Swept into the Rich Man's World(10)

Who was Ed and what hold did he have over her to cause this unease?  Something that felt suspiciously like jealousy twisted in his stomach.  He breathed it out. He wasn't going there. This was about helping her  professionally. Nothing more. And although he was curious about this he  would hold off asking her about him again...for now.                       
       
           



       

As she fought with the now empty cardboard box a low sigh of  exasperation sang from her lips. Strangely compelled to ease her upset,  to see her smile again, he stepped towards her and took the box,  twisting it flat. A quick glance at the messy desk had him saying, 'This  won't do. This room is all wrong. Come with me.'

He grasped her hand in his and almost at a run led her down the corridors of the vast chateau.

'Where are we going?'

'You'll see.'

What on earth was he doing? She should be protesting, should be working.  But it felt so good to be chasing down corridors with him, to have his  hand holding hers.

He brought her to a vast empty room, bathed in evening sunshine, with  the warmth of the sun bouncing off the parquet flooring. White wooden  doors and windows formed the entire length of the garden-facing walls.

'This is the orangery, but while you're here you can use it as your  studio. The library is too dark and small-especially for someone like  you, who likes to...' His mouth lifted ever so slightly and after some  thought he said, 'Who likes to spread their work around. This is a  better space for you to work in. There are some trestle tables stored in  an outside storage room. There's other pieces of furniture stored  there, too, that you can use. I can get my staff to move them in here  tomorrow morning, when they start work, or if you want we could go and  get them now ourselves.'

She was completely thrown, and moved by his suggestion. The room would  be perfect to work in. She had two options: thank him and run the risk  of the emotion in her chest leaking out in gushing thanks, or brazen it  out and tease him back.

It was an easy decision. 'Are you saying I'm messy?'

'Based on the evidence of the papers scattered around the library just  now...and the kitchen this morning...then, yes, I'd say pretty  confidently that you're messy.'

She gave him a mock withering look. Once again she felt completely  disarmed by his thoughtfulness. 'This would be perfect. The light and  space in here is incredible. Thank you.'

'Good. Now, how about we go and get those tables?'

* * *

A little while later, as he helped to unpack a box, he gestured towards her company's logo.

'Where did you get the idea for your business name? Little Fire?'

'It's what Aideen means in Gaelic.'

'I didn't know that.'

'It also felt like a very apt name for the type of business I want. I  want to create a small bespoke design consultancy-to be an innovator in  the industry. A consultancy that is respected for its passion.'

'It suits your personality, too.' He said it in a deadpan voice, but  once again there was a faint hint of humour sparking in his eyes.

Taken aback, she looked away. When she eventually glanced back the humour was gone.

'Are you going to tell me who Ed is?'

She didn't want to. She wanted to bury him in the past. But she needed to answer his question in some form.

'He was my business partner. I set up the company by myself and he  joined me a few years later. I was having cash flow problems and he was  able to inject capital into the business. We had been to university  together and it felt like a good fit for him to come on board.'

'I'm hearing a big but here.'

'A very big "but", unfortunately. He insisted on taking a majority share  in the business. After that we expanded too rapidly-spent capital on  projects we shouldn't have. I shouldn't have agreed to him having a  majority share-it led to an inequality in our partnership and gave him  the leeway to overrule me. We started arguing. Eventually it became  clear that he wanted me out of the business and he made life difficult  for me. I tried hanging in there, but in the end I knew I had to go.'

Perched on a trestle table opposite her, he looked at her sombrely. 'What did he do?'

She pulled a wooden bistro chair to the trestle table she'd been working  at and sat. She needed to do something while she spoke to avoid having  to look at him. To pretend this was an inconsequential conversation. So  she started to order by colour the pile of swatches she would take to  her meetings in the coming days.                       
       
           



       

'He overruled all my decisions. He belittled me in front of clients. He  dropped heavy rumours that I was difficult to work with.'

'Is that why you're so hesitant about visiting clients?'

'Yes. It's embarrassing. I don't really know how much he said to our  clients and whether they believed him. I'm hoping not... But I'm going  to do everything I can to make this a success. I love my job. Adore the  creativity involved and all the opportunities I get to work with  different designers. No two days are the same. I just have to make sure I  build up my client base quickly to meet my overheads.'

She glanced up and caught his eye.

'And you know what? I want to prove Ed wrong, too. He said I would never make it on my own.'

'That's understandable, but be careful that proving him wrong doesn't distract from your energy, from your focus.'

She wasn't quite certain what his point was...and she wasn't sure she  wanted to fully understand...so she shrugged it off. 'It won't.'

And he knew she had, because without missing a beat he said, 'Okay, tell  me what you're going to do differently with this business.'

It was a good question. She knew instinctively a lot of things she would  do differently, but hadn't consciously addressed them. She had been in  too much of a rush to start again.

For a few minutes she thought about it, her fingers flicking against the  edges of a blue cotton swatch. What would she do differently?

'I need to manage my cash flow better-not expand too quickly. Meet with  my clients on a more regular basis...communicate with them.'

He nodded at her answer, but fired another question at her immediately.  'Fine, but at a strategic level what are you going to do differently?'

For a while she was lost as to how to answer him. And then she thought  about her client base. 'I need to think through what my target market  is... Perhaps I'm too diversified at the moment.'

'Spend time thinking about those issues-those are what matter. Not Ed.  Don't waste any more time on him. He's not worth it. You lost that  business, which was tough. But it's in the past now. Your focus must be  on the future.'

Her pulse raced at his words but she forced herself to smile. 'I know.  You're right. I need to go and get some more files from the library.'

She practically ran from the room. She heard him call her name but she  didn't turn back. Of course he was right. But the hurt of losing the  business lingered stubbornly inside her and it was hard to move on from  it. To just push it aside. Everything he said was true and right, but  she wasn't ready to hear it yet...especially from a billionaire.

* * *

His assistants in Dublin and Berlin had long gone home, but after  finishing a conference call with his development team in Shanghai later  that evening Patrick checked in with his assistant in Palo Alto. He  updated his calendar with her for the coming days and ended the call.

He spent the next hour reading the daily reports he expected each of the managing directors of his subsidiaries to file.

The projected revenue for a new construction industry project management  database was not performing as expected. He emailed the management team  responsible and listed the new sales strategy he wanted them to follow.

When that was done he checked the time on his monitor. It was not yet  nine. In recent months he had frequently worked until twelve. It felt a  little strange to have all this spare time. He switched off the bank of  monitors on his desk and walked over to the windows overlooking a dense  copse of trees. In the dusk, flocks of birds swirled above the treetops,  a pink-tinged sky behind them.

How was Orla doing? Should he call her? One of them would have to end  this impasse between them. But it was she who had caused it. It was up  to her to call.

From the corner of the window he caught a glimpse of Aideen working in  the orangery. She was sitting at a trestle table, staring out towards  the garden, lost in thought.

Anger bubbled in his stomach at the treachery of her former business  partner. He could understand her desire to prove him wrong. If it was  him he would exact revenge. But the guy wasn't worth it. She needed to  focus on the future and not on the past.