The Rules of the Game (D'Arth Series Book 1) Read online

  “That is shocking,” she said with a little amused shake of her head, “you’re one of those guys.”

  “What guys?”

  “A serial dater,” she accused. He shrugged; she’d obviously got to the truth, although it wasn’t a great leap, he was photographed in the papers with a new girl every weekend.

  “And what about you, are you looking for a husband, someone to give you children and a nice house?”

  “What is wrong with that?”

  “It’s boring,” he said. She was a little shocked at first, due to the fact that he’d just referred to her dream as boring. Obviously a recurring perception. She could take it to heart, but she let it flow off her.

  “If having a family and a normal life is boring, then maybe I just am.” It was actually something she wished she’d said to her ex, but she’d been too shocked at the time to really react.

  “And what kind of man would you like to shackle yourself to?” She got the feeling that he perhaps didn’t have an entirely good opinion of the institution.

  “I’m not actually fussy,” she said a little bit jokingly. “Just a decent person, I think.” Alright, this was not the direction she had expected the conversation to go. Far from it, but it was nice to discuss something a little less charged than the Clarion partnership proposal.

  “What about the girl at the Hyatt?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Girls like that aren’t the marrying kind. And if they are, they’re not overly concerned with decency.”

  She wanted to ask what the whole point was of being with those kinds of girls, but she could well imagine the look he’d give her. He thought she was naïve and silly, she expected.

  The waiter returned and Jane ordered pasta. She didn’t think she could manage anything heavier. He didn’t seem to have any such qualms as he ordered a steak with a rich béarnaise sauce. Did the heat affected him at all? He’d spent a bit of time here; maybe he acclimatised easier because of it.

  “Are you planning on staying in your role for long?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

  “I have no plans to leave. I am often approached, but have found no reason to move on. I’ve always worked on the kind of projects I wanted to at Symax.”

  “You seem to get the most distinguished ones.”

  “You have done well in Contil,” he said. “What do you think your next step is?”

  “I haven’t really planned a next step,” Jane admitted.

  “So you’re not one of those girls who ruthlessly climbs the corporate ladder, looking for the next opportunity.”

  “I suppose I take it one opportunity at a time.”

  “What do you like to do, outside of work?” he asked. She felt a little like she was being interrogated.

  “Normal stuff, I guess.” Actually she couldn’t think of an answer. She loved pottering around the house, reading—normal kind of things, but they sounded boring in her head.

  “A very evasive answer,” he said with a smile. She couldn’t help but be impressed with his smile; it had a charm she suspected every girl noticed—combined with his eyes, which seemed to pick up on the tiniest detail. She felt like she was being scrutinised, which might have been the purpose of this dinner. She wondered if she was actually here for some reason. Maybe he was having a ‘quiet’ word with her, like he had in the pool. So far he hadn’t gotten to the point of the evening, which may be some form of intimidation. She had felt it on more than one occasion.

  “I’m just quite normal; I don’t have any extreme hobbies like kite boarding or para-gliding. I like normal things, shopping, lunch with friends.”

  “How positively mediocre,” he said. He was teasing her, but she wondered if underneath the lightness, he was mocking her.

  “Normal things with normal friends. You can call it mediocre if you want. I say, if it works, don’t worry about it. Don’t you have friends?”

  “Honestly, not really. I have more acquaintances than I can count, they usually serve a purpose or engage in a specific type of activity, but I don’t sit around and yak about my week.”

  Jane furrowed her eyebrows; she couldn’t imagine what his life was like. She couldn’t really imagine how he lived. “I would get really lonely.”

  “Alone perhaps; I wouldn’t go as far as to say lonely. More a difference between men and women.”

  “I don’t envy you,” she said honestly. Her statement surprised him, she could tell.

  “A lot of people do.”

  “I’m sure.” The food arrived and she busied herself. Maybe pasta wasn’t the best choice—as spaghetti was messy eating. Utterly delicious though. As they finished, he ordered another scotch for himself and a gin and tonic for her. He didn’t ask her, he just ordered it. It was the first time someone had ordered something for her without asking, except perhaps Edmund when he ordered in expectation of her arrival. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it. Maybe it was normal for him. Maybe he’d just forgotten that he hadn’t asked her, but he did remember what she ordered before.

  The drink arrived and she accepted the heavy glass. It felt strange taking a sip of something that had been imposed on her; although there had been so many things imposed on her in this job—so what was a drink?

  It wasn’t a huge drink, but they didn’t water them down either. The bitterness was actually perfect to clear the creamy pasta taste from her mouth. Now she’d had two strong drinks and she was starting to feel a little relaxed. It could be said that this slight relaxation was being imposed on her too, because in no way did his company feel relaxing. It felt strange being lulled by alcohol in company that was clearly dangerous—not dangerous in the way that he would do anything to her, but he had so much more power than she did, and he would destroy her prospects if it hadn’t been for the support Mr. Carmichael gave her.

  “You ready?” he said before long, and she nodded. They got up to leave. It was dark outside now and the distant view had been replaced by a landscape of disembodied lights arranged in strange patterns that highlighted the streets and buildings, and the surprising number of ships in the water not too far away.

  “It really is a beautiful city,” she said unguardedly.

  “Yes.” He pressed the button for the lift and they waited. Keeping her eyes down, she felt him watching her. His shoes were beautiful, probably Italian. He did like dressing well. The wait was unbearable.

  She wondered what it would be like to actually be his date, for this to be the end of the evening as they were ready to head back to wherever it was he took his women. She couldn’t help but feel her stomach flip like it did when you drove fast over an unexpected depression in the road. Not that she was his date, or ever would be. This was the alcohol’s influence, she decided, it made her think stupid things.

  They stood facing each other in the lift. He looked relaxed like he had no concerns in the world.

  “The Clarion people are very keen on a deal,” she finally said. She hadn’t really achieved anything during the dinner. She had to get on with her plan of getting them all on the same page.

  “Of course they are,” he said.

  “They seem to have a lot of respect for you. They are very keen on working with you.”

  “I don’t make deals based on flattery, Jane. You should learn not to get distracted by such tactics.”

  “I’m not distracted,” she defended herself. “And they were complimenting you, not me. It’s a good deal.”

  “It’s a risky deal.”

  “They have excellent resources.”

  “They’re also in bed with the competition.”

  “As is everyone in this industry.”

  “I don’t like working with partners that don’t have any skin in the game. Clarion has no stake in the success of our bid; they are just as well off with the competitors. We can get a better partner.”

  “Except our response time has effectively been slashed to nothing.”

  “It’s my bid, Jane,” he said w
ith finality. “If Carmichael wants to run it, he’s welcome to, but he’s not here, is he? I’m not having him ramming stuff down my throat.” Jane felt the intensity of his words. Warning bells go off in her head—Damon was angry and she had just provoked him.

  “I’m just saying we should hear them out.”

  “You know full well that Carmichael is doing more than that. Don’t lie to me, Jane, I don’t like it.”

  “I’m not lying.” He stepped a bit closer and she was about to take a step back, but she forced herself to stay. Putting up his hand towards her back, he indicated towards the opening lift doors.

  “After you.” He didn’t look angry, maybe a little amused. “You’ve got guts,” he said as she stepped out of the lift. She didn’t know how to respond—not that he gave her a chance to. They were just about outside and there was a taxi waiting.

  Chapter 6

  Jane made her way down to breakfast the next day. It had become the norm that they ate together and there was a group already there when she arrived, including Damon, who was dressed more formally that he’d been the previous evening.

  The taxi ride back to the hotel had been uncomfortable, particularly as she seemed so extremely aware of his physical presence. She hated being accused of lying; it was untrue and unfair and it highlighted that she was in an untenable situation, trying to juggle the different directives and requirements.

  Damon acknowledged her with a nod, but he wasn’t smiling, which she hadn’t really expected as he didn’t smile that often. An acknowledgement was a step up from the scowl she normally got from him.

  Light banter flowed around the group. There had been a rugby game on, between Australia and Argentina, and these things required analysis in the aftermath. She could watch a game, although she hadn’t in this case, but analysing it afterward was a step too far. The chatter basically indicated that breakfast was coming to an end.

  “What are you doing today?” Damon asked her when they were moving to the entrance of the hotel.

  “I am finishing off the evaluation document.” She got a small version of the sardonic grin; she was amusing him in some way. He obviously thought her work, with regards to a formal evaluation, was a waste of time.

  “Does it take into account lack of fidelity?” he asked, referring to his belief that Clarion was working with competitors as well.

  “It evaluates proposals, both the strengths and weaknesses, and weights them according to importance.”

  “But some things are just deal breakers.”

  “We cannot punish someone for standard operating procedures,” she said, trying to deflect his scrutiny.

  “I can.”

  Their taxi pulled up, and she ended up sitting in the middle between Damon and one of the architects. She suppressed rolling her eyes as the seating arrangements became clear. She didn’t want to get stuck sitting next to Damon on a squeezed-in taxi ride, while he ripped her work to bits.

  She tried not to touch him, but he was large for the cramped space. Maybe they should have gotten a third taxi, she thought—that way she wouldn’t have to touch him. This trip was just full of uncomfortable taxi rides. One shouldn’t have to touch one’s work colleagues. No matter how she moved, she couldn’t escape touching his thigh. It was firm and unyielding, and she also felt the material of his pants on her bare lower leg.

  Mortified as she felt her body respond—reacting to him being there, so close and touching. She was even enveloped in his cologne, even though it was very subtle. She crossed her arms in front of her in case her nipples showed through the revealing silk dove-gray blouse she was wearing. Why had she chosen to wear this blouse? Because it looked gorgeous with the dark navy pencil skirt, that’s why; it made her look professional and she needed to look professional at the moment. He may not respect her or her processes, but she could look the part. Although now there was the danger of her looking extremely unprofessional if she reacted like this every time he came near her, because this blouse would show it like beacons.

  She also didn’t understand why she was reacting at all, to someone like him, her biggest detractor. He intimidated her and belittled her work—even her presence. She must have a masochistic streak she didn’t know about. She certainly didn’t believe in being attracted to men who demeaned; she liked men with boyish charm, who loved to laugh and whose eyes just lit up when they saw her. Okay, she had actually never met someone like that. Her ex had been sullen; an expert at whatever xBox game was hot, and maybe even mediocre in bed; she didn’t have a great deal of experience to judge by, as she’d been with him since her last year of university. There was also the drunken late-night fumble with the odd university boy prior to that did, but that didn’t make her an expert by any means.

  Flatly forbidding herself from considering mental comparison with what Damon D’Arth would be like, she refused to think about it. She wondered if he was the same as he was in all other aspects of his life, taking what he wants, refusing to compromise and confronting any challenges. And he didn’t have girlfriends. What did he called them in his mind? What kind of girl would put up with that? She really had to shake this wildly inappropriate attraction.

  Once they got out of the confined space of the taxi, she put as much distance between them as possible. Taking a breather, she ordered a coffee from the Starbucks at the base of the building. She’d already had a coffee, but she needed an excuse to put some distance between herself and Damon’s firm thigh.

  *

  Closing his eyes in despair, Damon read the email he’d been dreading. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come, but he’d felt something was up in his gut, and here it was—a last minute amendment to the bid requirements, and not just a small amendment, a significant one and they had less than two days. It would take up every waking second for the next two days, and there would be no sleep.

  It also meant that he didn’t have time for other things. He still refused to accept Clarion as a partner; he knew in his gut that it would be a mistake. Carmichael had worked with Clarion before and the old couth was too loyal. Clarion may deliver, but they didn’t have the hunger or the focus to make a great partner. They were too big, too comfortable and spread entirely too thin. He needed someone agile, who could move with the requirements as he needed—not someone who he would have to fit around.

  Problem was, he had to focus on the amendment if they were going to have this bid in on time, and they might as well go home now if they couldn’t.

  “Jane,” he roared, making the girl jump in her seat. “Let’s talk—now. You others, read through this amendment. I want ideas when I get back.”

  Striding out of the room, he could hear the soft padding of her heels on the carpet behind him. He walked into a small meeting room.

  “Close the door,” he ordered. He didn’t bother sitting down. She did as she was told and came to stand in front of him. Her hair up in a tight little bun. It made the features of her face look bare and unobstructed, her clear blue eyes looking large and apprehensive. She was actually biting her lip. For some reason, her conservative look had the exact opposite effect. It just made her look beddable. He briefly acknowledged the impulse before dismissing it. Now was not the time for such indulgences.

  “I need to move on that financing,” he said.

  “It’s coming along,”

  “I need it to be established today, and I need it to be for a proposal with the Australians.”

  “But the funding is tied to Clarion,” Jane said with confusion.

  “We’re not using Clarion.”

  “We’d have to start again if we change the partner. We’ll never get it on time.”

  “You will have to make that happen, Jane. I’m not going ahead with Clarion, so I need you to renegotiate the funding. I don’t have time to do it; I’m going to have to depend on you. You will do this for me.”

  He watched her trying to work through the implications of what he was pushing on her. It was a monumental task and he wasn’t sure sh
e could pull it off, but he didn’t have a choice, the amendment meant he simply didn’t have time to set up funding; he would have to work off the funding Carmichael had set up for Clarion. If it fell to pieces, he’d have to accept Clarion as a partner, but he still had this card to play—the Jane card. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was capable of, but she did have guts; he’d seen it, and at this point he had nothing to lose.

  “Go to the bank and sort it,” he said and left.

  *

  Jane just stared at the empty space where Damon had stood. He’d just asked her to climb a mountain. It’d take a couple of weeks to set up funding and she was expected to have it in place in the next two days. It was an impossible task.

  Running downstairs, she hailed a taxi, while phoning Carmichael.

  “Jane dear, how are things going?”

  “Damon has ordered me to set up financing for the Australians,” she said in a rush as a taxi pulled over in front of her.

  There was quiet down the phone for a minute. Jane checked the screen to see if the connection had failed. Not now, she screamed in her head.

  “That man is the most pig-headed arrivist,” Carmichael said. She could clearly hear the annoyance in his voice. It wasn’t often that Carmichael showed any type of annoyance or displeasure—he didn’t show such displays.

  “He is adamant on not using Clarion,” Jane continued.

  “It will be impossible to arrange financing in two days. I’m not sure this bank has any relationship with the Australians at all. I can’t see how he expects to pull this off.”

  “No, he expects me to pull it off,” Jane said with a hint of despair.

  “Don’t fret, Jane. You will do the best you can and when it doesn’t work out, I will protect you.” Edmund had never been so forthright in stating that he protected her, which was scary because it meant that she actually needed protection. How did she, Jane Burrows, recent team member of the council parking allocation unit, end up needing protection within the board of a major infrastructure company? Her gut clench in anguish. “Just do your best, it will be fine.”