‘Then you also probably know that this company cannot continue with you and Steven steering the ship. The atmosphere is toxic, Sasha, and it’s starting to affect staff morale. More importantly, the industry is getting wind of it, which is going to affect business.’
‘I agree that something’s got to give, Simon,’ she said, trying to keep her tone light and non-confrontational. ‘If you ask around, I’m sure they’ll tell you that Steven’s “steering” has lacked the vision
a creative company like Rivera requires.’ Sasha knew that someone with a purely commercial mind like Assad might favour Steven’s contribution to the business and she had to stay focused on what she wanted out of the Assad deal. She wanted Steven out, yes, but she also wanted a financial windfall from selling part of her shareholding and a greatly improved remuneration package.The only way to do that was to make Simon see that while bean-counter CEOs were ten a penny, an international player, a creative visionary, like her was indispensable to the business. Then again, she didn’t want to seem callous.
‘I don’t think you should be too hard on Steven. As you’ll see from the figures, we’re on course for a fifteen per cent sales uplift this year, so while Steven Ellis isn’t my favourite person in the world, his presence is not actually harming the company. Perhaps if we could find some other role . . .’
‘No,’ said Simon firmly. ‘One of you has to exit the company and sell your stake. It’s the only way forward.’
‘Well then your choice is made.’ Sasha smiled. ‘I am the founder of Rivera. It needs me.’
‘I’m not sure that’s the case any more,’ said Assad.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Rivera needs to expand globally and I want someone to lead this label who has the international experience to do that. Steven has worked in Hong Kong, Paris, New York.’
Sasha tried to speak, but found the words failed her. She had never considered that Simon would push her out. She was Sasha Sinclair, for God’s sake, a style icon!
‘So you’ve made your decision?’ she stuttered. ‘You want Steven and not me? Steven is just a number-cruncher.’
‘We both know that’s not true.’
‘I can’t believe you don’t understand the principal allure of Rivera,’ she said. ‘People are buying into my lifestyle, Simon. The fantasy I have created.’
‘Sasha, please. Do people buy Chanel because they want to look like Karl Lagerfeld?’
‘No, but Stella McCartney gave her label rock and roll chic. Tamara Mellon gave Jimmy Choo its glamour . . .’
‘Sasha, I’ve made my decision.’
A waiter hovered, holding menus, but Sasha knew she wouldn’t be needing one. She could feel her hands trembling. It was inconceivable to think that Simon would choose an accountant over Rivera’s founder, the beating heart of the company.
‘This is insane. I won’t stand for it,’ she said.
‘I don’t need your approval to make this deal happen, Sasha,’ said Simon.
He was so casual, so off-hand, as if this was just another day at the office. But this was her life, a company she had created with her own hands, a company she had imagined into being. It was part of her.
‘Fuck you, Simon,’ she said in a low, hard voice. Then she stood up and walked out on to Brook Street, her head held high.
Getting into the car, she sat silently for a few moments trying to collect her thoughts. Had that really happened? Had she really just been fired from her own company? Was she really unemployed?
‘Where to, Miss Sinclair?’ asked Matthew, her driver.
She held up a finger to indicate ‘one minute’.
Think, Sasha. Think.
She took out her mobile and dialled Randall Kane.
‘Randall, where are you?’
‘London,’ replied her chairman cautiously. ‘Why?’
‘I need to see to you urgently.’
‘I can switch a few things around tomorrow so we could do breakfast. ’