THE CAMPAIGN THAT Nick had shot with Cee Cee was timed to release just before Christmas, and suddenly the adverts for the top-end perfume were everywhere.
Predictably, his teammates plastered the locker room with the pictures torn out of magazines and newspapers, and Nick had to endure comments about the darkly erotic images and Cee Cee’s extreme youth.
It brought back all the feelings of unease and increased them a hundred per cent. Nick didn’t think the images looked like him, and his eyes seemed to blaze with fury.
The perfume soared in popularity leading up to the holiday season, but the pictures only reminded Nick of the frustration he’d felt being in New York, and his disgust at the dual standards of the modelling industry.
Cee Cee sent him a text message with smiley emojis and a lot of dollar signs. He hoped she was happy.
He was just pulling another graffitied photocopy of the ad off his locker, one that had given him horns and a tail, when Nick heard his phone ringing. He almost missed Mark Lipman’s call as he stood dripping in the locker room at the Cuirassiers stadium having just finished a gruelling training session.
He flicked his hair out of his eyes, grabbed a towel with one hand and his ringing phone with the other.
“Nick! I’ve got something you’re going to want to see—I’m emailing it to you now. I’ll stay on the line while you read it.”
Nick wrapped the towel around his waist, ignoring the drops of water that trickled down his chest and back.
He opened the email and read it through while Mark was on speakerphone.
“Who’s Renata de Luca?” Nick asked.
“She’s the editor who worked on Molly’s book. And this email from her proves that they knew that you’d say no to a photoshoot with Molly and so deliberately misrepresented who they were. Your contract stipulated a romance novel cover shoot, correct?”
“That’s what I was told, yes.”
Nick could hear the excitement in Mark’s voice.
“Yes! Exactly! My dear boy, this is the break we need! Because in law, any false statement made to induce a party to enter into a contract (even if it’s not a term of the contract) may still give rise to rights and remedies. This leads us to examine the characteristics of an actionable representation, the differing types of misrepresentation, that is to say, misrepresentation, misleading or deceptive conduct. Prima facie, Nick, you have a very good case here for fraudulent misrepresentation.”
Nick was listening hard, a spark of hope inside him, but Mark’s legal language was difficult to understand.
Mark hurried on.
“If the judge agrees with you that the misrepresentation is fraudulent, you can recover damages for deceit in respect of the fraud, and the contract is voidable in equity and at common law.”
Nick felt the tension of expectation fill his body, the type of positive energy that enabled him to sprint the length of a rugby field and score an impossible try.
“So this email proves that Molly’s publishers lied in the contract? We can force them to drop the case?”
Mark laughed happily.
“Better than that, my dear boy! Your lawyers will draft a letter saying that you’re taking the publishers to court for deceit in respect of fraud. Forget the contract, that’s gone. And what’s more, if this goes public, you can sue the publishers for defamation, and reiterate that you’ll be suing them for infliction of emotional distress, to whit: ‘If settlement is not reached we will execute our right, against your client, to seek damages for intentional infliction of emotional distress’. QED.”
Nick was breathing hard as if he’d just been running, his phone clamped to his ear.
He’d won. He could finally get rid of Molly for good.
“One question, Mark: how did we get hold of this email?”
There was a long pause.
“I thought you might ask that. Yes, it’s a good point. And I’m not at liberty to give full disclosure. But I will say this: it turns out that having daughters whose friends intern at a wide variety of companies, including publishers of somewhat dubious celebrity memoirs, and said friends remember that you were kind to them when they were invited to the Members Room at a certain rugby club that shall remain nameless … well, let’s just say that they feel more loyalty to you than to a certain media whore who may or may have not called her ‘a tea girl with ugly shoes and a fat arse’. I speculate, of course.”
Nick laughed grimly.
“That sounds like Molly.”
“So,” said Mark, “the email has been handed over to the lawyers on both sides as part of the discovery process, and Molly’s team are seeking settlement. You could choose to sue. How do you want to proceed?”
Nick ran his free hand over his face, tugging on his damp beard. Ahead, the road divided, and there were two paths he could take. A part of him wanted to punish Molly for her lies and deceit; part of him wanted revenge, wanted her to suffer the way she’d made Anna and himself suffer. But if he’d learned anything at all in his 35 years on the planet, it was this: hating Molly hadn’t brought him happiness. The love he felt for Anna and their unborn children eclipsed all the negative emotions associated with his ex-.
And now he had the power to crush her completely, he found that forgetting her and moving on with his own life was more than enough for him.
“Tell the lawyers to send the letter, but to accept an offer of costs. That’s all.”
Mark sucked in a surprised breath.
“No reparations? You’re sure, Nick?”
There was a short pause.
“Yes, I’m sure. I just want it to be over and done with. But also tell the lawyers to make it known that if Molly goes to the Press with any part of this, I will sue them. The chance of losing any of her own money should keep her quiet.”
“It’s your decision, Nick. But for the record, I think you’re making the right choice.” Mark’s voice was quiet. “I’m proud of you, son.”
Nick smiled to himself.
“One more thing: could you email me the address of a certain friend of your daughter, so I can thank her?”
Mark laughed.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think that would be a good idea in case word got out. But I can tell you that a certain young lady happens to have a birthday coming up next month, so perhaps you could send her a little something to help her celebrate?”
Nick grinned.
“Thanks, Mark. For everything.”
“You are very welcome, my boy. Send my regards to your dear fiancée for me. I hope to have supper with you next time you’re both in London.”
The call ended and Nick inhaled deeply, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. And the first person he wanted to share that with was Anna.
Of course it was, because he was desperately in love with her—and man enough to admit it.
“SO LET ME get this right,” Brendan said, waving his third glass of champagne at Anna. “It’s slam dunk and Fuck You, Mouldy McKinney! You ain’t taking us to court for breach of contract, we’re taking you to court for deceit in respect of the fraud; fuck the contract because that’s gone, baby. And if this shit goes public and you taint Nick as an arsehole, he’ll do you for defamation; and just to tidy this up nicely … here you go … you’ve caused us so much stress because of this shit, he’s suing you for infliction of emotional distress. Kiss my delectable derrière, bitch! Mwah! Hasta la vista! Bon voyage and Goodnight Vienna!”
Anna giggled over her orange juice as Brendan held forth in the middle of the fashionable Soho House in Covent Garden, thoroughly enjoying himself.
When Nick had phoned with the news, Brendan had immediately insisted that they glam themselves up and go out to celebrate. Anna had resisted at first, feeling tired and with swelling ankles at the end of a long day, but it had been the right thing to do. The two potential court cases had been hanging over them since the summer; being free of that burden was definitely something to celebrate. Of course, it would have been better if Nick was there with them.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Bren?” she asked teasingly.
“You bet your sweet little baby bump I am!”
Anna smiled.
“Well, Nick only threatened the ‘infliction of emotional distress’ because attack was our best form of defence, but now the whole thing can just go away,” and she waved her hand as if the court cases were wafting through the air.
Brendan pouted.
“We’re not going to sue her even a little bit?”
Anna shook her head.
“No. You know Nick prefers the laidback approach, and now he knows we don’t have to go to court, he’s come over all Zen and is willing to let it go. I wouldn’t say he’s quite at the forgive and forget stage, but it’s the right thing for him.” She gave a small smile. “It’s the right thing for us. Just thinking about that woman raises my blood pressure at least ten points and I really don’t need that kind of stress, especially now.”
Brendan sighed theatrically.
“Spoilsport.”
Anna winked at him and raised her alcohol-free drink in a silent toast.
At that moment, Jason Oduba strode back from the bathroom, his 6’ 6” frame cutting a swathe through the minor celebrities and those enjoying drinking without being approached for selfies: Soho House was for members only and very exclusive. Anna had her membership as a perk of working for Loose Women, although she rarely took advantage of it.
Jason had somehow miraculously appeared at the club half-an-hour after she’d arrived with Brendan, and Anna suspected that Nick had sent him to act as a babysitter.
The huge rugby player glanced at Brendan, still waving his champagne glass, and gave a tight smile.
“Time to make a move, buddy. Nick gave me strict instructions to make sure Anna gets home at a reasonable time.”
Brendan blinked at him owlishly.
“We only got here three dinks … I mean three drinks ago. She’s not going to turn into a pumpkin—well, not for another four months. The night is young and so am I!”
Jason leaned down and whispered something to Brendan that made him sit up straight, seeming a lot less tipsy than he had a few seconds earlier.
“Yes, right, gotcha. Anna-banana, it’s time for mums-to-be to go home for an early night and a cup of Ovaltine.”
Anna waved them off even as she yawned and rubbed her temples, willing away the persistent headache that had plagued her for two days.
“Oval— what? Aw, thanks for caring, guys, but I’m okay for a few minutes. One more drink and then we call it a night?” She yawned again. “God, I used to be able to work all day and party all night. Not anymore.”
“That’s because you’re cooking a couple of buns in your woman-oven,” said Brendan in a hushed voice that probably reached the other side of the room.
Anna wrinkled her nose.
“You know, I never thought how gross that sounded, a bun in the oven, until you talked about my ‘woman-oven’, Bren.”
He giggled nervously, batting his eyelashes at Jason.
“Ooh, the Dark Destroyer wants to go. Come on, Annie! Mush! Mush!”
“I’m not a sled dog, Bren!”
But then Anna saw why they’d been trying to hurry her along—Molly McKinney and entourage—one bored-looking 19 year-old soccer player, a rising star on the Tottenham Hotspurs team—had just walked into the bar.
Brendan raised his eyebrows and stared belligerently.
“Is she babysitting him?”
Anna’s heart started to gallop. Of all the bars in all the world, why did she have to run into the one person she truly detested? She wasn’t yet as sanguine about the bitch as Nick. She wasn’t sure she ever could be.
Anger in its purest form shot through her, making her almost dizzy with rage.
Molly saw them, paused dramatically, then stalked toward them on five inch heels, her body in danger of toppling over from the enormous, inflated boobs glued to her thin frame.
Brendan lifted his chin to speak, but Anna reached for his hand, warning him not to. It would be too horrible if they got sued for slander just when both the court cases were in the past. And she had no doubt that Molly was capable of such a low act.
Molly ignored Brendan, glanced at Jason standing protectively behind, then glared down at Anna.
“Oh, look who’s lowering the tone. If they’re letting just anyone in here now, I’ll have to cancel my membership.”
Anna sighed. Nick said he wanted to leave his ex- in the past, but like the proverbial bad penny, she kept on showing up.
“I have nothing to say to you, Molly. There’s nothing here for you. Please leave.”
Molly seemed surprised by Anna’s calm tone, irritated even, if the narrowing of her eyes was anything to go by.
“Life is like a box of chocolates—it doesn’t last long if you’re fat. And you’ve been piling on the pounds,” she said nastily. “Is that why Nicky went to play in France? To get away from your fat arse?”
Anna just stared, an incredulous expression on her face.
“Oh my God, Mouldy McKinney, your wit precedes you,” quipped Brendan. “Is there any point to you? At all? Anything? No, I thought not.”
Anna’s anger lessened a notch as a small, amused smile threatened to break free. Brendan was right—there was no point to Molly. She lived her life on a carousel of stage-managed drama that was as pointless as it was useless.
“I never knew what Nicky saw in you,” Molly continued viciously, “but then again he’s away more than he’s home, isn’t he? He’s probably just tired of you and too nice to tell you to your face.”
Anna cocked her head on one side looking at Molly, studying her heavily made-up face and unhappy mouth.
“Don’t you get tired of it?” Anna asked, genuinely interested to know the answer. “Don’t you get tired of being so bitter?”
Molly’s eyes widened.
“You’re a man-stealer, a liar and a home-wrecker!” she screeched.
Anna’s blood pressure began to rise again, and her determination not to engage was lost in a surge of anger.
“That’s complete bullshit. We both know the truth, but you keep spouting this crap as if you actually believe it! Nick caught you with his best friend, actually saw you both bent over the couch, fucking. You’re a liar and a cheat, and yet you play the victim card over and over. You had the love of a good man and you threw it away by screwing his best friend. And then you were stupid enough to get caught.”
Anna’s voice was exasperated, but Molly pointed a long, accusing fingernail at Anna.
“He would have come back to me, I know he would. But there you were, pretending to be his friend, pretending to be his psychiatrist…”
“Psychologist.”
“What-the-fuck-ever! He would have come back!”
Anna gave a brittle, disbelieving laugh.
“No, he wouldn’t. Not ever. Not in a million years.”
Molly’s face creased with anger.
“You’re a slut! And American! I know that you were shagging your teacher at university. You come over here and pinch our men…”
Anna gaped.
“Are you for real? This isn’t a reality TV show. Do you believe half the bullshit coming out of your mouth?” She turned to Brendan and Jason. “I’ve had enough of her brand of crazy—let’s just leave.”
“And another thing,” Molly shrieked. “Who did you pay off to make my publishers lose their balls?”
Anna shook her head and gave Molly a pitying smile.
“The case was fraudulent and you knew that,” she said softly.
“Nick was paid to be on the cover of my book! He broke the contract! He…”
Anna’s attempts to stay calm failed and her voice became heated.
“Nick would never have knowingly have agreed to do a photoshoot with you. God, are you completely delusional?” As she wrestled to keep herself in check, her voice turned icy cold. “Wait, don’t answer that—obviously you live in a fantasy world of self-deception. So I’ll spell it out for you.”
“Ooh, this’ll be good,” Brendan whispered as Anna rose to her feet, facing Molly, her eyes flashing with restrained fury.
“First,” she bit out, “you’re a cheat, and Nick despises cheats; second, you’re a liar—see first point; third, he calls you his ‘worst mistake’; fourth, he never wants to see your lying, manipulative, bony ass again; fifth, leave us the fuck alone!”
“You’re not even attractive!” Molly yelled. “I don’t know what he sees in you!”
“Nick loves me,” Anna said firmly, crossing her arms in front of her, “and one of the reasons is because I’m not a raving bitch.”
“You tell her, Annie!” Brendan cheered.
Jason stepped in front of Anna as Molly started to raise her hand.
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled. “Why don’t you sod off and take your toy boy with you?”
“Fuck the lot of you!” Molly yelled, frustrated that the conversation hadn’t gone her way. “This isn’t over!”
That was one of the worst things Molly could have said to Anna: she so badly wanted this bitch to stay in the past.
She felt a wave of dizziness overcome her and she sank back to the couch she’d been sitting on. Her headache became a pounding fist in her head. She was fighting to breathe evenly. Anna squeezed her eyes shut, afraid that she was about to faint.
“Annie, are you okay? You’ve gone as white as a sheet,” Brendan gasped, grabbing her hand.
Anna couldn’t speak, willing the dizziness away.
“Anna?” Jason crouched down in front of her, his kind face worried. “Get her some water!” he shouted at the surprised bartender.
Anna felt the cold glass pushed into her hand and she took a small sip. Her hands were shaking so badly, Jason held the glass to stop it from slipping. Her pulse was racing, her heart hammering against her ribs, and a thin sheen of sweat coated her entire body.
“I … I don’t feel so good,” she whispered. “Will you take me home, please?”
Jason glanced at a distressed-looking Brendan.
“I think we should take her straight to the hospital, mate.”
Brendan nodded briskly.
“Yes, I agree.”
“I’ll go get me car,” Jason shouted over his shoulder as he rushed off.
“Huh, and they call me a drama queen,” said Molly, her hands on her hips and an unimpressed scowl on her pretty face.
“You stupid trout-pout trollop!” snapped Brendan, still holding Anna’s hand, dabbing at her damp forehead with a paper napkin. “Has the Botox gone to your head? You’ve caused her enough stress for a lifetime—and she’s pregnant!”
Molly’s mouth opened and shut like a landed fish, her expression baffled, her forehead trying to wrinkle in thought. As Brendan’s words sank in, she blinked rapidly, her eyes darting around at the people who’d been watching the slanging match.
“Is she alright?” she asked softly.
“Do I look like a bloody doctor?” Brendan shouted impatiently, on the verge of hysteria. “Of course she’s not alright!”
But before Molly could speak again, Jason returned, scooped Anna into his beefy arms, and hurried from the room with Brendan hot on his heels, speed-dialling the Royal Free Hospital.