t anything anyone can do. Believe me, our lawyers have been through it already. They have been since eleven o'clock last night.”
“They don’t have what I have. Trust me.”
Standing, I reach my hand to his shoulder and squeeze gently. “It’ll be alright, Dad. Just leave it with me for the day, and you should have better news by tonight. Alright?”
“What are you up to?”
