Page 4 of Pride and Privilege

His father waved a dismissive hand. “It was necessary for appearance’s sake to start you off on the grad programme—treat you like anyone else—but it’s time to wipe the traces of shop floor off you. Let’s remind people who you really are.”

“And that is?”

“A Blackton, of course. Two years setting up this new tax department, and you’ll be ready for the Chief Operating Officerposition. Father and son leading BlacktonGold, just the way I always planned it.”

Roscoe nodded slowly. And if the Imperial March from Star Wars started playing in his head, he tried to ignore it.We can rule the galaxy as father and son…

“Tax?” he repeated, vainly hoping he’d misheard.

“It’s the one area we’re uncompetitive on.”

“But…” He stopped himself from saying what first came to mind:But I like portfolio management.

It was the perfect job for him. Not just because it made use of all his skills, his knack for analysis and turning overwhelming data into something meaningful and understood. But because it was useful, too. He enjoyed working with his clients, helping them meet their investment goals, plan their retirements, their children’s savings, their philanthropic aims.

It silenced the little whisper at the back of his mind that sometimes asked,What’s it all for?

Tax. He repeated the word in his mind, trying to find some spark of enthusiasm for the idea. What his father really meant wastax avoidance. Advising their clients on what were euphemistically called tax efficient strategies. It didn’t surprise him that his enthusiasm proved hard to find.

“Don’t get too comfortable in this new role…”

He should have known something like this was coming. Ever since that moment a week ago, sitting in his father’s study at Conyers, in the heart of that enormous old house, the air heavy with the weight of generations of Blacktons, he’d begun to feel a sort of foreboding. His chair had been hard, the horsehair padding ancient. The clink of glasses and his father’s hard-won congratulations should have filled him with joy. There should have been a fire in the tiled fireplace: a crackling, glowing warmth, with the heat of the flames echoing the heat of thewhisky in his throat. The warmth in his father’s eyes. But the grate had been empty and cold.

“Don’t get too comfortable…”

Now Roscoe left his father’s office with a sigh, the feeling of foreboding beginning to coalesce into something he tentatively identified as gloom. But as he headed to the lift to go and collect his things from his old desk, he couldn’t help giving a look across the floor to Liz’s office. That’s where she would be, the unforgettable redhead with the unforgettable name. Would she be as strange when sober? Would she ask to touch his—? He laughed to himself at the memory, momentarily forgetting his gloom. It might be fun to be on this floor after all.

Fun—from a distance. That’s all it could be. He’d looked her up on the company personnel system, but similar to the old adage about eavesdroppers never hearing any good of themselves, he hadn’t enjoyed what he’d learnt. She was an administrative assistant in his father’s executive team. And if she was on his father’s own staff, then she was off limits. That was one of many rules branded into the fibre of his being, especially after a memorable family breakfast years ago when a young female member of the housekeeping staff had dumped an entire pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice over his brother Hugo’s head.

His smile faded as quickly as it had come, that gloomy feeling settling around his shoulders again. Rules. Rules and duties and obligations. Sometimes, he’d rather be anything than a Blackton.

TWO

When Poppy’s teammate Adjoaarrived, she gave Poppy a laughing look as she shrugged off her tiny black jacket and sat down at the desk opposite her. “Pale and traumatised is not what I was expecting when I heard the rumours about you.”

At Poppy’s flat look of incomprehension, Adjoa chuckled. She wheeled her chair to the side and leant forward, an amused spark in her eyes. “A little birdy told me you were seen leaving The Hop and Hare with Roscoe Blackton on Friday. And by little birdy, I mean the unofficial company message system. And everyone on it.”

The ridiculous way Poppy blushed told a far more lurid tale than the truth. “We didn’t leave together. He showed me where the taxis were. I assumed he went back inside. How is this even gossip?”

“Because it’s RB Goldy. He can’t sneeze without five people swooning.”

“If hedidn’tgo home with someone from work,thatmight be news.”

Adjoa laughed. “But no one would believe it.” She had missed the Friday night drinks, having a sister’s engagement party to get to. Poppy hadn’t had such a good excuse for missing her boss’s birthday. Hadn’twantedto miss it. Because Liz was an extremely nice woman. Poppy liked her a lot. They had bonded over pressure cooker recipes, a preference for tea over coffee, and a guilty enjoyment of Doctor Who. But she normally always excused herself from all the social stuff at work. Alcohol was extremely expensive.

One drink, she’d told herself. One drink to avoid hurting Liz’s feelings. Except it hadn’t been a five pound glass of wine. The group had decided on cocktails. And she should have realised that the bar opposite their office in London’s Square Mile would operate on a different price scale to the sort of pubs Poppy had been to before. Poppy might possibly have been able to afford one overpriced cocktail, but the group had decided to do rounds. Before she knew it, they were clustered at the bar, the group’s orders were being added to her own, and she had already handed over her debit card. Watched in horror as the bartender held it to the reader.

And that was it. All her money gone until she got paid again in…nearly four weeks’ time.

She should have just gone home. But that would have meant an evening spent in the flat with Lecherous Dave and the crowding, sickening worry of knowing she couldn’t afford to eat. And the one—theonly—good thing about that round system was that everyone in the group now owed her a drink.

So she stayed. Drank her debt. Each drink making the worry seem a little less worrying. Then the whole world had started to seem sort of ridiculous, really quite absurd, especially whenRoscoe Blacktonslid onto the sofa next to her, all crisp white shirt and dark blue suit and infamous bloody face and…and…

Can I touch your hair…

“That’s not the only rumour circulating about Goldy, though,” said Adjoa, something speculative but slightly devilish in her expression.

“Do I want to know?” Poppy asked.

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