Because I need to get away from the world today… Here's the beginning of a piece of fluff… maybe more?

XX

Mary decided on the Christian Louboutin spiked Circus City pumps. She was going to war after all. The kind her family tackled all the time these days. Keeping the creditors at bay. Trying to maintain their empire while the competition sniffed for weakness at her father's heels. Her father had been a good business high-flier in his day, the 80s being a very good decade for the Crawley dynasty.

But now they were living more and more on borrowed time and money.

She'd do her part as usual. Although it was never explicitly stated by Robert, he expected his highly intelligent, accomplished, and level headed Cambridge university graduate daughter to occasionally abase herself for specific clientele.

Robert needed this real estate magnate to get interested in their properties. They needed an influx of cash to offset debts occurred as extensive renovations to Downton had finished but came in way over the budgeted numbers. In addition Robert had trusted his CFO in Grantham Limited to deal with the day to day operations of their commercial property development. But his use of cronyism and nepotism resulted in poor asset management and the loss of several valuable properties to rival developers.

To Mary's continual dismay Robert refusal to get rid of Jarvis left them in a constant state of uncertainty. Robert's loyalties ran deep. It would ultimately come back to bite them. She knew it. But could do nothing about it.

Her role in the company was to be its public face. She was the Public Relations director liaising with colleagues in-house and in the public sector. She managed the media end of Grantham LTD, although hiring a social media consultant was one of her better decisions as she was too private a person to successfully chinwag on Twitter. Her father tut tutted the expense, but she got her way.

It was not a role she particularly enjoyed, but until Robert stepped down and she had more of say in the actual running of the company, she played her part effectively. It allowed her a lifestyle she liked -if ever she was in shallow enough a mood to admit to that. She got to travel. Meet people from all walks of life and cultures.

She had a very comfortable life.

Except when she was called into Robert's office to do a favour. Such as today. This guy needed to be made special. Known to be a prickly sort and prone to being a lone wolf and refusing any long term commitments, he was an expert consultant in addition to having his own private commercial property investments.

They needed his brains and his know how in resolving disputes and in restructuring their long term leasing arrangements that have sucked Grantham LTD dry in terms of profit.

But he wouldn't work for just anyone. He'd summarily dismiss any client on what seemed like a whim. And he could afford to do it. His own personal wealth it was estimated, Robert told her, was well over £30 to £40 million. And it would be more if he combined his interests with others or joined a large global real estate group.

Mary needed to get him on their side.

"Use your wiles with him." Robert had said to her. "Get him to come around." He had the nerve even to sound so assured she'd do as he asked.

Mary stared daggers. "So I'm supposed to prostitute myself out for you now?"

"Don't be dramatic." Her father commanded. "You're the public relations expert. Entertain him. Isn't that what you people do? Get him on our team. I don't care how."

"That's just it Papa, you don't care how."

"We take clients out all the time. We give them perks. Golfing vacations if they prefer or a gentleman's club if that's their proclivity. It's the way things get done. We have to play the game." Robert rubbed his forehead. "God knows I've spent my fair share of time wining and dining."

"But not giving out lap dances…" She muttered under her breath.

"I'm not saying that at all." Her father harrumphed with exasperation. "Just meet him. See how to best win him over. That's all I'm asking."

Mary nodded curtly. "But you wouldn't mind if it takes 'a bit of the other' to cinch the deal."

Robert had enough of his daughter. "You know what to do. Go do it. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't necessary. We need him. Or we'll go under. It's that simple."

And so she left. Slamming the door behind her. And it wasn't just her father making her angry. Nor even the gendered inequality of the workplace. Or life. But that clients expected them to play their parts to perfection. You want me, then you have to take me.

And this guy was just like all other men. They wanted one thing. Her father knew it. She knew it.

Mary did not want Grantham LTD in bankruptcy. The failure would be humiliating. The family name was at stake. Their inherited title meant nothing in this day and age. Their estate in York an indulgence that many had called an albatross around their neck. She would fight to keep their name and their company solvent.

She'd take this guy to the edge of sanity. Entice. Seduce. Flatter his ego and soothe his brow. Lead him to think she's his for the asking. Then show him up for the sexist pig he was. And if he was any kind of real man, he'd appreciate her candor and they could then get down to working out what he could do for their company.

In perusing her wardrobe for this tricky encounter, she decided on the form fitting little black dress cutting right at her thighs showing off her long legs and the spikey heels. The "fuck me" shoes she intended to rub up and down his leg as she licked her lips and threw him dark and sultry glances.

He'd be putty in her hands within the hour…

Walking down the stairs of her Eaton Square town house she found Henry checking his iPhone messages. And as usual he hardly looked up when she said she was leaving for the evening.

Good thing, she thought. As he might wonder why she was dressed to kill. And she didn't want to have to explain.

XX

The high end restaurant address in Mayfair impressed. Café Bruno was known for eclectic style and five star ratings from Michelin. Alain Ducater the chef renowned for his cuisine and wines selection.

It usually took months of reservations to get a table.

He got one with a single phone call. It was the usual thing. Wheels within wheels. Matthew threw business Alain's way, he got a rooftop table, private and tailored to his needs, in return.

Matthew was almost bored with how easy it all was.

Everything came too easy for him these days. He still had challenges of course. And he could assuage his guilt at reaping huge profits from ground rent in London alone by giving a great deal back to worthy charities and causes without them even having to call or beg him to attend one of their fundraisers. He gave his time as well working with non-profit legal aid societies for the underserved sectors of society. His prosecutorial legal training had gone unused in such a long time, it was a welcome change from the tedium of the office.

Lavinia's father had turned him onto the real estate market when he was first looking for other ways to make his mark in the world. Once married, he brought Matthew into his firm that dealt with advising real estate firms in residential and commercial properties. Matthew had taken that experience and set out on his own in a few years both wisely investing in a few properties that ended up giving him profitable dividends and cultivating a set of clients who called on his growing expertise and knowledge of the London markets. He stayed clear of any off shore dealings or questionable associates and so had an iron clad reputation for honesty and integrity.

Which made his competitors grit their teeth and hate him even more.

And made Matthew smirk with pleasure. No one of that set of aristocrats and bully boys had helped him along the way. They had scoffed at his low middle class origins. Had dismissed him as a flash in the pan.

Now none of them would ever get his business. He'd play their game. Give them crumbs. But never allow them to rule him or his portfolio of interests. He'd never sell out his firm or his honour to gain their acceptance. He was satisfied with being a relatively small fish in their big pond of finance. And that's what made his rivals scratch their head and call him weak. No one was ever satisfied. It went against the nature of business not to want more.

To be honest with himself Matthew knew he had almost lost his way. In the heady world of having whatever you want whenever you want it. If he was truly open he'd acknowledge the ugly truth he married Lavinia in part to be the son-in-law to Reggie Swire, business mogul and multi-millionaire.

Those two truths had clashed just last year. He spent so much time away from home. Conducting business from their yachts or trout fishing in Scotland. Whatever they had wanted from him. He needed to foster his own clientele. And he enjoyed the excursions. Long business talks about the merits of that property or this, this strategy or that. What the Panama Papers scandal did to their industry. How best to get more out of the leaseholders. He had danced with the devil. Enticed by the dark side as he called it to engage in speculative deals with shady overseas or on line customers with a sure thing in Dubai or in the Caribbean.

Matthew found himself at his lowest point when Lavinia threatened to leave him if he didn't change his ways. He was out all night. And when he did drag himself home he stank like a tart's boudoir. Where had he been? What had he been doing?

He hated the accusations. He wanted to lash out at her. Tell her it was none of her business what he did to keep her in luxury. She could indulge in her charity work and her so called career as a grammar school English Lit teacher because he paid for everything. The arguments were ugly. He felt persecuted by her charges of neglect. Who was he with? What other women were there?

It was then he began to withdraw into himself. Self-satisfied that he was right and she was just nagging him.

A time he was not proud of at all. He had done what he wanted. And he had hurt her. Indulged in fine cigars and expensive whisky. Spent time in clubs that catered to gentleman of certain needs. Not that he himself ever went for the extras one got in private rooms. But he stayed out in the main dance area while clients got what they wanted. They wouldn't have gained access to such exclusive perks without him. Deals were cut in places such as that, he rationalized.

He rationalized everything. All the time.

And had lost his soul.

Then he came to his senses. Nothing particular happened to cause it. Just a realization he didn't like himself anymore.

And that things had to change. He had promised Lavinia no more late nights. No more clubs. He'd find other ways to woo and win over the punters.

Thus why he was here this evening at the rooftop garden of Café Bruno. Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham and CEO of Grantham LTD wanted his help. He was sending one of his minions to feel Matthew out. Assuming he'd have demands to help them out of the mess Grantham's own incompetence had gotten them in to the first place.

He had come from a charity event at the British Museum and had not time to change out of his tux. He just wanted the meal over with.

Matthew squeezed his brow as he awaited the Grantham LTD representative. What did they expect? That they'd connect simply because they shared a last name? To his certain knowledge, Matthew's branch of the Crawleys were in no way directly related to the Yorkshire lot.

But the aristocracy were used to getting their way.

He didn't particularly want to be here. Clients like Lord Grantham were a painful lot. Concerned about how their failures would play in society, they would do anything to save face.

So when his guest was said to have arrived he was at best apprehensive and at worst jaded beyond belief.

He was on the phone to his business partner Tom Branson, "You know she'll be dressed to the nines and drop dead gorgeous. Her father will have demanded she push herself on me in an attempt to seduce me to their needs and desires."

Matthew snorted in disgust. He would not be so easily gotten. He'd make up his own mind on the worthiness of taking on Grantham LTD. The potential for failure was always there. And he didn't want his own reputation as the golden boy of real estate tarnished by that.

No pretty face was worth that.

The waiter's voice broke his reverie, "The Lady Mary Crawley."

Matthew had to turn to see her. He faced the edge of the rooftop garden that overlooked a superb vista of London skyscrapers.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting." If her words could cut more sharply he'd have been sliced in half by now. She also had the advantage of height as he looked up to see her. She quirked an eye brow.

"No…No…" He stumbled over his words as he got up. Not in the typical chichi style that demanded attention to the baubles she wore or the stylist's handiwork, this woman was striking in all the right ways. She cast an appearance of intelligence. Astuteness. As if she saw right through him.

Dammit, he thought. Pull it together.

But he couldn't. She was stunning. He continued to stare. She had completely put him off his game.

"You did ask my father for this dinner?" She cast a disapproving eye in his direction that he did not pull out the chair next to his. "I could leave. I wouldn't want to push in if you have more pressing engagement."

"Sorry…." He mumbled again. And gestured for her to take the seat.

He sat down and rubbed his hand against his chin. "I... I hope you didn't misunderstand me. I didn't mean…"

"I know exactly what you meant Mr. Crawley." She appraised him again coolly. Taking his measure he thought. And failing it. He felt he would crumble to dust. Her eyes, those deep pools of brown, were piercing his soul.

He was lost to this woman. He had never felt so out of control in so little amount of time. His legs were actually wobbling and he lurched into the seat next to hers.

Oh dear God, he thought. What was he going to do?

XX

Mary blinked rapidly in the fading sunlight. Took the proffered chair and sat down. She felt a bit sick.

She would not let him have the satisfaction of knowing he was the best damn looking man she had ever set eyes on. His golden locks of hair, swooping so indulgently over his forehead. His delectable blue eyes. Eyes she could lose herself in. The chin stubble. His designer tux was cut to show off his slim build even as it was apparent he worked out and took care of himself physically. The mineral water on the table rather than a cocktail. His long fingers curling the glass…

Snap out of it Mary Crawley, she told herself. No one was that perfect. Certainly not the man she was supposed to throw herself at to save her father's bacon.

There was no way she'd let on he had gotten to her. So instead she dismissed his apology and put him immediately on the defensive.

Imperceptibly she hiked up the hem of her dress, to show off her legs and crossed one over the other to have him cast his eyes downward towards the spiked heels that shaped her backside to her best advantage.

She knew it. He knew it.

The game was about to start.

XX

So what do you think? Or…why am I doing this!? lol