More Than A Millionaire. Sophie Weston

will be trying to demonstrate to the guys who are their new bosses what hard men they are.’

      ‘That means they’ll need to do two things,’ said Sam from the depths of her experience. ‘Sack someone. Preferably with maximum publicity. And shift the blame for anything that went wrong onto someone else. I see the buck whizzing rapidly in this direction.’

      ‘They’ll blame us?’ said Abby. ‘But that’s not fair.’

      ‘You’re learning,’ agreed Molly. ‘Corporate life isn’t fair. It’s a game without rules and all that matters is winning.’

      Abby shivered. ‘Nasty.’

      ‘Yup. Short of a miracle, Culp and Christopher are going to take the blame for this one. And lose the account,’ said Molly philosophically. ‘That why you want Abby, Sam?’

      Sam gave a rueful laugh. ‘You are so right. I foresee a real shouting match before the clients sack us. If you’re there, it might take some of the steam out of the meeting. They don’t know you, so they can’t shout at you.’

      ‘Besides, people never do shout at Abby,’ said Molly, grinning.

      ‘I know. It’s like having a security blanket. If you can make it, I could really do with you, Abby,’ Sam said, with feeling.

      Abby was touched.

      ‘I’ll try,’ she said obligingly. ‘Depends on the latest version of Diane’s schedule. Still, perhaps she’ll want a rest, with the premiere this evening.’

      ‘More likely the film company will be running journalists in and out of her suite at ten minute intervals,’ said Sam, depressed.

      The new film was her project and she was not getting on very well with the film’s publicist. There had been a number of clashes on the stars’ timetables but Diane Ladrot’s was the worst because she wanted to take in the London Fashion Week shows as well.

      ‘She’ll have to have her hair done at some point,’ Abby said consolingly. ‘I’ll see if I can make a run for it then. What time’s your meeting?’

      ‘Three. But it will go on for ages,’ said Sam with gloomy certainty.

      ‘Well I’ll get back as soon as I can. I’ll slide in quietly,’ promised Abby. ‘No one will notice I haven’t been there all the time.’

      It was fortunate she could not see how wide of the mark that airy forecast would turn out to be.

      Emilio Diz said, ‘I will attend this meeting.’

      He put the cap on his pen as if there was no more to be said. The Gypsy-dark face was quite expressionless.

      The dignified squabble that had broken out between the finance director and the head of marketing immediately ceased. The board of Traynor Property Development looked at each other, unified at last in their dismay.

      ‘Come to the PR company?’ echoed the head of marketing hollowly.

      The managing director thought on his feet. That was why he was still managing director, ten days after the Diz Corporation had acquired Traynor in a ruthlessly effective take-over.

      ‘But you said your first priority was to see what we had in development, Señor Diz,’ he reminded Emilio smoothly. ‘I’ve organised a tour of our current sites.’

      Emilio looked at him for an unnerving moment. The managing director felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise though he could not have said why. There was nothing to be read in the soot-black eyes.

      ‘I toured the sites before I made a bid for this company,’ Emilio said coolly.

      The managing director was shocked. No one should have been able to gain access to work sites without authorisation and everyone at the table knew it.

      ‘I don’t understand,’ he said stiffly.

      ‘It’s quite simple.’ Emilio allowed himself a grim smile. ‘I always do my research. Your security is garbage. Put the two together and—’ He shrugged.

      The managing director had nothing to say.

      Emilio nodded, as if he expected to silence his subordinates and this small victory was no surprise. As indeed it was not.

      ‘So I will attend this meeting,’ he concluded.

      No one had told the marketing director that you did not argue with Emilio Diz. ‘But why?’ he said, genuinely puzzled.

      ‘Because this company’s public relations stink,’ Emilio said brutally. ‘Before I can put it right, I need to find out whose fault it is. Yours or the agency’s.’

      That was too much for the young finance director. ‘What about a hostile bidder’s mud-slinging?’ he burst out.

      The black eyes rested on him with even less expression than before, if that was possible. There was a sharp silence. Everyone round the table held their breath.

      Then—‘Quite,’ said Emilio coolly. ‘I was seriously unimpressed by your defence. Almost made me withdraw the bid.’