‘But thank you for agreeing to see me,’ I added, recalling my intention to remain professional and in control and, above all, mature. ‘You’re bound to be busy and I realise that my coming here must be very inconvenient.’
‘Perhaps you should tell me what you want from me,’ he said, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms across his formidable chest in a move that for a second made my mouth dry and my heartbeat flutter. ‘Before your helicopter gets here.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Time is marching.’
Yes. Good plan. Enough of this pulse-skipping nonsense and bizarre disappointment that he hadn’t contradicted my allegations of his busyness and my inconvenience. I was here for one thing, and one thing only.
‘Six weeks ago, I won one hundred and eight million pounds on the lottery,’ I said, reminding myself sternly of what that one thing was, which was absolutelynota steamy embrace from a man who’d always despised me.
Nick’s only response to my news was a minute arch of an eyebrow, but then presumably, unlike me these days, he was used to such vast sums. To him, the amount could quite possibly be small change. I, on the other hand, had nearly passed out when I’d learnt how much I’d won.
‘That would buy a lot of handbags.’
I instinctively bristled at the barb, but heroically rose above it. ‘Well, that would depend on the handbag,’ I said coolly. ‘But I have other plans for it.’
‘Which are?’
‘Currently a bit overwhelming. That’s why I’m here. I need your help.’
He was silent for a moment, then tilted his head and said dryly, ‘Nowyou need my help?’
Ah, yes.
That.
It had occurred to me he might bring it up. It was one of the reasons I hadn’t contacted him for advice the minute I’d got over the shock of winning—apparently there was no statute of limitations on shame.
Shortly after the freezing of my father’s assets, which had meant the repossession of my London penthouse, the abrupt mid-course end to my university studies in Zurich and the cutting off of my five-figure monthly allowance, Nick, sprinting his way up the ladder of the financial institution he’d joined on leaving Cambridge, had offered me a loan. A large one. Distraught, humiliated and an emotional wreck after everything that had happened, I’d flippantly flung his money back in his face, convinced that he was rubbing my nose into his success and my misfortune. He’d taken it badly, judging by the way he hadn’t allowed me to apologise for the manner in which I’d refused him, hence the continued frostiness.
‘I’m not unaware of the irony,’ I said, shifting awkwardly on the stool while my cheeks warmed.
‘What took you so long?’
‘I thought I could manage,’ I admitted with a frown. ‘But the sharks started circling and I came to think otherwise.’
‘What happened?’
‘I nearly bought a tropical island that didn’t exist.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
Ooh, ouch. ‘I know,’ I said, ignoring the sting I felt pierce my chest like the pointiest of darts. I’d been a fool, and it annoyed me beyond belief because I thought I’d shed the innocence and naïveté of my youth years ago. ‘Silly me, right?’
‘Lottery winners are exceptionally vulnerable to fraud, in my experience. The shock tends to destroy logic.’
‘You can say that again,’ I muttered. ‘I haven’t been thinking straight in weeks.’
‘Didn’t anyone from the organisation tell you that you should do nothing until you’ve had some advice?’
‘Yes,’ I said with a sigh, unable to summon up much despair at the censure I could hear in his voice since it was wholly justified. ‘They did. And I got advice. Just the wrong kind. I’d requested anonymity—and told nobody outside the organisation apart from my mother and my brother—but I was nevertheless bombarded with offers of help. It didn’t occur to me that the news must have got out anyway and that some of those offers would be less than genuine. I know it should have.’
‘What stopped you going through with it?’
‘Seb,’ I said, my mind reeling back to the moment I realised that I might be being taken for a fool and tens of millions of dollars. The plummeting of my stomach. The nausea rising up my throat. The cataclysmic shock and the blind panic. ‘He said if it sounded too good to be true it probably was. I sent him the details and he did the digging I should have done and discovered it was a sham.’
‘You’re lucky to have him.’
‘I am,’ I said with a nod. ‘He was the one who suggested I contact you. I should have done it weeks ago. I know you’re the best at what you do.’
‘So why didn’t you?’