She stiffened, even as she trembled. ‘Let me go.’
His aroused body protested but his mind urged him to comply. He wasn’t averse to mixing business with pleasure on occasion, but indulging his lust with the prickly Ms Royce would be more complicated than a few hours or days of pleasure were worth.
Restored to his senses, he dropped his hands from her waist and stepped back.
She retrieved the paper from the floor and moved away, placing a good six feet of space between them. ‘Is that how you settle disputes with your business partners?’ Her face was flushed, her tone scathing. ‘By kissing them?’
‘Only the pretty ones,’ he drawled.
She gave him a withering look. ‘You’re not funny, Mr de la Vega.’
‘I thought I told you to call me Ramon.’
She flapped the paper in the air. ‘And I thought you were serious about this deal.’
Her comeback sobered him. ‘I am.’
‘Then explain why you’re proposing to curtail my voting rights.’
He pushed his hands back into his pockets. ‘You want autonomy in the day-to-day operations,’ he said. ‘And I’m willing to grant you that. By the same token, as the majority shareholder I don’t expect to need your agreement on minor policy changes.’
She sent him an incredulous look. ‘Minor? The bylaws are hardly minor. They’re the very foundation of the club. The rules and regulations that govern everything that’s important to the members. Etiquette, dress code, membership—’ She halted and, slowly, realisation dawned on her face. ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ Her tone turned accusing. ‘You want to push through a reciprocal membership arrangement with your own clubs.’
‘No. But I do want to amend the membership protocols.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’
Because his brother needed leverage. Because it was an opportunity to counter Hector’s underhanded power plays. Hector thought he could buy the loyalty of his fellow cronies, but what he failed to realise was that his supporters were no less duplicitous than he was. Offered the right incentive, they’d desert him in a heartbeat and give their allegiance to Xav.
And what better incentive than entry into a club where they’d rub shoulders with some of the most powerful, influential men in the world?
But first Ramon had to ensure there were no obstacles in the road.
‘The approval process is archaic.’ He went to the coffee table and picked up a bound copy of the club’s rules and regulations. ‘This says the protocol for accepting new members hasn’t changed in more than sixty years.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Surely a review is overdue?’
She shook her head. ‘You can’t go changing the rules willy-nilly. The membership needs to be consulted. And the member who chairs the Admissions Committee is a stickler for tradition.’ Her expression turned faintly smug. ‘He won’t be easily swayed.’
‘Lord Hanover, you mean?’ He smiled as the smugness slid from her face. ‘A pleasant chap. At least, he seemed so when we spoke.’
Her mouth went slack. ‘You...you spoke with Lord Hanover?’
‘Briefly. Forty minutes ago. I’ve arranged to have lunch with him on Thursday.’
‘You’re lunching with Lord Hanover?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t believe you.’
He dropped the document, picked up his phone and started thumbing through his contacts. ‘Would you like to ask his secretary?’
Emily snapped her mouth shut. ‘Fine. I believe you. But aren’t you jumping the gun? Our agreement isn’t executed yet.’
He stilled. ‘Are you suggesting it won’t be?’
‘Not in its present form.’
Tension clamped the back of Ramon’s neck. ‘There was a reason you called me yesterday,’ he warned softly. ‘Don’t forget that.’
Her chin took on a mulish tilt. ‘Are you saying this is a deal breaker?’
‘Yes.’
Her head jerked back a little. Then she sucked in a sharp breath, crossed to the window and presented him with a perfect view of her long legs, graceful back and slender neck. Her blonde hair was still confined in a tight twist, but a few silky strands had escaped, and he was surprised to see how curly they were. He let his gaze slide lower. She wore black trousers that accentuated the gentle flare of her hips and, yes, her backside was spectacular.
She spun to face him. ‘If I waive the unanimity requirement, I want something in return.’
He shifted his weight. ‘Go on.’
‘Grant my father an honorary position as chairman.’
He stared at her, his appreciation of her curves swiftly forgotten.
‘Plus a modest monthly allowance.’
His disbelief ballooned. Sharp on its heels came a surge of anger. ‘Your father’s actions have jeopardised the future of this club, and you want to reward him with an honorary role and an allowance?’
Was the woman a complete fool? Or simply too forgiving? The latter possibility incensed him. Forgiveness had to be earned, and some deeds didn’t deserve forgiveness. Some people didn’t deserve forgiveness. Ramon knew that better than most.
She crossed her arms. ‘My father can’t disappear from the club altogether. It will raise questions. At worst, suspicion. For appearance’s sake, he needs to maintain a presence, show his face occasionally.’
He gave her an assessing look. ‘So this is about the club. Not your father?’
‘Of course. The Royce needs stability. That’s all I care about right now.’
He nearly bought the act, but her tone was too lofty, her body language defensive. The idea of Emily caring about her father’s welfare after he’d risked her livelihood only deepened Ramon’s anger. Royce didn’t deserve his daughter’s lenience.
Yet she made a good point. The stability of the club and its membership was paramount.
Abruptly, he said, ‘An honorary position. No allowance.’
She pressed her lips together.
When she didn’t respond after a moment he warned quietly, ‘You need this deal, Emily.’
As did he.
She blew out a breath and closed her eyes. Finally, she looked at him again. ‘Fine. Unless you have any more surprises to spring?’
He thought about the accountant and decided the issue could wait. ‘No.’
To which she nodded wordlessly and strode from the room, giving him a very wide berth, he noted.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE DOCUMENT FORMALISING the sale of Maxwell Royce’s fifty per cent shareholding in The Royce and a further one per cent of Emily Royce’s shares to the Vega Corporation was signed by all three parties at six twenty p.m. on Tuesday night.
It would have happened sooner, but Maxwell had taken almost two hours to reappear after Emily had called him on his mobile to summon him back.
He hadn’t been inebriated when he’d showed but the whisky fumes on his breath had been unmistakable. Ramon had snagged her eye as they’d congregated in the boardroom and she’d known from his hard expression that he too had detected the whiff of alcohol.
Emily’s heart had pounded as she’d signed her name to the agreement, and once the deed had been done she’d escaped as quickly as she could.
Except Maxwell had followed her out of the room, and when he’d called her name it’d felt wrong to ignore him.
‘The honorary role...’ he’d said, examining his shoes. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘“Thank you” will suffice,’ she’d told him, mentally shredding the little vignette she’d created in her head—the one in which Maxwell wrapped his arms around her and expressed his gratitude with a hug.
Stupid, stupid girl.
When had her father ever hugged her?
She had turned her back on him then and walked away and now, a day later, that small act of rejection felt petty and mean.
A knock at the office door drew her gaze away from the window. She swivelled her chair around and glanced unhappily at the papers strewn across her desk. She’d ar
rived into the office at seven a.m. and in the two hours since then had achieved precisely nothing.
‘Come in,’ she called, then wished she hadn’t, when the man responsible for her lack of productivity opened the door and strode in.
She wanted to hate Ramon de la Vega in that moment. As much as she wanted to hate the uncontrollable way her body reacted to him. Just his presence had the ability to make her feel hot and unsettled, restless, in a way she’d never experienced before.
He closed the door and she curled her hands over the arms of her chair.
She wished she didn’t know how hard and lean he was underneath his swanky designer suit. But after yesterday, when she’d stumbled in her haste to back away from him and he’d caught her, she knew there wasn’t an ounce of excess fat on his powerful frame. Every impressive inch of him was hard, masculine muscle.
She pressed her thighs together, remembering the alarming flare of heat she’d felt between her legs, the tiny thrill of illicit excitement when his mouth had descended towards hers. The avalanche of sensations had been so unexpected, so different from the revulsion Carl Skinner had evoked, she’d barely returned to her senses in time to command Ramon to stop.
She still reeled from the encounter. He’d almost kissed her and for one crazy, reckless moment she’d wanted him to. Had wanted to know how his mouth would feel against hers and if he tasted the same as he smelled...earthy, with a hint of spice and an undertone of sin...
Emily had tried hard to forget everything about that moment, but not even last night’s frenzied baking session or the double helping of dark chocolate mousse cake she’d devoured had helped. Afterwards, feeling slightly ill, she’d glared at the partly eaten cake as if it had failed her somehow. Baking treats in her kitchen and indulging her sweet tooth were her favourite forms of stress release, but last night neither had brought her comfort beyond the temporary sugar hit.
‘Good morning,’ he said, his deep voice, with its interesting mix of Spanish and American accents, as rich and decadent as the cake she’d gorged on last night.
He smiled and she ignored the way it made her stomach flutter. Reminded herself he was the kind of man who used his looks to flatter and seduce. It wouldn’t surprise her if he practised that smile in front of the mirror every morning.
She said a brisk, ‘Good morning,’ then glanced at her watch. ‘You’re half an hour early.’
Last night, before leaving, she’d suggested an introductory meeting with the department heads at nine-thirty, followed by a tour of the club and, if he was interested, some one-on-one time with each manager for an overview of their respective areas.
It had only just gone nine.
Without asking, he took a seat on the other side of her desk—the same chair Skinner had sat in two days earlier—and scanned the room. ‘You have a nice office,’ he said, ignoring her comment about the time.
‘Thank you,’ she said, because her office was nice, and she liked it. It’d been her father’s until her grandfather had died and Maxwell had taken the larger office further up the hall. After moving in, Emily had hung a piece of colourful artwork and applied a few feminine touches to the decor. The result was a professional but comfortable space that at times felt like a second home. ‘I hope it remains that way.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Nice?’
‘Mine,’ she said, and his dark brows angled into a frown.
‘Your job is secure, Emily.’
Emily wanted to believe him, but having faith in people had never been her strong suit, and the last few days had tested her capacity for trust. She straightened a sheaf of papers on her desk. ‘I’ve confirmed the meeting with the department heads for nine-thirty,’ she told him, moving the conversation along so she could hasten his departure from her office. ‘Is there something you need before then?’
He paused for a beat, his toffee-coloured eyes remaining serious, and a thread of tension pulled at Emily’s insides.
‘I need you to fire your accountant,’ he said.
She went completely still. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Jeremy Turner.’
Feeling a flicker of something close to anger, she snapped, ‘I know my accountant’s name. What I don’t know is why you’re telling me to fire him.’
‘He’s a liability.’
She stiffened, everything in her rejecting that statement. ‘Jeremy has been with The Royce for more than thirteen years. I trust him implicitly.’
‘That’s a mistake.’
The certainty in his voice sent a prickle of unease down her spine. ‘How would you know that?’
‘I know that Jeremy Turner got drunk in a cocktail bar several weeks ago and talked to someone about your father’s financial problems.’
Shock stole the air from her lungs for a moment. Jeremy had been drunk? Had been talking about her father’s private affairs in a bar? Divulging information she had shared with him in confidence? She leaned back. Her hands shook and she fisted them in her lap. ‘To whom?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does to me.’
Ramon expelled a breath. ‘To a woman with whom I’m acquainted.’
Acquainted? As in, lovers? For some reason the idea turned the taste in her mouth bitter and she promptly redirected her thoughts. She tried to think of a reason Ramon would fabricate such an allegation and drew a blank. He had no reason to lie, and she had to admit it did make a horrible kind of sense. Why else would he have suddenly set his sights on The Royce, if not because he knew they were vulnerable?
A sense of betrayal knifed under Emily’s ribs. She hadn’t socialised with Jeremy beyond the occasional work-day lunch, but for the last few years she’d considered him a close colleague. A confidante, of sorts.
She rubbed her forehead. ‘I’ll talk to him.’
‘No.’ The hard edge in Ramon’s voice brought her gaze sharply back to his. ‘Turner goes,’ he said. ‘No compromise.’
Even as she nursed a sense of hurt over Jeremy’s misdeed, Emily balked at such a merciless stance. ‘He has a right to put his side of the story forward, surely?’
‘It’s irrelevant.’
‘He exercised poor judgement—’
‘He shared personal information about his employer with a stranger. That’s indefensible.’
Jaw flexing, Ramon stood, the ruthless businessman emerging from behind the easy charm. The glimpse of arrogant intractability should have repelled her. Instead her pulse quickened, her heart pumping faster.
‘I need to be able to trust the people who work for me,’ he added. ‘As should you. There’s no room for soft hearts in business, Emily. Not everyone deserves a second chance.’ There was a quiet ferocity in his voice that suggested he truly believed it. ‘Cut him loose,’ he finished. ‘Or I will.’
His ultimatum delivered, he turned and walked out before she could articulate a protest.
Emily dropped her head in her hands.
She’d awoken this morning grimly resigned to yesterday’s outcome and consoled herself with the thought that at least this week couldn’t get any worse.
She laughed bitterly.
More fool her.
* * *
Emily didn’t have to fire Jeremy in the end.
He resigned.
As soon as she walked into his office and confronted him, his face crumpled with guilt and he tendered his resignation with immediate effect.
Regret made her chest ache, but Jeremy’s confession had tied her hands—made it impossible for her to plead his case with Ramon.
And, though it pained her to admit it, maybe Ramon was right. Maybe she was too soft. Too forgiving. How many times had she dug her father out of trouble, only for him to disappoint her and mess up again?
She paused outside his office. Or was it Ramon’s now? She’d hoped it might be hers one day, but the future unfolding was very different from the one she had imagined. Was he even in there? She hadn’t seen him since the meeting with the department
heads and it was after three o’clock now. She took a deep breath, knocked twice and opened the door.
He looked up from behind the big mahogany desk that used to be her grandfather’s.
So he had settled in.
The knot of resentment in Emily’s stomach hardened. He looked perfectly at home, as if he had every right to be there, and she hated that he did.
She closed the door and he leaned back in the enormous leather chair as she crossed the office. He’d removed his suit jacket and tie—a liberty acceptable only in the privacy of the offices, given the strict formal dress code of the club—and he looked good in just a shirt, the tailored fit of the white fabric emphasising the breadth of his shoulders and a strong, well-proportioned physique that looked more suited to a rugby pitch than the office.
She stopped in front of the desk, squeezed all inappropriate thoughts of his body out of her head and placed her hand on a chair back for support. ‘Jeremy’s gone,’ she said, intending to sound matter-of-fact, but to her horror a faint quaver hijacked her voice.
Ramon’s eyes narrowed, telling her he hadn’t missed it. He studied her until heat crawled around the back of her neck. ‘Sit down,’ he said.
‘No. I only came to tell you—’
‘Sit down, Emily,’ he repeated, more firmly this time, and she closed her mouth and sat, even as she scorned herself for being so meek.
Rising, he turned to a shelf on the large bookcase behind him and picked up two crystal tumblers in one hand and a heavy vintage decanter in the other. He set the tumblers on the desk. ‘First time firing someone?’
She watched him pull the stopper from the decanter and pour a shot of her father’s whisky into each glass. ‘I didn’t fire him,’ she said. ‘He resigned.’ But she knew that was just semantics. If Jeremy hadn’t offered his resignation, she’d have been forced to terminate his employment.
Ramon slid one of the tumblers across to her.
‘Why are we drinking?’
‘Because you look as if you need it.’
She glanced at him sharply. Was he offering comfort? Or attempting to avert what he thought might be an emotional crisis?
Grabbing the tumbler, she swallowed the whisky and winced as it burned on the way down.
A Night, A Consequence, A Vow Page 5
