Take a Chance on Me Read online

  With a hearty hug and a slow meander back on board, Mac was regaled with the story of that night’s antics between one of the crew and Melissa the Aussie barmaid. But had anyone asked him to retell the story, Mac couldn’t have remembered a thing. He was cast adrift, lost in his own little faraway world.

  Back in the hotel, Sadie found herself unable to think straight, caught up in her conflicting emotions. She fought back the tears, rationalising everything.

  It had been just one night. She’d always known that. So no point being upset. Focus on the good side. Was there a good side? Okay … how about not having to own up to lying? She found she was surprisingly relieved about that, partly due to having avoided a very awkward conversation about her real name, and partly due to managing to get back to the hotel on time. And partly because she could finally stop holding her belly in.

  But above all, there was no denying, she couldn’t stop herself having that old familiar sinking feeling. Soon, the wonderful night would be nothing but a memory.

  But what a memory.

  Sadie smiled dreamily as she took off her make-up in front of the mirror. She too was in her own little faraway world. A world where Mac was on her arm, in her bed and in her life. She allowed herself precisely ten minutes of ‘dwelling’ then shook herself.

  He worked on a boat, for goodness sake. Travelled the world. His life was hardly jet-setting glamorous, but it was full of variety.

  Her world was ordinary, full of responsibility and routine.

  And children.

  Men are all the same, she thought, and he probably has that effect on all the girls.

  But as she settled down to sleep, somewhere deep down inside, a little voice disagreed.

  Chapter Five

  Sadie knew she’d be late. For the first time in fifteen years, she knew she’d be late.

  Why couldn’t she have just got going this morning, like she always did, instead of lying in bed, turning over her emotions in her head. The cynic inside her had surfaced with the type of vengeance that only a ‘morning after’ alone in bed, can bring. We’ve all seen Bridesmaids.

  He’s moved on by now … set sail to the next girl in the next port … didn’t ask for a number … didn’t want to follow up …

  It really was a one night only, her traitorous brain kept echoing, one night only, one night only – chanting the song from the film over and over in her mind. She swung between feeling miffed at how it ended, and thrilled at how it began.

  She pressed a final ‘eject’ button in her mind, and finished getting ready just as the phone in the room rang. Her heart leapt, till she remembered she hadn’t swapped surnames, let alone phone numbers.

  ‘Oh, hi, Mum,’ she said. It was a quick good luck call from home and she explained about her lack of mobile, promised to get a replacement soon, and to ring with an update as soon as the meeting was over. Then she made her way out the door, with a spring in her step, and her heart in her throat.

  Out in reception the queue to leave her luggage at the concierge desk had delayed her by another two minutes, and now as she crossed the road to the swanky hotel opposite for her first ever grown-up investor meeting – ‘potential’ investor meeting, pardon me – she’d never been more nervous in all her life.

  She’d have run, but that’d be a physical impossibility right now. Whatever made her think it was a good idea to wear the high heels again?

  Yes, tall people were more successful in business, but wasn’t that just for men? She should have left the ‘fuck me’ shoes back in the ‘lose me’ suitcase, but when she’d woken up this morning and seen them, memories of last night had rippled through her, making her feel alive and confident again – after all, they’d been wrapped around Mac’s hips not ten hours ago.

  Focus!

  Straightening her slightly-dated, over-tight but elegant designer skirt suit for the fiftieth time, and breathing through the restrictions of the slimming pants below, she inhaled deeply and asked for her floor. The operator in the smartest lift in town nodded his head politely to her and the other two occupants – an older lady and her younger husband, who was ogling Sadie’s backside until the wife slapped his wrist.

  Ping. ‘Cinquième étage. Fifth floor.’ The operator brought the lift, complete with its elaborate wall dressing of fresh flowers – fresh flowers, in a lift? – to a halt.

  Stepping out Sadie looked up and down the conference floor, smelling the fresh floral fragrance of a hundred huge lilies on the table opposite. She tottered over to register at the business desk nearby, where a snooty looking receptionist held up a finger while she spoke on the phone. It was in French but Sadie knew it was about her.

  ‘Miss Turner?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s Ms, actually.’

  ‘Mr Anderson and his associates will join you soon. Please be seated.’ The receptionist spoke haughtily with just a hint of a French accent, and waved her to a seat nearby.

  Sadie couldn’t believe her luck – she was the first one there. She wasn’t late. No keeping the investor – potential investor – waiting. Thank heavens.

  Being on time might be one of my ‘things’, but it obviously isn’t one of his.

  She sat down in an oversized, richly upholstered chair, her feet not quite reaching the floor. Her suit – the same one from yesterday but given a good steaming with the travel iron this morning – felt like a straitjacket and she squirmed, adjusting her bra strap. She felt like a kid waiting to see the headmaster.

  This guy must live the high life, choosing a place like this for a one-hour nine a.m. meeting. What was his latest megabucks deal worth? Sadie tried to remember.

  She sighed and drummed her fingers on the side of her leather briefcase, thinking. Attila the Receptionist sent her a look that could kill. Smiling sheepishly in apology, Sadie opened her case to review her notes. She took out a wad of papers – research, printouts and handwritten pages of scribbles – she loved to prep thoroughly, geeky nerd that she was, and never threw anything away until she was sure she wouldn’t need it.

  She separated a couple of particularly tatty scraps and put them into the bin next to her – or maybe it was some antique umbrella stand ornament – whatever. Then she re-read her initial contact letter from the advisor. It was gnarled at the edges having been pored over so often by Sadie in the past few days.

  As well as a trip to Hawaii, as part of her prize for winning the marketing award, she’d been given an in-depth company health check with an expert. She scanned through his introduction email and looked again at the jazzy business card.

  Simon Leadbetter. Business Advisor and Chief Financial Officer for Michael Christopher Anderson (MCA) Associates. It was as official sounding as he’d looked in his three-piece grey suit: dapper, impressive, almost smelling of money. If money had a smell. Damn sure Sadie had had a cold for the last couple of years if so, there was so little of it around in her life. The card was embossed, platinum lettering. She fingered it and bit her lip.

  Their track record of successful ventures read like a Sunday Times Top 100 list. Sadie felt a reassuring wave of calm remembering the encouragement from the older man. Simon had been a true breath of fresh air, and had taken Sadie under his wing somewhat. Even though her prize was for just one session, he’d given more. She made him laugh, a rare thing for Simon, and he’d been impressed with the way she ran her store. And with the neatness of her accounts. He’d even let her tease him about being a workaholic and she smiled, recalling his jokey reply that the boss needed someone to look after him, always had done. There had been a protective look on his face as he said it, which quickly vanished before he pronounced that the love of a good woman was the biggest prize of all – but the right woman. There was obviously a story there, but he refused to be drawn on it. Sadie wondered if Simon had been married or had children but he’d changed the subject an
y time she got too close for comfort. Then he’d bid her bon voyage and if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of that same look on his face when he wished her good luck at the awards.

  When she’d rung him from Hawaii buzzing with news of her success and the once in a lifetime business opportunity, he hadn’t even seemed that surprised that she’d achieved it – it was a lovely moment for Sadie. To have someone like him have such confidence in her. He was the only person she’d needed to call, as he whipped into motion once he heard about the thirty day deadline.

  Was it complete pie in the sky – albeit organic, gluten-free pie – to imagine it was even possible to tie up a deal like this within a month? Simon had been straight on the phone and it turned out destiny leant a hand once again – MCA’s boss, Michael Anderson himself, had actually just come across the product at a sports event, where he was told how it was helping some athletes achieve personal bests. And, yes, he would be interested to take a meeting. And, yes, if he had to, he could work fast. He’d definitely have to if Sadie was to beat the thirty day deadline. It was now day six. No time to waste.

  Simon had even given her presentation the once over before she left for Monaco. Then, in true Fairy Godmother fashion, he warned Sadie it now all rested on whether Mr Anderson liked her. He was very much a gut-instinct kind of investor, apparently, and if anyone can do it, Mr Anderson can. If he feels he can trust you, he can trust the deal.

  Simon’s team dug deep and vetted the deal fully too, and it must have passed, otherwise it would have never reached Mr Anderson’s desk.

  Okay, well it takes one to know one. She’d researched him too.

  But despite her attempts to Google him, doing a background check on this elusive Michael Anderson was more difficult than she’d expected. There were all the usual company standard profiles, but very little other detail online, despite several hours on the laptop while ‘bonding-with-kids-via-teenage-TV’. Her older daughter, Abi, had even helped her on the Internet, her profile picture looking identical to Sadie’s in the photo Georgia had taken of them with their noses in their laptops. Georgia, on the other hand, had the red hair of Sadie’s mum, Grace, and the temper to match.

  Simon was right, though – the mega-rich must have ways of protecting their profiles. She’d only found a few that weren’t group photos with countless diverse females draped on his arms. All with sunglasses, very slick, rich and prickly looking poses, and worlds away from Sadie’s life. Couldn’t even tell his age. Never mind. Would he like her? That’s what mattered.

  The enormity of what she was getting herself involved in hit her as she sat there looking up and down the imposing, and still empty corridor. She suddenly felt so nervous she thought she’d implode. Would it work? Would he hate her? Would they be in time? The life-saving commission on offer was so close she could taste it – she’d visualised receiving it – but the doubts were creeping in.

  Come on, Sadie, me girl, don’t lose it now. You make your own luck.

  She only hoped they’d speed up the ‘cursory due diligence procedures and usual protracted contract negotiations’ Simon had mentioned in his verbose manner. It would be touch and go. Assuming the boss wanted in. Oh God, please let him want in. Let him like me, let him like me, let him like me.

  Seconds ticked by as Sadie waited, not calmed at all by the occasional superior look from the receptionist. With every passing minute, her anxiety went up tenfold. She was feeling a little hot, and fanned herself with the presentation folder. She would ask for some water but felt sure the robotic woman typing rhythmically behind the desk didn’t drink, eat or breathe so would frown upon her even more.

  Sadie eyed up the bottle of Frish inside her bag. It was tempting. No, it’s my last one. Plus she’d had a headache pill before she left the hotel and there was some small print in the literature about the water which made her not want to risk it just in case what they said about it was true. So she just visited the ladies room across the hall in search of water. Stepping inside, an icy blast of air conditioning met her, and she shivered, just as the lift doors opened and a smartly suited man and a small entourage stepped out towards the reception desk.

  ‘This way, Mr Anderson,’ said one of the hotel staff, fussing around him. Sadie wheeled around and peeked back out through the closing ladies room door, but couldn’t see much, just a designer suit disappearing into the conference room followed by several others.

  She quickly finished and re-emerged. A condescending nod from Frosty Felicité on reception meant it was time to make an entrance. Sadie straightened her skirt, smoothed her hair, took the deepest breath she could, and opened the door. It was one of those pivotal moments after which life was never the same again. For Sadie it would be forever imprinted on her mind with the smell of lilies and leather chairs.

  Inside the Napoleon Room, Simon Leadbetter stood up from his seat at the head of a large shiny oak table, and greeted her warmly. Freshly brewed coffee and sweetness filled the air, and a slight buzz of conversation from the other people busying themselves around the room made her entrance less daunting. So far so good.

  ‘Sadie! How lovely to see you. Mr Anderson’s just had to step into the anteroom to take an urgent call from his business partner, he’ll be with us soon. Good night last night?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Was the hotel to your liking?’

  ‘Oh, er, yes, lovely, thanks. Lovely hotel.’

  ‘Breakfast okay? Did they look after you?’

  ‘Lovely.’ Just don’t ask me what I had. She’d been too nervous – and too late – to eat any. ‘Lovely, thank you so much.’

  Lovely? Lovely? Is that all you can manage? Oh goodness, girl, get your brain in gear or they’ll be getting a refund on their hour-long room booking, it’ll be over so soon.

  Simon talked about the weather, her journey over, and the lack of time in Mr Anderson’s busy schedule.

  ‘He’s flying straight out to yet another sporting event in an hour or so – so do make every second count.’

  Sadie swallowed. Then nodded. If she wasn’t mistaken, even Simon seemed a little nervous.

  Her presentation was already being projected into the back wall. Simon had also brought some hard copies, freshly bound, sitting in a neat pile in the middle of the table.

  He signalled towards an assistant who was setting up the laptop and projector. The menu for the presentation came up on the screen, then the front cover. For good measure and because of another paragraph in the small print about jet lag, she’d added a picture of a plane to the images of sports people, celebrities and a hospital patient. She hoped it wasn’t too over the top but Simon had said the more eye-catching the better. And if the research proved it to be true, it would be the fastest hydrating water in the world. Big bucks ahead, indeed. If the science stacked up.

  The lines she’d rehearsed a thousand times went over and over in her mind as it reached overdrive and went skywards. She sipped water through dry lips from the glass someone had kindly put in front of her.

  The flunkies were scattered around the room talking in hushed tones, variously rearranging expensive cookies into perfectly straight lines on the silver platter, flicking through documents, tapping at their phones, pouring richly whipped hot chocolate from silver pots into designer porcelain cups, or discussing the information on each other’s laptops. One was less flunky and more floozy, giving Sadie dark looks which brightened into a smile when Sadie fully glanced her way. Who was she?

  Simon beckoned Sadie over for some introductions.

  ‘Derek and Graham, business analysts.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Miss Turner.’

  ‘It’s Ms Turner, Graham,’ Simon said.

  ‘Oh, sorry. Ms Turner.’

  Sadie laughed louder than she’d intended and shook hands with these two younger, geeky looking guys, and then with a few o
thers. The small talk wasn’t exactly taxing but her tongue was numb and she felt a little headachy with her tight skirt stopping her breathing properly. She straightened it self-consciously when the next person was introduced to her. The floozy – a particularly nubile looking young blonde in expensive Gucci – shook her hand.

  ‘I’m Alexis,’ she said as if Sadie should know who she was.

  ‘Hi, I’m Sadie,’ Sadie said, and immediately felt stupid.

  ‘Oh, I know who you are,’ Alexis replied. A shudder of dislike emanated from the woman even though her smile stayed fixed. Take away the notebook and the glasses perched on top of her head and she could just as easily grace the pages of Sports Illustrated. She looked at Sadie with slight curiosity, eyeing up her navy business suit and shoes.

  Oh God, where are my sensible pumps when I need them …

  ‘Nice to meet you. Quite a coup you have on your hands here,’ she said in a West Coast American accent, suddenly beaming again. ‘Congratulations for landing the investment of the decade. Mr Anderson will be very pleased.’ The girl smiled, opaquely. ‘Assuming you can pull it off in time.’

  Sadie scrutinised her, but the handshake was strong, and her face was confident. Staking her territory, Sadie wondered? But Alexis would have nothing to worry about from Sadie in that department – stealing a billionaire away from someone with those looks would be as likely for Sadie as … well, as ever seeing Mac again.

  Damn that man, get out of my head, she told herself, watching the blonde deliberately sashay away, to start distributing the hard copies of the presentation around the top of the table. Sadie hardly registered the names of the other people Simon was introducing.

  ‘That’s nearly everyone,’ Simon said. ‘Unless BJ McKowski deigns to join us – that’s Mr Anderson’s occasional co-investor. Bit of a character, I’m afraid, but pay no heed. Mr Anderson likes to spread his risk, and BJ’s capital is as beneficial as any.’