Is she also awake, somewhere in the city? Looking out over a similar view? Is she happy? Content? Still searching for the elusive fix that will make everything feel better?
I push my fingers through my hair, shake it out and stretch. Try to banish her from my mind. I said no to the board, to my mentor. She will be someone else’s problem. Someone else can fix her. Someone who can be trusted to control their basic instincts where she’s concerned, instincts I thought long-since dead.
‘Turn on the TV.’
The penthouse comes alive, the TV blaring to life with the news channel, though my focus remains inward. I’ll go at it hard in the gym, up my reps, my run, anything to burn—
‘Sources say the Bugatti Olivia Carmel was driving struck the central reservation of the M40 at around four this morning...’
The fine hairs on my neck, my arms prick up, goosebumps forming with the sickening roll in my gut. I grab the remote, turn up the volume.
‘...it’s believed she was travelling alone to her home on the outskirts of Oxford when the crash happened.’
Camera footage fills the screen of a crumpled vehicle being pulled out of a ditch. There are police cars, floodlights, a fire engine, an ambulance...
‘She is said to be in a stable condition. The police haven’t confirmed whether she was driving under the influence but, in light of recent events, it does add to the growing concern around the successful entrepreneur following the sudden death of her husband and business partner, Nathan Carmel, just over a year ago.’
I toss the remote onto the sofa, turn away from the screen. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’
My curse is overtaken by the sharp shrill of my mobile ringing. I stride back to the bedroom and snatch it up, knowing who it is before I see his name on the display. I swipe to answer and raise it to my ear.
‘Alan,’ I snap out tightly.
‘Valentine, I’m so glad I’ve caught you. I’m sorry to ring this early, but there’s been a...a development. It’s Olivia—’
‘I’ve seen. It’s all over the news.’
‘Yes.’ His sigh reaches down the phone, twisting up my gut as the guilt swells. I close my eyes, try to shut it down. ‘The press were there in an instant; it’s like they know just where to be at the wrong moment... Well, I guess it’s the right one for them.’
I murmur a nonsensical response.
‘We need you, Valentine. She needs you.’
My eyes open wide. No. ‘She needs someone else.’
‘You’re the best in the business. You understand what she’s going through. And with the reputation of your PR company, plus the way this is heading, she won’t be able to refuse your aid.’
She will when she sees me is my instinctive response. It was dark in the club, but I don’t doubt for a second that she’ll recognise me.
And the things I’ve seen, the things she asked me to witness...
‘Valentine, you there? Val—’
‘I’m here.’
‘Please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Do you remember what you were like four years ago?’
My eyes close of their own volition this time, my mind transported back to that bleak morning in his office. I was broken, defeated, a mess.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t want to dredge up the past, but I need you to see you’re the right person to turn her around.’
‘You should get a psychologist, a counsellor.’
‘Because they worked so well for you.’
He’s right. They didn’t stand a chance.
‘And we’ve tried; she won’t accept either.’
‘This is different. She’s different.’
‘It’s not, and you know it. You’re making excuses, and I understand why, but...’
‘You understand, and yet you’re asking anyway?’
‘Look, I know it brings back painful memories, but I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t...if it wasn’t a last resort.’
I blow out a breath. He wouldn’t be asking if he knew of our little encounter though.
‘And I trust you, Valentine. I know you can get through to her.’
‘But...’ I break off. What can I possibly say to refuse him? I can’t tell him the truth, that I messed up big time. Once, by going to the club. Twice, by accepting her invitation. Thrice, by running like some scared and inexperienced teenager.
‘I’m just asking you to at least try...for me.’
I swallow, my fist pulsing around the phone. I want to say it’s not fair to put that on me. But that in itself isn’t fair. I owe him.
‘Valentine?’
‘Okay.’ It comes out gruff, barely audible. ‘But if she’s not on board, I walk.’
‘Of course. That’s all I ask.’
I grip the phone tighter, reiterating, ‘I’m not forcing her to accept my help.’
Because the second she sees me I know she’s going to baulk, and then what?
‘Agreed. I’ll be in touch to set up a meeting.’
‘Okay.’
‘Speak soon and...thanks, Valentine.’
‘No problem.’ It comes out quiet, born of habit, and I cut the call with a stifled curse.
I toss the phone on the bed and return to the living room just in time to catch a parting camera shot of the wreckage and a photo taken at a recent gala event. She’s stunning. Her skin glowing pearlescent under the lights of the cameras, her hair in a loose updo, her dress a slinky red number, but her smile...it’s haunted, strained, and I feel a punch to the gut so strong. I know that look. I wore it.
And I know Alan is right; I do get it and I can help her.
Not that she’ll want me to. Not when she recognises who I am.
And I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, because one thing’s for sure: she may baulk, but I can’t walk away.
Olivia
‘You can forget pretending to be asleep, Liv, and open your eyes!’
I grimace at my sister’s pissed-off tone and tentatively open one eyelid, wincing as the bright lights of the hospital room sear my brain. ‘Do you have to shout?’
‘Shout? I want to do more than shout. I want to shake some bloody sense into you. What were you doing,
