Gold Diggers

‘You’re no pushover, are you?’ he said, releasing her.

‘I thought you’d have worked that out by now,’ said Karin, holding her head high as she sat down opposite him and poured herself another glass of wine.

‘So we’ll leave it that I’m turning down your proposition, shall we?’ she said, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

‘It was worth a try,’ he smiled. ‘However, the offer still stands.’

She tilted her head in question. ‘I want you to take the unit,’ he said.

‘Adam, I am not giving you a share in the company,’ she responded tartly. He held up his hands in surrender.

‘Look, take the unit. Have it rent-free for the year. It will do the development good to have the Karenza brand on the site. And, if you ever bring out a men’s range, just remember to keep me in shorts,’ he grinned.

Karin almost burst out laughing, but knew she had to contain herself. She subtly pulled at her top to give a flash of cleavage and flicked a curtain of raven hair over her shoulder.

‘It’s a very generous offer,’ she said finally, ‘but one I can’t accept. You may remember telling me when we first met that you never mix business with pleasure.’

Adam stood up and walked round behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders, letting his fingers slide under the thin jersey of her jumper. ‘So you see yourself as pleasure, do you?’ he breathed huskily into her ear.

She let Adam’s hands glide deeper and deeper under the sheer fabric while maintaining a cool, professional voice. ‘I’ll consider the St Tropez store carefully but, if I accept, I insist that we pay you the full market value.’

‘How about we look a bit more into that pleasure you were just talking about?’ he purred. ‘And then maybe we’ll see if we can’t come to some arrangement. Full market value is an awfully high price to pay.’

She turned to face him, pushing her fingers between the buttons of his shirt. As they kissed, Karin opened her eyes and smiled. She knew that she had played it perfectly.

20

They were going to Nobu Berkeley for lunch. For a second, Erin had felt nervous when Adam had suggested it, but she was sure she hadn’t done anything wrong; and anyway, would he really take her to a swish eatery if he was planning to fire her? Think positive, she told herself, as she applied her make-up with extra care that morning; he probably just wants to dictate a letter. But she had worn her new Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress all the same.

As they walked into the restaurant, all heads turned. Erin was getting used to the reaction; the presence of a New York billionaire still set tongues wagging six months after his arrival in London. The difference today was that she wasn’t trailing six feet behind him, carrying an armful of papers and folders, mobile locked to her ear, harassed and stressed. Today, Erin was by his side. And it felt good.

‘Would you like me to order for you?’ asked Adam as they settled into the banquette seat. ‘The yellowtail sashimi is particularly good.’

The only Japanese food Erin had ever had was Prêt à Manger sushi, although her tastes had been on a definite upward curve since the truffles in Chris’s flat. She could now tell her cosmopolitans from her caipirinhas but, looking at the menu, she still had no idea what sashimi was. Or yaki for that matter. She wanted to tell Adam that she didn’t want anything raw, but she knew that wouldn’t exactly give the idea of sophistication she was striving for. ‘Yellowtail it is then,’ she smiled, hoping it wouldn’t make her sick.

‘I really should have taken you out for lunch before,’ said Adam, summoning the wine waiter, ‘but I don’t need to tell you how busy we are.’

Erin willed herself to say something funny or witty or clever, but instead all she could do was sit there.

‘I don’t know what your career plan was before you started at Midas,’ he continued, ‘Something about interpreting or translating, wasn’t it?’ Erin nodded. She hadn’t told him about her novel. While Adam was always banging on about the importance of using the best creatives – by which he meant interior designers or architects – she doubted he would hold much truck with authors. Writing a novel was hardly Wall Street.

‘I know working for Midas fell into your lap, but I really think you have a long-term future with the company – if you want it, that is.’

Erin blushed at the praise.

‘You’re bright, resourceful and you have a good eye.’ He pointed a finger in the air to emphasize a point. ‘That building in Battersea you brought to me was a gem. It will make a nice acquisition for Midas’s senior apartment division. There’s a growing demand from the over-fifty-fives who want design-led properties in city centres.’

Erin thought of Jilly and her group of friends living in trendy apartments opposite the Thames and giggled. ‘The retired people I know live in cottages and make Cornish pasties. I can’t see them popping out for cappuccinos.’

‘Rule number one, Erin,’ Adam said seriously. ‘Don’t think about what people want or need now. You have to be predictive. Remember that the new generation of pensioners grew up listening to the Beatles. Old people are pretty cool now. You’ve always got to guess what people are going to want in five years, even ten years.’

She’d read enough about Adam by now to know that was exactly how he had made his money. People had laughed at him after the 1992 crash for going into property, buying up skyscrapers and developing disused warehouses in unfashionable parts of town like Tribeca, but he’d been able to cash them in as they became trendy.

‘I want to learn from you, Adam,’ said Erin, hoping she didn’t sound too gushy. ‘I’d love to get more involved.’

‘What do you like about property?’ he smiled, taking a tuna roll between chopsticks. ‘What do you like about our business?’

She had come out for lunch, not an interview, but she couldn’t choke now. She took a sip of green tea and thought back to the moment when she had found the Battersea building and the adrenaline rush it had given he