Sasha coughed discreetly. ‘Ben?’ she said. ‘Can I just have a word with you for one moment?’
She led him out on to the terrace, her cheeks burning with fury.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she said as soon as the doors were closed. ‘I thought you were holding the fort in London.’
‘How could I stay there and miss all this?’ he said with a note of petulance. ‘This is my company too. I don’t want to be left in a dark room with a tape measure round my neck.’
That’s where I’d like it to be, thought Sasha. Tied really tight.
‘We have roles, Ben,’ she said angrily. ‘ I am the ambassador. You are the designer.’
‘Exactly, which is why people want to meet me today. You heard Ginger.’ He smirked. ‘I am the man who makes women beautiful.’
‘No, you are the little queen who bitches about everything.’
Ben gasped. ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’
Sasha knew she should back off, save this for a better time, but this fight had been coming for months and she was incensed at Ben’s game-playing. He knew this would embarrass her and undermine her hard-won position in LA, yet he’d come anyway. Well, she wasn’t going to have anyone steal her thunder, not now.
‘I want you out of here,’ she said, her voice rising.
‘Who the hell do you think you are, Sasha?’
‘The woman who has turned this company into the hottest new label in town,’ she spat. ‘Who do you think you are?’
Philip put his head around the door. ‘Ginger is leaving,’ he said with a warning glance. ‘You might want to have this conversation later, in private.’
Sasha tried to compose herself. She knew it was unprofessional to leave such a big client, but the whole afternoon was beginning to wind her up. Philip’s disapproving looks every time someone opened a bottle of champagne, Marina’s constant backhanded compliments about how such a small company was doing so well, and the endless grabbing expectancy of the actresses when they knew how important exposure at the Oscars was to a label.
Squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath, she walked back into the suite, where Ginger kissed Ben on the cheeks. ‘Make me look hot, hot, hot and I’ll get you into the Vanity Fair party at Morton’s tomorrow night,’ she said with a wink as she left. ‘We’re going to make you into the new Dior.’
As the door clicked shut, Sasha glared at Ben, but he just smiled smugly. ‘The Vanity Fair party,’ he beamed. ‘I knew it was worth coming.’
Sasha grabbed her clutch bag and stalked out of the suite. Philip followed her into the hallway.
‘Sasha, come on,’ he called. ‘Don’t blow it up out of proportion. It’s not the end of the world.’
Sasha glared at him. ‘It better not be.’
She walked quickly down to the elevator, but instead of pressing the ‘L’ for ‘Lobby’ button, she went up to the top floor where the roof garden restaurant had a lavish rest room. Leaning into the mirror, she put some blusher on her cheeks, thickened her lashes with mascara and drew a slick of gloss across her lips. Smiling to herself, she hitched up her skirt and removed the cream lace La Perla thong she was wearing, hiding it in her clutch. Walking purposefully back out, she turned away from the lift bank and took the stairs down two floors, the thrill of danger surging through her body as she strode along the soft carpet of the corridor. She took a deep breath, then knocked on the door of the corner suite. It swung open and he was standing there, casual in suit trousers and a blue shirt open at the neck.
‘Hello, Robert,’ she said as she stepped into the suite.
Robert Ashford smiled at her. ‘How’s it going up there?’
‘Ben bloody Rivera has just turned up,’ she said. ‘He is getting to be very troublesome. Philip too; always complaining, never able to see the big picture. I’m sick of both of them. They just don’t share our vision.’
‘Well, we should think about getting rid of them.’
‘How?’
Robert smiled.‘It shouldn’t be too difficult,’ he said, walking over. He wrapped his hands around her waist, unzipping her skirt and letting the thin fabric fall to the floor. Sasha followed him into the bedroom, thinking that sometimes, business did come before pleasure.
40
February 1998
Nothing that Sasha Sinclair ever did was accidental. Every move was thought through, considered, the options examined and carefully weighed up. And in truth, that was how her affair with Robert Ashford had begun. She had wanted to expand into America and Robert could make that happen, so she had invited him to the premiere. It was a business arrangement, something they both could profit from. But then there had been the long meetings to discuss strategy over lunch, the innocent flirtation, the touching of fingers as they both reached for the wine. Their occasional lunch meetings became suppers; soon she didn’t want to go home when they’d finished discussing net gearing ratios or whatever the subject had been.