Feeling like a lazy lion on a scorching day, Sarah pushed herself up and crawled woozily over to snuggle against his warm toned chest.
He kissed her on the head. “Oh, by the way. I had an email from Orlov’s assistant.”
Sarah sat up. “What?”
“It’s okay. It was just to confirm that Orlov’s still looking forward to seeing me at the press conference tomorrow to announce the sponsorship deal.”
“And you’re still going? Even after what just happened?”
“I guess so. I mean, he can’t kill me in front of the papers, right?”
Sarah gazed at him. “I hope not.”
He traced his finger along her cheek. “Orlov must be shitting his pants right now. He knows we took the blueprint and he wants it back before his cronies kill him slowly and painfully. Ball’s in our court, babe. Nothing to worry about.”
“But you’re not actually signing anything tomorrow?”
“No way. It’s just a press conference. But it’ll be a great opportunity to talk to him quietly face to face – with everyone around.”
“Okay.” Sarah kissed Dylan tenderly on the lips. “I’m coming too.”
“No, Sarah, I don’t want you –”
“Out of your sight. You don’t want me out of your sight. And I don’t want you out of mine. I’m coming to the press conference.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dylan had given enough business presentations in the last few years to not be fazed by public speaking. He stood behind the neon-lit podium now with Orlov, and gazed confidently into the crowd of press reporters. Sarah was standing at the back, looking beautiful dressed in the designer suit Amy had helped her choose, and wearing a ‘press’ tag around her neck. Not that she was ‘press’, but everyone here needed to wear one for security reasons. Maybe the person who’d organised this event had heard all about Orlov’s shady deals. Everyone had. His crooked past was there for all to see on his Wikipedia page.
The press conference had been set up in a vast meeting room at Sarah’s rival luxury hotel, so she’d joked earlier that she’d changed her mind and refused to set a foot inside. But there she was, smiling at him now, pouring her sunshine all over him. There was no mistaking what this press conference was for. The backdrop behind them was covered in the Grafton Techs and Fenchurch United logos, as was the front of the podium itself. Each newspaper and TV channel had their own microphone taped to a huge cluster of mics directly in front of where Dylan and Orlov were standing. One of the last things Dylan’s press agent had said before retreating was, “Try to stand quite close to each other so all the mics can pick you up.”
Yeah, Dylan thought. So I can elbow Orlov in the ribs if I see him suspiciously reach into his suit jacket for a gun...
The press agent announced it was time to begin, so Dylan stood tall, spread his weight evenly between both feet, and inhaled. The photographers instantly flashed their cameras like crazy, which Dylan thought was a bit sensationalist – it wasn’t as if he or Orlov intended to do anything but stand here and speak. But that was the press for you.
Orlov glanced over and ran his gaze over Dylan in a threatening manner.
“Looking for a good place to stick a knife?” Dylan muttered as the press agent introduced them and ran through the protocols.
“I know how to kill a man, no problem,” Orlov growled.
The first journalist raised her hand to ask a question. “Mr Orlov, I’ve heard rumours that your colleague Pavel Brovovsky hasn’t been seen since Wednesday. Can you confirm what happened to him, please?”
Dylan exchanged a subtle look with Sarah. That must’ve been the guy who’d been led away at Orlov’s party. Dylan wondered what the Russians had done to him and he guessed he was either too dead or too mutilated to be seen in public. Clearly they didn’t react sympathetically when they discovered traitors in their midst.
Dylan tuned into Orlov’s answer. “I don’t know anything about this. I have come here to discuss a sponsorship between my soccer club and Grafton Techs. Please do not ask me any questions about anything else. Especially nothing about my darling late-wife.”
The reporters couldn’t resist. They immediately started asking how the police investigation was going with regards to Natalia. Dylan could feel Orlov becoming tense. “I told you, I don’t know!” he shouted.
The press agent warned the reporters not to ask any other tactless questions.
“Mr Quinlan,” someone called out, “when do you intend to finalise the deal between your company and Fenchurch United?”
“Soon,” Dylan said. “We’re very excited about working together, right Vladimir?” Under his breath he said, “Especially now that I know your true intentions towards my company, you devious little shit.”
Orlov beamed a false smile. “Yes we are very happy.” He reached out and slapped Dylan heartily on the back.
Dylan gritted his teeth. “Get your fucking hands off.”