Do Not Disturb

  Needless to say, she’d ruled against him.

  Anton was no admirer of Connor’s. He found him pompous and his pretensions at being a big hitter in property nothing short of pathetic. But he’d really outdone himself with this court case, devoting an energy and effort to destroying Lucas that was almost a match for Anton’s own. As well as the endless legal wrangles, Connor had had a hand in most of the other blows that had rained down on the nascent Luxe chain in recent months: drug raids in Ibiza, strikes in Paris, a lurid kiss-and-tell with a girl from the Crazy Horse in last month’s Paris Match. He’d been worth every penny of the blood money Anton had paid him.

  So much for Lucas’s boasts about opening Luxe America by the end of the year. At this rate he’d be lucky to open at all. As irritating as Honor’s progress at Palmers was for Anton, he knew it would be a thousand times more galling for Lucas to see his old rival storming ahead while his shitty little business foundered in the muddy shallows like the dying fish that it was.

  “D’you want me to keep circling, sir?” The driver had already gone past Annabel’s four times and was starting to think about his bed.

  “No, Michaels,” said Anton imperiously, switching off his computer. “I’ve seen all I need to see. We can go home now.”

  Bianca stared at the pile of dirty mugs and overflowing ashtrays in the kitchen sink and pursed her lips with annoyance.

  “There are three fucking adults in this house,” she muttered furiously under her breath, scraping used cigarette butts and congealed takeout remnants into the trash before filling up a second sink with hot water and detergent. “How come I’m the only one capable of cleaning up after themselves?”

  It was the evening after Ben had stormed out of the meeting with the wedding planner, and she’d hoped he might have shown a little sensitivity to her feelings. But no, he’d been on the phone to Sian first thing this morning, unable even to wait until he got into the office, and promptly invited her over for an evening progress meeting. Progress my ass, thought Bianca bitterly, peering through into the living room to see the two of them laughing together over yet another dumb piece of paper. They’d been working on Sian’s scoop for five months now, but she’d yet to mention a publication date for the piece and seemed as far away from finishing the damn thing as ever. Bianca tried not to believe that both of them might have an ulterior motive for dragging the thing out indefinitely. But she couldn’t be sure of anything anymore.

  Mindlessly dropping dirty plates and silverware into the sink, she thought back to how much she’d liked Sian when they’d first met at that wedding in New York, and how long ago that seemed now. Back then she’d seemed spunky and fun, a real girls’ girl. But Bianca had evidently misjudged her spirit of sisterhood. Sian was over at the apartment all the time now, whenever she was in England anyway, shamelessly monopolizing Ben without a thought for Bianca’s feelings and pointedly excluding her from their discussions. The pair of them would smoke up a storm (Ben knew Bianca now loathed smoking), emerging from their stinking den only to order huge, revolting-smelling Domino’s pizzas and leaving the empty boxes and grease stains for Bianca to deal with.

  She’d never been one of those up-herself, high-maintenance models that expected minions to clean up after her. Nor was she afraid of a little housework. But she wasn’t a doormat, and she was tired of being treated like one.

  Feeling left out and taken for granted wasn’t even the worst of it. It was the horrid, creeping realization, a sort of slow-growing panic, that Ben preferred Sian’s company to hers. She’d tried to talk herself out of this a thousand times—to tell herself that his interest in the story was purely business, about exposing Anton as a crook so that he could win Stellar’s investors back. But each time she watched him giggling with Sian over a shared joke, or even fighting with her about which angle to pursue, she felt the fear start to crawl back over her body, like lice.

  Last night in bed, she’d finally plucked up the courage to voice her anxieties to Ben.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” he assured her. “Sian and I were over years ago.”

  But Bianca couldn’t help but notice that he turned away from her when he spoke, as if his face might give him away.

  “Well if you do love me,” she said, stroking the bare curve of his back, “why don’t you make love to me?” She hated herself for sounding so weak and jealous, for having to ask. But she needed the reassurance. “You haven’t touched me for weeks.”

  Turning around with a sigh, Ben pulled her into his chest and kissed her on the forehead.

  “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s got nothing to do with Sian. Honestly. Work’s hellish, and this story’s taking up a crazy amount of my time.”

  “So leave it to Sian, then,” said Bianca, pulling back and kissing him on the mouth, desperately hunting for some sort of a response that went beyond brotherly affection. “You’re paying for the stupid thing. Let her do the bloody detective work.”

  “She is doing most of it,” he said. “She sometimes needs a sounding board, that’s all.”

  Bianca raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “I’m the one who stands to gain the most financially if we do nail him, so I want her to succeed,” said Ben. “If Excelsior goes down, that would be a huge coup for me. For us.”

  Reaching for her breasts, he started to stroke them, something he hadn’t done in ages. Bianca closed her eyes and tried to feel comforted. They made love afterward, and though the sex was clumsy and brief, it felt so good to be connected again, she barely noticed. Then, this morning, they’d slept in an extra hour. He’d been so sweet to her, promising they’d spend more time alone and even setting aside a whole evening next week to go through wedding plans properly with Maxwell.

  But just as she was starting to relax, he’d picked up the phone to Sian, and the whole downward spiral began again. Stacking the dripping plates to dry, Bianca was horrified to find herself fantasizing that Sian might be hit by a bus on the way home.

  “Hey, chica.”

  She jumped out of her skin as two strong, deeply tanned arms coiled themselves around her waist. Spinning around, she squealed with delight to see Lucas.

  “I can’t believe he’s got you barefoot in the kitchen already,” he joked, standing back to admire her flat, toned belly, exposed between a midriff-baring tie-dye T-shirt and sexy low-cut jeans. She was Ben’s girl, but he could still look. “You’re not even married yet.”

  Bianca smiled. Lucas had always had an uncanny ability to make her laugh in even the blackest of circumstances. Standing in front of her, a lit Gitane in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other, he looked mightily pleased with himself. His grin was almost as broad as his shoulders.

  “At this rate, I’m starting to wonder if we ever will be,” she said ruefully. “Married, I mean.”

  Lucas frowned. “What on earth makes you say that?”

  “Oh, nothing.” She turned back to the dishes so he wouldn’t see the tears welling her eyes, but it was obvious she was upset. Stubbing out his cigarette on one of the takeout boxes, Lucas gently spun her back around to face him.

  “Come on, angel,” he said gently. “You can tell Uncle Lucas.”

  Bianca gave a sob. Desperate to confide suddenly, it all came flooding out: Sian’s investigation into Anton and Ben spending more and more time with her, the growing distance between herself and Ben, the fights over the wedding. When she’d finished, Lucas looked stone-faced.

  “That bitch,” he said viciously. “No wonder Ben’s been so bloody evasive with me recently. He didn’t want to admit he’s let that little gold digger back into his life.”

  “I wouldn’t say she’s a gold digger, exactly,” said Bianca, shocked by the strength of his reaction. “It’s just that she’s incredibly…intrusive. Getting Ben to focus on the wedding when she’s around is like trying to teach astrophysics to a goldfish.”

  “Where is he?” Lucas still looked far f
rom pleased.

  “He’s next door in the living room. With her.”

  “With Sian?” his eyes widened. “She’s here now?”

  Bianca nodded. “But listen, darling, please don’t say anything. Ben already thinks I’m overreacting and—”

  “Don’t worry,” Lucas said firmly. “You leave this to me.”

  The fight that erupted over the next five minutes was so loud it could be heard on the street below.

  “I can’t believe you lied to me about this!” Lucas could be heard yelling at Ben. “All this time Anton’s been crucifying me in court, and you never even mention you’ve been spending the last five fucking months investigating him? I could have used some of that information. I thought we were friends.”

  “No one lied to you,” said Sian furiously. “This is my story, and it’s none of your damn business.”

  “You keep out of this, you poisonous little shit-stirrer,” Lucas roared at her. “What the fuck are you doing here anyway? Still trying to get your grubby little hands on Ben’s money?”

  “That’s enough,” said Ben, who was still recovering from the shock of Lucas’s presence, never mind his tirade. “Don’t speak to Sian like that.”

  “Why the hell not?” Lucas was incandescent with rage. “And you ought to spend less time worrying about this tramp and more time worrying about poor Bianca. I just found her in the kitchen in floods of tears, cleaning up your mess.” He glared in disgust at the half-eaten pizzas and empty beer cans littering the room.

  “I would have done it myself later,” mumbled Ben guiltily. “Is she all right now?”

  “No,” said Lucas. “She’s not. She’s miserable as hell and she thinks you don’t love her. You should get in there and sort it out.”

  Ben headed for the kitchen, then looked at Sian and hesitated. “You all right?”

  “Hey, don’t worry about me,” said Sian, looking daggers at Lucas. “I can handle this prick. Go do what you’ve got to do.”

  Ben left the room, and for a few seconds the pair of them stared silently at each other, basking in mutual loathing. Then the fighting began in earnest.

  “I’ll give you this, you’re a tenacious little cow,” said Lucas. “Just when did you get your claws back into him exactly?”

  “No one got their claws into anyone,” she shot back indignantly. “Ben’s a friend. The only money he’s given me has been to fund my research into Anton, a guy who, believe it or not, turns out to be an even nastier piece of work than you are.”

  “At last, something we agree on,” said Lucas sarcastically. “So Ben was the only person in the world you could have gone to for help, was he? It had nothing to do with you still holding a torch for him or wanting to come between him and the only woman he’s ever really loved?”

  Sian tried to hide how stung she was. Had Ben said that to Lucas? That Bianca was the only woman he’d ever loved?

  “He wasn’t the only person, but he was the person with the most to gain from seeing Anton brought down. Apart from you, of course. But frankly I’d rather have taken money off Ted Bundy than let you back into my life, on any level.”

  “Something else we agree on,” said Lucas bitterly, though inside he was impressed by her poise and thinking how much she’d matured since her days as a summer maid at Palmers. He still didn’t trust her an inch, especially not where Ben was concerned. But it took a tough cookie to take on the likes of Anton. She must have known that digging into his affairs would be dangerous and difficult, but if the thick slab of a file spilling its contents all over Ben’s coffee table was anything to go by, she’d already gotten a lot to show for the risks she’d taken.

  “So,” he said, idly flicking open the file and pulling out a couple of documents, “what sort of a return have you shown him on his investment? Other than a weeping fiancée.”

  “Oh no you don’t.” Sian was across the room in a flash. Whipping the papers out of his hand, she shoved them back into the file and, not knowing quite what else to do, sat on it. “You think I’d trust you with my story? You can read it when it’s finished like everyone else.”

  “Right,” said Lucas, languorously stretching out his long legs as he sat down on Ben’s leather Chesterfield sofa. “And when will that be? The twelfth of never, evening edition?”

  “Actually, I hope to be ready to run with it next month.” Despite his needling, Sian couldn’t entirely hide her excitement. “That’s why I came to see Ben tonight, before we were so rudely interrupted. I just got back from Azerbaijan. Let’s just say that in the last forty-eight hours things have taken a quantum leap forward.”

  Ben came back in looking tired and shut the door behind him. Lucas noticed for the first time how gray and drawn his complexion had become and how much weight he’d lost. Bianca obviously wasn’t the only one with prewedding nerves.

  “How is she?” asked Sian, earning herself a withering look from Lucas.

  “She’s upset,” said Ben. “It’s my fault. I was being a bit of a dick to her yesterday about this wedding planner she’s hired. And then tonight, spending so much time in here with you, I think I might have added insult to injury.”

  “But didn’t you tell her what’s happened? What we’ve found?” said Sian, who still found it hard at times to remember that not everyone was as obsessed with bringing Anton Tisch to justice as she was.

  “No.” A soft voice came from behind Ben as Bianca opened the door. “He didn’t tell me anything. He never does.”

  Having washed off her tears in the bathroom and changed into a clean sleeveless T-shirt and hot-pink cut-off Bermuda shorts, she looked like a darker, more mysterious version of Gisele Bündchen on a really, really good day. Sian, who by contrast looked tired and washed out in a sludge-brown shift dress the same color as her ancient, overwashed panties, felt a stab of envy so violent she actually clutched her chest. Pointedly ignoring Ben, Bianca made a beeline for Lucas, her protector, curling herself up next to him on the sofa. The message was clear: it wasn’t two against one anymore; Lucas had arrived to even the odds. Sian got it in a heartbeat.

  “We didn’t think you’d be interested,” said Sian, trying not to sound as hostile as she felt. She knew she had no right to be. “You’re always complaining about how much time we spend working on it.”

  “I complain about how much time Ben spends on it,” interrupted Bianca. “Frankly, Sian, I couldn’t care less what you do with your time.”

  This sudden boldness was completely out of character and took Sian by surprise. Meekly, she shut up.

  “But seeing as you’re here, again, monopolizing my home and my boyfriend, again,” Bianca smiled at her rival thinly, “I think I would quite like to know what all the fuss has been about. And I’d like Lucas to know too.”

  Sian gave a splutter that was half laugh, half naked outrage. “Yeah, well, sorry, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before we tell that scheming bastard anything. Lucas’s secret-keeping record is right up there with Judas Iscariot’s.”

  “OK, OK.” Ben held up his hands like an overwhelmed referee trying to separate rival teams at a football match brawl. “I don’t think any of this is particularly helpful. Bianca does have a right to know what’s been going on.”

  “But—” Sian tried to interrupt him, but Ben wouldn’t have it.

  “No, come on Siany, she does. She’s put up with a lot.” He looked sorrowfully across at Bianca, whose eyes immediately started welling up again as she tried to smile back. Sian felt winded with jealousy, but said nothing.

  “And I also think we should tell Lucas,” Ben went on, “on the understanding that whatever gets said tonight remains between these four walls, and none of us breathes a word of it outside this room.”

  “No way!” Leaping back to her feet, Sian sounded properly panicked. “Ben, no, you promised. You promised not to tell anyone. That was our deal!”

  “I know,” said Ben. “But that was before we knew what we know now. Before Azerbaijan.” W
alking over, he put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, unconsciously increasing the “them and us” atmosphere of two opposing teams, himself and Sian versus Lucas and Bianca. “I honestly think Lucas can help. He wants to see Anton finished as much as any of us.”

  “That’s the second time someone’s mentioned Azerbaijan,” said Lucas, who had calmed down now and whose curiosity was well and truly piqued. “What’s the connection? I mean, I know Tisch made his fortune from Russian oil.”

  “It goes a lot deeper than that,” said Ben.

  “First you have to swear,” said Sian. “Swear on…” she tried to think of anything that was important to Lucas other than himself but drew a complete blank. “Swear on your honor,” she finished sarcastically, “that you will keep what we’re about to tell you to yourself, until I tell you you can do otherwise.”

  “Fuck off,” snarled Lucas. “I don’t take orders from you.”

  “You do on this,” said Ben firmly. “This is Sian’s story, and she’s sweated blood to pull it together. You can either respect her authority or get out.”

  It was hard to tell who was more pissed off by this show of support for Sian, Lucas or Bianca. Both of them looked as if he’d just offered them a bite of a dog-shit sandwich. But in the end, Lucas’s curiosity got the better of him.

  “Fine,” he said grudgingly. “I swear. Now come on, what’s all this about?”

  Ten minutes later, in a break from the usual, Lucas was lost for words.

  “Pretty incredible, isn’t it?” said Sian, with more than a touch of pride. “Up until this point, most of the shit I had on him was sexual. And a lot of that was pretty fucking creepy: underage girls, prostitution, the odd sexual assault allegation here and there, although the girls always changed their tune before things got to court. But this shit?” She shook her head, still astonished by the revelations herself. “This puts us in a whole new ball game.”