The sex, when it had finally happened, almost eighteen months after they had first renewed contact, had been on a weekend trip to view a shop Robert had in mind for Rivera. It had seemed like the perfectly logical conclusion not just to their months of professional liaison but to a decade of interest. Looking back, there had been a flirtation, a connection, at Angel Cay. What had Robert said on that final night on the island? ‘You can do better than Miles.’ It turned out he was right.
In the penthouse suite of the Ashford Canary Wharf hotel, Sasha sat on the bed in her white towelling robe, reading through a contract Robert had handed her. Connie Ashford thought her husband was in Texas for a meeting with the underperforming Ashford Houston hotel, while Sasha had left the Rivera office early telling Philip she had a Pilates lesson and massage. He’d had no reason to question her.
‘Are you sure LVMH won’t buy us?’ she said, looking up. After all, why shouldn’t someone like the Louis Vuitton group be interested in them? Rivera was one of the hottest fashion labels in the industry; with seven stores, presence in all the prestigious department stores and a forty-million-pound turnover, it had become one of the favoured labels of the rich and famous.
Reclining at the end of the bed, Robert Ashford watched her, an amused smile on his lips.
‘Don’t run before you can walk,’ he said. ‘Rivera is barely out of the starting blocks. Right now you’re too small.’
She swivelled off the bed in anger.‘Why too small? LVMH bought Marc Jacobs when he was tiny.’
‘Marc Jacobs had been established twelve years when LVMH acquired a stake in his label,’ replied Robert smoothly. Not for the first time, he surprised her with his detailed industry knowledge.
‘But I want to sell to someone prestigious,’ said Sasha petulantly.
Robert laughed. ‘What you want to do is to get rid of Ben, Philip and Miles,’ he said. ‘What you want to do is to dilute your own shareholding to raise capital and liquidise some of your assets. What you want is a supportive strategic partner who will let you stay creative director and invest money into the brand so we can finally branch out into accessories, scent, even more stores.’
‘And who’s that strategic partner? You?’
Robert shook his
head. ‘A private equity outfit.’
She walked over to the window, pursing her lips in thought. In front of her, the regenerated Docklands twinkled in the darkness – the lights from offices and expensive flats like citrines sprinkled over a pad of black velvet. Although they were both stubborn and self-righteous, she respected Robert’s opinion completely. He knew so much about everything. Dynamism oozed from every pore of his skin. He was the only man that had ever made her feel both valued and ... what was the word? Protected, that was it. She felt that nothing could go wrong when she was with him. He came up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist, untying her robe.
‘You can conquer the world, you know that,’ he said, stroking her breasts. ‘I always thought that about you. You’re strong and clever.’ He kissed her neck. ‘And you’re not afraid to take risks.’
She moaned as his lips tickled her ear. ‘Hey, I’ve got to read the contract,’ she said.
‘Later,’ he said, slipping off her gown.
She looked at her naked reflection in the glass. She wondered if anyone could see them and the thought thrilled her. Sasha Sinclair and Robert Ashford atop Canary Wharf. Lovers, equals, like the king and queen of the world.
Still standing behind her, he slipped his hand between her thighs and curled his fingers into her warm, damp pussy. ‘Come back to bed,’ he said and she went willingly, already aroused. If she had first thought that sex with an older man, a much older man, would be staid and routine, she had been mistaken. At fifty, Robert’s body was in impeccable shape, but it wasn’t his stamina or his experience that made it such a thrilling, erotic experience. Their love-making had an emotional connection and sensuality that she had never reached with Philip or anyone else.
‘I’ve got you something,’ he said as he lay back on the pillow afterwards. He reached over to his jacket and pulled out a slip of folded paper.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘A cheque.’
‘What for? Services rendered?’ she said with a note of irritation.
‘Open it.’
The cheque was for three quarters of a million pounds. She looked at him, her eyes wide.
‘I believe that is what you need to exercise your option to purchase a certain shareholding in Ben Rivera.’
A certain shareholding, meaning Miles’. Although Miles was his son and an investor in Ben Rivera, Robert always avoided mentioning his name. In a few weeks’ time, it would be four years since Miles had given her his initial investment in Rivera. Under their original agreement, she could buy back his stake – and Sasha wanted to do it desperately.
‘Is this a loan?’ she asked, waggling the cheque at him.
‘We’ll see,’ said Robert. ‘The important thing is to simplify the company’s shareholding structure as much as possible pre-sale. If you can get rid of him, it will make Rivera more appealing to buyers.’
She crawled over and kissed him on the lips. ‘Thank you, Robert,’ she said simply.
‘My pleasure. I like you very much, Sasha Sinclair.’