by Morey, Trish
He hadn’t even balked when she’d shown him the figures, just studied them, nodding where he was clear, asking pertinent questions exactly where she’d expect anyone with the analytical ability to know when to drill down for further details.
Even the meal they’d just shared in The Pearl, Clemengers’ award-winning restaurant, had been beyond reproach. Thai chilli king prawns, followed by the most tender fillet of steak, served on fried sweet-potato wedges and topped with lobster medallions in a white-wine sauce. Domenic had made a point of meeting the chefs before coffee, to compliment them personally and discuss their attitudes, their philosophies and their aspirations.
He would be doing none of this if he weren’t seriously considering the idea of investing in Clemengers.
So it would be logical at this stage for her to be thinking about how she should close the deal. That would make sense. Close the deal and ensure Clemengers wasn’t about to be gutted or razed and turned into so many more flats. Close the deal and ensure Clemengers could continue operating into the future. Close the deal…
Which didn’t help explain one bit why she kept thinking about what had happened in the lift instead. Why was it so hard to forget about the gentle brush of his lips against hers, the heat of his breath next to her cheek, and the way his touch made her senses unfurl and open, like palm fronds given birth, stretching out into the humidity of a warm tropical morning?
He’d kissed her.
And she hadn’t even attempted to stop him. From the moment she’d sensed his lips descending, she’d forgotten entirely why she was there. Even more damning, she’d forgotten what he was. He was a playboy. The lowest kind of man.
Sure he might end up investing in the hotel. For the sake of Clemengers, she’d have to look past the man’s personal life. But she herself must never forget what he was. She should only think of her mother’s sad and empty life to remind her what that would cost.
Absently she stirred a half-teaspoon of sugar into her tea. It was quiet in the restaurant. People spoke in hushed tones. The waiting staff were efficient and non-invasive, with no clatter or rattle of flatware and cutlery, and it was as if the traffic outside in the busy Rocks area didn’t exist. But that didn’t stop the prickle of awareness steadily creeping up her neck, then needling down her arms.
She was imagining it. All this thinking of the episode in the lift—she was not thinking rationally, and she was in danger of making a fool of herself. Obviously Domenic would have forgotten about it already. No doubt such incidents meant absolutely nothing to a man who had trouble committing to just one woman. She took a deep breath and focused on placing the spoon on the saucer, gently tinkling silver against porcelain.
She shivered, the creepy feeling persisting in spite of all her logical explanations. On pure impulse she looked across to her right and instantly her eyes snagged at the sight of him, Domenic, standing stock still and…and watching her.
For a second the space in the room evaporated in the arc between their eyes. Nothing happened, yet something happened between them in that infinitesimal moment that Opal could only wonder at. She felt hot, cold, shivering and flushed, all in the same amazing second his unreadable gaze washed over her. And then, just when she thought she couldn’t look at him for a moment longer, he smiled and warmth filled her senses. Instinctively she knew the smile was for her and in spite of all her reservations, in spite of all the reasons why it shouldn’t, the warmth inside her bloomed to a slow burn.
Annoyed at her burning cheeks, she battled to drag her eyes away as he moved between the tables towards her, slipping his mobile telephone into the top pocket of his fine cotton shirt as he did so.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, resuming his seat. ‘My father would not be denied any longer. I’m afraid that no matter how important any business, family must come first.’
‘You don’t need to apologise,’ she said. ‘The twins—my two sisters—and I are very close, although I don’t see them now as often as I’d like.’
He took a sip of his long black and nodded approvingly. Even Clemengers’ own special blend of coffee seemed to find favour with him. ‘Tell me about them,’ he said.
She put down her cup, thankful for the opportunity to talk about her sisters, to think about someone else. ‘Well, they’re twenty-two. Sapphy—that’s Sapphire—is the eldest by ten minutes. She’s working in fashion design in Milan right now. She’s making quite a name for herself by all accounts while she works with one of the big fashion houses. One day she wants to have her own label. And the way she’s going, I believe she’ll get it.
‘Ruby lives in Broome while she gets first-hand knowledge of the pearl industry. Jewellery design is her first love. She’s done some fabulous pieces.’
‘And all of you are named after precious stones.’
She gave a small laugh. ‘That was my mother’s idea. She was the original Pearl. This restaurant,’ she made a sweeping gesture with her hand, ‘is named for her. She said we were all uniquely beautiful and inherently precious, and she wanted to give us names to reflect that.’
She paused, memories of her mother flooding back on a bitter-sweet tide. Her tender, sad-eyed mother, who had died alone when Opal was just nine, her spirit broken and her will to live erased. Her beautiful, gentle mother, whose only crime had been to love too much.
And everyone had thought she led the perfect life. A wealthy lifestyle, three beautiful little girls and even a plush restaurant named after her. No one else had seen the empty bed, the shame of her husband’s constant infidelities and the broken-down shell of her marriage.
No one but Opal. Old enough to feel her mother’s pain but far too young to be able to do anything about it, except swear that one day, some day, she would do something to help women who were trapped in marriages they couldn’t escape.
‘I approve of her philosophy.’
His words permeated her consciousness, dragging her from her reflections of her mother’s wasted life. ‘Do you?’ She gave a brief laugh. ‘I don’t know if Dad would have though, if she’d given him a son. Somehow I can’t imagine him tolerating a son called “Garnet”.’
His lips pulled into a grimace. ‘Perhaps not. How long ago did your father die?’
‘Two years.’ She frowned—that couldn’t be right. ‘No, more like two and a half now. A massive heart attack, apparently.’
‘That’s unfortunate,’ he said. ‘The stress of running hotels can be enormous, and I’ve found is often underrated by those outside the business.’
Opal looked out the window, feigning interest in the passing foot traffic, tourists visiting the various galleries and shops, red-faced businessmen returning to their offices after long liquid lunches.
Certainly people outside the industry had little or no idea of the stresses and strains of the business. Especially when coupled with the stresses and strains of trying to impress a nineteen-year-old pole dancer who was eager to prove herself very worthy of the position of the next Mrs Clemenger. Just maybe, if he’d spent more time stressing about their tax position, he would still be alive and the business wouldn’t be in this mess now.
‘And that left you in charge. Without even your sisters to help?’
It was her turn to shrug. There was no point in thinking about maybes. She couldn’t change what had happened; though at times that knowledge didn’t make the truth any easier to deal with. For if it hadn’t been that particular girl his father had died in the arms of, it could have easily been any of a raft of others, lining up to be taken care of by a rich man old enough to be their grandfather. It was a miracle he’d never taken that final step of marrying one of them. Obviously he was a man who liked to pick and choose, and at least it had saved the business that complication.
‘That’s just the way things turn out. And both Sapphy and Ruby have such artistic flair—it would be unfair to make them work in the hotel business when they have a calling in another field. Whereas I’ve had a passion for Clemengers ever sinc
e I can remember, always wanting to help, always wanting to be involved. I can’t imagine doing anything else.’
His eyebrows peaked. ‘Which is where I come in, I take it. It would be understandably hard to let go.’
His words bristled. For want of something to do she pushed aside her now empty teacup and saucer.
‘There’s more to saving Clemengers than what I want. For a start, there are more than two hundred staff who depend on this hotel chain continuing to operate for their own and for their families’ livelihoods.
‘And,’ she continued, ‘there’s a tradition. No one else provides the type and scale and class of accommodation as Clemengers. That has to be worth saving.’
He held up a hand. ‘And you say this McQuade is likely to win the tender? How can you know that in advance?’
Her lips tightened as she nodded, the name sticking into her as effectively as a knife. ‘I was due for an appointment with the broker and I was just paying the taxi driver when I overheard two office juniors discussing the bids over a cigarette outside the building.’
‘But you’re sure?’
‘No doubt at all. I was so shocked I confronted the broker and he eventually confirmed it. I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be, you know.’
The corners of his mouth turned up and his eyes gleamed. ‘I had noticed something of the sort.’
She looked up at him sharply, not entirely certain he wasn’t laughing at her.
‘So you need a bidder who will outbid McQuade.’
‘Yes,’ she said, recovering some composure. ‘The bids close tomorrow at five o’clock, so there’s not much time.’
‘I see. And assuming I win the tender, I assume control of Clemengers and its three hotels and everything that goes with it.’
‘Well, sort of.’ She licked her lips. ‘I was thinking maybe more of a share of the business.’
‘What do you mean, a share of the business? If my offer is the highest, I win the business lock, stock and barrel.’
‘In a way, but I thought that maybe if I continued to manage the operation, and run it as a separate entity within the Silvers hotel chain, then you might accept a smaller share.’
‘How much of a smaller share?’
‘I was thinking, maybe forty-nine per cent?’
‘Now you are joking.’ His voice went up a number of decibels. ‘You expect me to outbid every other offer in the market, each of which is for ownership of Clemengers outright, I assume…’ he took her silence as assent before continuing ‘…and yet I will own and control only forty-nine per cent. That is not a deal worth making. That is not a deal at all.’
‘I assure you it’s no joke. You get a large share of the business and you get continuity in management—good management. I will stay on, working with Clemengers and with Silvers Hotels, where required. And within a year you’ll be reaping the rewards of a positive cash flow and you’ll be able to use the techniques you find in Clemengers in Silvers’ own operations. There have to be huge spin-offs for your other hotels. So even with less than complete ownership, you’re still getting a great deal.’
It had to sound convincing. It was the only way she was going to be able to keep Pearl’s Place—the refuge she’d established in a run-down inner-city terraced house four years ago—open for business.
Pearl’s Place was her secret, something she’d done because even though she’d never been able to help her own mother, other women would have a place to go, a place to flee. She’d bought the property with her own money and most of her own personal allowance went direct to the refuge, but without control of Clemengers there was no doubt what small funding it required would be one of the first sacrifices of the new merger. If she could retain fifty-one per cent of the business, however, her secret would be safe and funding would be ensured.
It was a far better scenario than if McQuade’s offer succeeded. Then there would barely be enough to satisfy the demands of the taxation department and the banks. She’d be able to make some sort of contribution out of any remaining share of her own, but after that Pearl’s Place would be on its own. She wouldn’t let that happen.
He shook his head. ‘No. This is not complete ownership. It is not even control of the business you are offering. It is a junior partner you want, but for the greatest investment. No one would accept a deal that one-sided, least of all a Silvagni.’ His hand slammed down on the table so hard she flinched.
‘There is no way I would ever accept less than fifty per cent on principle, especially where I have just paid over the odds for one hundred per cent. But if you really think your management skills are worth something, I will ensure you receive a suitable remuneration package. It will be worth your while continuing.’
‘That’s all you can offer? After I have brought you this opportunity? Don’t you see that you wouldn’t even have had this chance if it weren’t for this huge tax liability hanging over our heads?’
‘That, as they say in the classics,’ he said, with a look of complete satisfaction, ‘is not my problem.’
‘But you would have missed out on this opportunity entirely without my intervention. Your finance department hadn’t even considered Clemengers’ sale as worthy of your notice. Surely, if the deal is worth something, you should be prepared to acknowledge that fact.’
‘And surely you realised that once the business was sold, you would lose control completely.’
‘Yes, but that was before I spoke with you. I thought you understood this business, could see the benefits of a joint operation.’
‘You forget, first and foremost, I am a businessman. I am not running a charitable institution.’
‘I am not looking for charity!’
‘Then why do you expect something from me that you have not asked from the other bidders?’
She couldn’t tell him. Not the real reason. ‘I just thought you were more attuned to the business, that you might understand. I now see I was wrong to expect you to look at it my way.’
‘So my offer still stands. A higher bid than McQuade, you end up with an appropriate remuneration package, and Clemengers is saved from the bulldozers.’
She was silent for a few seconds and Domenic wondered what was going through her mind. Her eyes swirled with colour and he could practically see the machinations going on behind them. She couldn’t be serious. Any normal person would be satisfied with saving her precious hotels from destruction. Well, she’d made her stand and he hoped she understood his. There was no way he’d accept anything less than one hundred per cent ownership. No way.
‘I’ll have to think about it,’ she said at last, rising from the table as if he’d been dismissed.
He looked up sharply without saying a word. He didn’t have to say a word—she should be able to tell he was furious. He’d just wasted hours and all for nothing. No one had ever turned down a deal like the one he was offering. No one would. No one in their right mind, that was.
He had to hand it to her. Here she was with a solid offer to save her business, by far the best offer she had on the table and the best offer she was going to get in the twenty-four hours she had left, and she wanted to think about it, as if the ball was in her court.
She was not like the people he usually dealt with; people who exchanged properties and investments and millions of dollars with hardly a blink, who knew when to take a good deal and when to break one. Who knew when they were asking too much.
Opal Clemenger didn’t fit that mould. Opal Clemenger came with her own. He let his eyes wander over her woven-silk-clad figure, the rise and fall of her chest betrayed by the play of light over the textured fabric, the swell of her hips accentuated by the nipped-in waist of her jacket, and felt his eyebrows rise in appreciation as his anger turned into an entirely different emotion.
It was some mould. Even through the expensive fabric, he could just about picture the skinscape underneath—the firm, silky breasts and the subtle hollows he’d find below her ribcage, the bare swell of her
tummy and the dip to the rise of her hip bones, and then down, beyond…
What would she be like in bed? How would it feel to have those long legs wrapped around him, her breasts peaked and firm and her eyes flickering green and blue when she lost control?
He would pay dearly to find out. It was some time since he’d had a woman, and something told him Opal Clemenger would be all woman. No one could be as passionate as she was about saving her hotels, and yet be cold and lifeless in bed. That kind of passion didn’t just come with a cause. It came with character. It came from within.
No, Opal was as polished and refined as the gem whose name she bore, and just as he’d seen it in the precious stone he’d seen the fire and the flame that lurked within her, below the surface, the sparks that erupted when provoked.
And she was interesting to provoke. It was interesting to try and work out what made her tick. She needed his money, but still she treated him almost as if he was the enemy. Peculiar. Most women were too happy to agree with him and pander to his every need, yet she seemed happier when they were disagreeing.
It would be no easy task orchestrating her into his bed.
And he wanted her there. Wanted her lush curves bucking beneath him. Begging for more. Wild. Unrestrained. Insatiable.
And he would have her.
Maybe there was a way, a way that could satisfy them both.
She was looking at him strangely, as if she was expecting something, and he smiled to himself, knowing there was no way she’d be expecting him to make a complete turn-around. Why would she, when it was a surprise to even himself?
‘Maybe there’s a way we can work this out,’ he said at last.
She looked confused and tugged nervously at the hem of her Chanel jacket as he continued to sit. ‘I don’t see how, if you’re not prepared to accept less than one hundred per cent control.’
