Seeing White Read online

  Engrossed in documents, financial statistics and reports, he was surprised to notice that time had flown by so quickly. Time flies when you’re having fun. No matter what he thought of his life, he did enjoy the fundamentals of it. Business was easy for him, natural. He’d never seemed to struggle with its concepts and complications like some did. The main structure of a healthy business was quite simple: brains, charm and strict discipline. Don’t let people walk over or under you, and have enough power that everybody is wary. Trust no one. Be ruthless, and never let anyone know the real you. Weaknesses showed a route in.

  There was only one person that knew him with anything close to actual reality. Well, maybe two, but Conner was the more appropriate of them. They had been friends from their first meeting and had always been close. Even their three years apart hadn’t diminished their grasp of each other. Conner was like the big brother Alex never had. Having often been guided and driven by deep-seated anger and frustration, it was Conner who moulded the fury into something more sustainable and stabalised it. He’d found a path for Alex to channel himself and a hobby to rid himself of the anger - several actually, some more pleasurable than others.

  Conner had given him a focus he’d never known before, a way to try to achieve something more worthwhile. Without Conner, he would probably be in the East End somewhere, barely keeping himself out of jail and not giving a fuck about it. More than likely drinking himself to death, fuelling himself with coke and probably killing anything that interfered - quite happily at that. There was no doubt that he owed Conner a lot, and he reminded himself that he’d never really thanked him for that. No, he’d just fucked him over a few times like the bastard he was - thoughtless and deviant to the last. That was just his natural disposition unfortunately, and the actual words - thank you - well, they were a little harder. And frankly, how could he say what needed to be said anyway without confessing everything, without revealing it all? It was for another time, or maybe never at all.

  Who fucking knew?

  Standing at the desk, he moved his head from side to side and headed up the stairs to find some clothes. Andrews would be ready in half an hour and he needed to get organised. He dragged his fingers along a line of neatly pressed shirts in the walk-in-wardrobe and selected one along with a jacket. Then put on the shirt and shoes, grabbed his watch, switched out the lights, and headed back downstairs. Such was the order of his life. How women made the process of getting dressed so difficult was beyond him. They were strange creatures really, beautiful and stimulating in a few ways, yes, but strange nonetheless. To be honest, he’d yet to meet one that interested him for more than a few months, so they deserved little of his respect or thoughts at all for that matter. They all seemed to lack depth or substance, no real quality that intrigued or surprised him, tiresome really. All he needed to do was flash an Alexander White smile and lift an eyebrow and he had them, any of them, anywhere. It was yet another dull element of his life.

  His phone beeped, informing him that the car was outside waiting, so he picked up his briefcase, phone and coat and walked out the door.

  “Andrews,” he said as he climbed in.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  “Is it? I think it’s actually morning.” Alex almost chuckled in response.

  “So it is, sir. However, we are both alive and well so that has to be a good start,” he replied, his bark of laughter surprising even him. As an ex-military man, Andrews was apparently happy simply to be alive. He supposed in that line of business it was crucial.

  He only fucking wished it was enough for him.

  “Ready, sir?” Andrews said, closing his door.

  “Yes.”

  ~

  Standing outside the sleek, grey jet, he nodded at Andrews, signalling his dismissal, and then stared at the jet. He loved the look of it and gazed for a minute. It always brought a smile to his face, continuing to be one of the only things that genuinely made him beam with pride. He had achieved this, his first real goal. Since he was a boy, he’d dreamed of it. That little red plane had been the only toy of any consequence he’d been allowed at the time, so regardless of the fact that the bastard had continued to remind him what a worthless little shit he was, who wouldn’t achieve anything of any value, he’d kept dreaming just a little in the hope of another existence. This was supposedly it, his better existence. Why the hell it suddenly seemed so unfulfilling was a complete fucking enigma.

  At the top of the jet’s steps stood the pilots. John and Phillip had been regulars for him since he got the plane and had always proved good at their jobs. He regarded them and made his way up the stairs.

  “Good evening, sir,” said Phillip. John had already made his way to the forward cabin.

  “Phillip.”

  “Everything is ready to go, Unfortunately Tara couldn’t make it on such short notice, but Jo Meyers comes highly recommended,” he said, directing a hand toward a woman. She was about five foot four, a bit slim for Alex’s liking, but everything was in the right place. Her long blonde hair was piled into a neat bun, but her make-up was far too heavy so he immediately presumed that she was yet another vapid and undeserving whore like all the others. One bat of her false eyelashes proved him exactly right.

  “Thank you, Phillip,” he said as he pulled his eyes from the reasonably cute blonde’s short but well-formed legs. He would have preferred them longer, but unfortunately not all women were blessed with such good genes, and it made little difference while they were on their backs anyway.

  “Mr. White, it’s a pleasure to meet you and I hope I can serve you well for the flight,” she said primly, glancing at his chest. It was pathetic.

  “I’m sure you will,” he replied with a slight sneer, passing her by and walking towards the black leather chair. He sat heavily and proceeded to buckle himself in, dropping the briefcase on the floor.

  “I’ll just stow your bag, sir,” she said, all flushing cheeks and nervous fingers as she bent to pick it up. Those legs might have been a little short but the familiar stirring in his groin as he watched her arse reminded him that maybe a little amusement could be in order. Perhaps she should work a little harder for her probably overpaid salary.

  “Is there anything I can get you before take-off, sir?” she asked, reaching above him.

  “Yes, take off your skirt, buckle into that chair facing me, put your legs on each of the arm rests and make yourself come,” he said, flashing a very weak smile and lifting his eyebrow suggestively.

  She gasped and recoiled a bit. “Sir, I’m not sure that’s…” Struggling to find the words, she wobbled in her shoes. “I wasn’t told it was that sort of contract.”

  “It isn’t in the contract, Jo. I don’t need you to sign a contract to make you feel good. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. I don’t want to work and you’re a diversion for me. If you want to thoroughly enjoy working for me then you’ll drop the pretence that you don’t find me attractive and just accept my request,” he said, staring long and hard at her with no emotion whatsoever. She really wasn’t worth his effort in the slightest and he couldn’t be bothered with another smile. “Of course, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

  “I’m still not sure it’s appropriate, sir,” she stuttered again, nervously shifting from side to side. He sighed and pinched his brow. Was she really going to try this I couldn’t possibly shit?

  “Trust me, Jo, it’s more than appropriate, and when you’ve finished having your first orgasm and we’re high enough, you’ll be on your knees giving me the best blowjob you can manage. Ten minutes after that, I’ll be fucking seven shades of shit out of you across that bar.” He directed his hand towards the black granite bar. “You’ll have the time of your life, feel things you’ve never felt before and be screaming my name out for at least two hours. By the time you leave my plane, you’ll be sore and fully sated,” he stated nonchalantly, continuing to stare with narrowing eyes. He could see her rather pitiful defences breaking do
wn and shook his head. “Now, be a good girl, get in the chair and do as you’re told before I strap you there myself. You know you want to so don’t disappoint yourself. Embarrassment and guilt have no place on my plane.”

  Again he raised an brow.

  She looked at him for ten seconds, made her decision, gave him her best impression of a seductive smile and began to lower her skirt, so he relaxed into his chair to enjoy the show. Maybe one day someone would surprise him with a no, or maybe an argument. Even a fucking slap would go somewhere towards relieving the constant monotony. He frowned as he watched her lift her legs and wished he hadn’t started this. Those legs really weren’t doing a thing for him; they barely reached over the bloody armrests.

  “Well done, Jo. Now tell me about how much you want me inside you,” he said as the wheels left the tarmac beneath them. Her mouth parted with apparent shock. Given that she didn’t know him ten minutes ago and she was already spreading her legs for him, he thought her surprise was unwarranted to say the least.

  He continued to stare at her until the words began tumbling from her mouth and then lowered his eyes to something a little more appealing as her hand reached downwards. Her fingers were too short as well but at least the talons she sported reminded him of his baser instincts, so he continued to watch with a bland expression in the hope that it might pass the time somehow.

  It really didn’t, but with a little thought, maybe he could increase the entertainment factor. He eyed the cords on the curtains with a smile and ran his fingers across his lips as his imagination grabbed at various images.

  He needed his lighter and a calculator.

  Chapter 2

  Elizabeth

  “Y ou’re such a bloody cow. Unbelievable! I can’t believe you told him he was tepid in the bedroom.” I can hear Belle laughing about their story with Teresa as they load the last of the client order onto the catering van for the Torrington wedding.

  “What was more amusing was the look on his face. You wouldn’t believe it, named and shamed as being shit in the sex department,” says Teresa, still chortling to herself about the whole event.

  “But honestly, Teresa, did you have to do it in front of the whole bar? He was actually a reasonably lucrative client for us.”

  “Who was?” I ask, as I walk through from the kitchen with a tray of chocolate éclairs that have been left behind.

  “John Dixon. Can you believe that Teresa screwed him stupid after the Linton party then he had the audacity to parade his girlfriend around in INK the other night? Apparently he’s been dating her for a few months. The bastard actually laughed when he saw her and tried to pretend to the girlfriend they were just friends. So, she called him out on it and told most of the bar he was, and I quote, ‘Tepid in the bedroom at best,’” Belle replies, screaming with laughter as she finishes the explanation. My fit of giggles bubble to the surface at my sister and best friend jumping up and down in fits of hysterics, Teresa very nearly falling over a crate of champagne as she walks around the counter towards the door.

  We’ve owned Scott’s Catering Company for four years, starting as a small firm run out of our mum and dad’s bakery in Surrey. We took the huge leap of starting the shop in London two years ago, running it alongside the existing business, and it has thankfully taken off with startling results. We only managed to do it by using the country pub our family bought for a steal as collateral, but we managed it. Belle, having done her degree in business and marketing, is the brains with the balls to back it up. Teresa works the shop front, has done since the day we employed her to help, and I’m the creative cook. I’ve always loved the kitchen. I pestered my mum my entire childhood, spending most of my evenings making some new cake or pudding for the family to taste. It’s rubbed off well on me. Lord knows how we all keep our weight down. Frankly, we should all be the size of houses.

  Scott’s has become well known for special event catering, and the shop has become a firm favourite on the high street for all the well-heeled people of London to purchase their pastries and cakes. More often than not I’m in the shop until the early hours of the morning creating another order of delicious treats for the rich and famous. As long as I never have to meet them, I’m very happy. Wealth has always had a funny impact on me. The people make me feel inadequate and unkempt somehow, which I know is ridiculous, but I just don’t feel able to converse easily with them. They just seem to make me feel very uncomfortable without really doing anything at all. Belle has told me on many occasions to “sort my shit out,” as she so eloquently puts it, but I just can’t make that nervous feeling go away. Of course, it helps that Belle went to a private school full of money. She finds it easier to converse with the landed gentry. I went to state school. Mum and Dad’s bakery was struggling when I hit eleven so I ended up in the local comprehensive, not that I minded at the time. It would have been unfair to pull Belle out of St. Peter's so they somehow managed to keep paying for her to remain there.

  However, life is good. The business is doing incredibly well and all I have to do is keep doing what I love - cooking. Belle manages to find new clients weekly and the orders keep coming in. We’re on the brink of expanding and just need a few more wealthy individuals who appreciate our worth and then we can go to the bank and plead for more money. The kitchen space at the back of the shop has started to become limiting in its size and we are becoming confined in how much we can produce. Bigger events are not an option unless I can share the cooking with Mum in Surrey, which unfortunately is definitely starting to become too much for her. I know there’s only so much Mum can do for us without making herself ill again, and as she’s already battled cancer once, I’m not harassing her too much anymore. Besides, the constant two locations thing is ridiculously tricky to manage and fuel costs are beyond unreasonable.

  Having finally managed to get the last of the racks of food inside the van, we tap the roof to let the driver know he’s set to go. We’ll meet him there in the morning. The catering manager at Torrington Hall will unload it all into the kitchens and then I’ll have free rein over the luxurious, state of the art workspace from nine in the morning until midnight. I can’t wait.

  “Right, it’s four o’clock. I suggest we all go out and get shitfaced,” Belle says, smiling brightly.

  “I’m up for that. I just need to get a change of clothes at the flat and I’ll meet you there at, say, six, Beth?” Teresa replies at lightning speed, not unlike her at all.

  “Umm, I don’t know. I’ve got to be up pretty early and it’ll be a very long day. I was thinking about a lazy night in by the television if I’m honest,” is my pathetic reply as I turn my back to them and grimace, waiting for the tornado that is about to hit me.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to do this fucking shit again. You’re a twenty-five year-old independent woman of means who is beautiful and funny. You cannot continue to hide yourself away in that apartment and watch the sodding television or read your romantic drivel. I simply won’t fucking allow it a minute longer,” Belle screams. She does this a lot.

  “And think of those men who are being denied that fabulous body and those incredible legs because you continue to cover it all up in that slobby, comfy shit you keep wearing,” Teresa barks, joining in on the tirade.

  “It’s Friday night and you are coming home with me now so that I can strap you into something more appropriate, and then we’re going to INK to get drunk and enjoy the merits of our success,” my sister states, with a finality that I know means the end of the conversation. I fold, not unusually, and twitch my nose in irritation at myself. I have got to learn to say no to that woman.

  “Fine, but if the Torrington meal goes arse about tit, it will be your fault. I warn you now.” I know it won’t. I would never mess up the day, no matter how awful I feel, but I do need to make my point.

  “Sister dearest, you would never let the bride down on her big day. You know it as well as I do,” she quickly responds with a grin.

  “Bitch,
” I reply with a frown.

  “Snotbag,” Belle states with gusto and a smile. I smirk at the term of endearment my sister always uses. I can’t help it, bitch as she is.

  “Right then, I’ll meet you there,” Teresa says as she races out of the door so fast I literally see the dust flying off her shoes.

  “You’re such a smartarse,” I mutter, starting to set the alarm as Belle collects our things from the back.

  “I know. However, I do radiate charm and I always get my way in the end.” She chortles behind me, pushing me toward the door.

  As we pull the shutters down and lock the main doors up, Belle turns to me and pulls me in for the biggest hug she can manage.

  “You know it’s because I love you and I just want you to be happy, right?” she says, looking directly into my eyes. Oh god, she’s so good at that.

  “Yeah, I know, and I love you, too. Just don’t push too hard, please,” I reply, turning away and giggling at her effort of love. She doesn’t do it often.

  We link arms, smiling warmly at each other and head off to the tube. In twenty minutes we’ll be home and then the makeover will begin. It’s pretty unlikely we’ll make it to INK by six; it will definitely be nearer to seven, not that it will matter to Teresa. She’ll have found at least two men by then and probably have bumped into at least ten other girlfriends. She’s undoubtedly one of the most well liked people I know. Who wouldn’t like her? She’s gorgeous, funny, wild and always up for a party. Men love her, women don’t seem overly disarmed by her and she has enough charm to bring Satan to his knees. I narrow my eyes at my own pang of jealousy. I’ve envied her ease of nature for as long as I’ve known her, much as I love her. Nothing fazes or unnerves her. She just seems to be happy with exactly who she is. If only I had that ability. Tonight will probably be awkward, difficult and tiring. INK is the only place to be seen at the moment and that’s why Belle’s so intent on being there as much as possible. I would much prefer a quiet drink in the pub down the road, but that will never be good enough for my sister, or my friend, I might add.