Filthy Rich Revenge: A Filthy Rich Billionaires Book

by Lynn Raye Harris

  Rebecca slapped a hand over her mouth as the words left her.

  A muscle ticked in Alejandro’s jaw as he glared at her. And yet something in his hard stare had changed. There was a moment, when she’d said it, that she would have sworn he flinched. That defeated look crossed his features again, but only for a second.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that,” she blurted.

  “Sí, you said exactly what you wanted to say.” He crowded her against the ladder so suddenly she gasped. “And now I say to you that you are a whore who will sleep with anyone, tell any lies, in order to win. You and I are much alike in our willingness to do whatever it takes, no?”

  Her chest rose and fell, her emotions on the edge of a precipice. “I am nothing like you.”

  “You only lie to yourself, Rebecca, because I know the truth.” He leaned down until his breath was hot on her cheek. “Remember when you think to fool me again that I am twice as ruthless as you. I will always win.”

  Sadness gripped her as she looked at his proud, cold, hard features. He’d changed so much in five years. The life and spark of him was extinguished, leaving nothing but a shell.

  “How can you call it winning, Alejandro, if it makes you so miserable?”

  10

  Alejandro sat in the plush leather club chair and buckled his seat belt as the pilot announced they were next in line for take-off. Moments later, the Ramirez corporate jet lifted into the air, banking to the right to give him a spectacular view of the financial district and, far beyond, the residential section where his villa lay. Where Rebecca still slept.

  Was it only three hours ago he’d held her in his arms and watched the ecstasy on her face when she’d shattered? Dios, in that moment he’d strongly considered forsaking his vow not to bed her. She was vibrant. She’d pulsed with life in his arms.

  And he’d wanted to feel it with her. After his divorce, he’d tried to lose himself in a string of women, to forget what he’d lost when he’d lost his child. Every encounter was empty, cold. He’d thought he would feel relief when it was over, but he felt nothing. Nothing.

  His heart was frozen. He’d felt nothing since Anya died. Until Rebecca had walked into his house two days ago and glared at him with all the hurt and loneliness she’d ever felt shining in her eyes.

  He wanted to ruin her. And he wanted to possess her. It made no sense, though he usually prided himself on making decisions based on sound judgment.

  He took a sip of the whiskey the flight attendant had provided. It went down smooth and warm, but it didn’t take his thoughts off Rebecca.

  This desire for her was simply a physical need. He could have almost forgotten she had an ulterior motive last night had she not made the mistake of mentioning the hotel. Another moment, another hot kiss, and he’d have been so deep inside her he’d still be entangled in bed with her instead of flying to Dubai to meet with the government officials holding up his construction.

  The bell dinged that signaled the jet had reached ten thousand feet, but he made no move to turn his phone back on or power up his laptop. Rebecca had asked why he was miserable. It shocked him. He’d wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. He’d wanted to tell her she was terminated and to go back to New York. But the words hadn’t come. And she hadn’t moved. She’d merely clung to the ladder and stared at him with a pitying expression on her face.

  Madre de Dios. He hadn’t felt so exposed since Anya’s doctors had stared at him with that same pitying expression.

  He would not allow Rebecca Layton to get inside his head. It shouldn’t even be a possibility, yet somehow it was.

  Alejandro opened his laptop and got to work. A message popped up on the screen. A moment later he took out his cell phone and made a call. It was answered on the first ring.

  “Ah, so you are paying attention to your messages,” Nico Cavelli said with a hint of humor in his voice.

  “Of course I am, your highness. What can I do for you?”

  “You sound a bit preoccupied, Alejandro. Is everything okay?”

  Alejandro took a sip of the whiskey. “I’ve had some stress. Everything is fine though.”

  “Ah, you mean Dubai? Or Rebecca Layton?”

  Alejandro’s gut tightened. He and Nico had been friends for years, since his bullfighting days when Prince Nico Cavelli had invited him to a party after a particularly impressive fight. Nico was the youngest son of the King of Montebianco, and an unrepentant playboy. They’d had much fun together back in the day, romancing the ladies and carousing across Europe. Nico knew about his romance with Rebecca, but only in a vague way. He didn’t know the details because Alejandro hadn’t shared them.

  “Dubai, of course,” he said.

  “But you’ve just bought her company, I understand.”

  “Yes, I bought it. It’s what a businessman does. He looks for opportunities and takes them. How is Gaetano?”

  He knew that Nico worried about his older brother. Gaetano Cavelli was the crown prince, but he was fragile somehow. Alejandro had his suspicions though he’d never discussed them with Nico. Nico was fiercely protective of Gaetano. It made Alejandro think of Roberto, and how he wished he could have protected his brother from the choice that’d ended his life. He and Roberto hadn’t been as close as Nico and Gaetano, but he missed his brother nevertheless.

  “Gaetano is well, thank you. He’s engaged to a princess from neighboring Monteverde. I expect the wedding bells to chime in a few months. I hope you will join us for the festivities.”

  “If I am invited, I’d be honored to attend, my friend.”

  “Of course you will be invited. Gaetano likes you.”

  He didn’t doubt that Gaetano did, but a royal wedding wasn’t the same as a friend’s wedding. Still, he would go to show his support if he were invited.

  “Is that what you called me about, Nico?”

  “No. I’m coming to Madrid next month. I want to throw a grand party at the Villa de Música for my friends. Can you help me?”

  Alejandro pulled up the scheduling app for the hotel and scanned it. “Do you want the grand ballroom?”

  “Yes, I think that would be adequate.”

  “And the Queen Isabella Suite?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “I believe we can accommodate you. Shall I put my events coordinator in touch with your people?”

  “Please.”

  Alejandro and Nico talked for a few minutes more and then hung up. Alejandro looked out the window at the clouds floating below as he sipped his whiskey. He thought of Rebecca, discarding various thoughts about her until he could no longer deny what he needed to do.

  The only way to get her out of his system was to take her into his bed. It was simply another layer to his revenge, nothing more. He would bed her, let her think she had him exactly where she wanted him. She would think that she could manipulate him into returning Layton International to her control, but she would learn the truth when he destroyed her utterly.

  Alejandro accepted a mineral water and a refill of his whiskey from the flight attendant.

  He already felt worlds better. Rebecca Layton would never defeat him.

  Never again.

  Rebecca was quite relieved she didn’t have to face Alejandro over a breakfast table, though she was somewhat surprised to learn he’d flown to Dubai. But now—oh thankfully now—she didn’t have to look at him and know he’d touched her so intimately or made her want to do things with him that in her right mind she’d never do again. She knew she couldn’t allow her sympathy for his loss, for the pain and anger she saw in his eyes, to divert her from her goals. She had to keep Layton International safe and whole, and she had to find a way to get it back. It was all that mattered.

  He’d left her no instructions while he was gone, had not revealed a single element to his plan for her company. Until the man fired her, or she convinced him to let her buy back her stock, she had a business to run.

  Rebecca frowned at her ref
lection. After last night, she had no illusions Alejandro would ever allow her to buy back her stock. The only way to retrieve Layton International was if Alejandro suddenly found himself in trouble and needed to sell some assets. And according to all her contacts, that wasn’t happening. Ramirez Enterprises was a juggernaut. Not only that, but Alejandro would sell Layton International piece by piece if forced. He would never allow it to be bought whole and certainly not by her.

  Yet she couldn’t simply give up and cower like a whipped puppy.

  After a quick shower and something to eat, she phoned Roger Cahill. She still needed to know what had happened five years ago, if there was even the smallest chance she could prove to Alejandro that she hadn’t stolen his deal. She didn’t think it was possible, but at least she would know for herself what’d happened.

  “Becca,” Roger said when his secretary put her through. “I was just thinking about you. It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes. Thank you for the flowers you sent to my dad’s funeral.”

  He cleared his throat. “Jackson was a good bloke. I’m sorry I won’t get to play a round of golf with him at St. Andrews this year.”

  “I know he would have enjoyed it.”

  “You mustn’t blame yourself for losing Layton International,” he said, launching straight into the heart of the matter. “When Jackson came to me, I told him it was a bad idea to stake so much on those Thai resorts.”

  Rebecca’s mouth twisted. If only the bank had felt the same before loaning him the money. “Yes, well he loved to take on new projects and he was certain he had a winner.”

  Roger cleared his throat again. “So what can I help you with, love?”

  Though everyone told her Ramirez Enterprises was invulnerable, she asked Roger if he knew of any weaknesses.

  “I understand there may be some trouble in Dubai,” Roger replied. “Rumor has it they could lose the property they’ve sunk so much into. I have another client interested in property there, so they’ve heard rumblings.”

  Rebecca tapped her chin with a fingernail. “There’s an accusation of impropriety in the permits process, right? Do you know anything about that?”

  Roger sighed. “There’s no evidence to support the charge thus far, but I know the man himself took the corporate jet over this morning. It must be something to get Ramirez to fly in.”

  He told her a few other things, about permits and engineers, architects, the Emir and a relative of some sort. Nothing specific, but things that could add up to trouble for a hotel chain trying to build a new resort. She’d fielded similar problems in the past so understood both the import of the issues and the hassle of bureaucratic red tape.

  “You’ll let me know if you hear anything?” he finished.

  “I’ll keep my ears open.” After what Alejandro had done to her, she refused to feel guilty about it. If there was a remote chance she could wrest Layton International from him, she had to take it. Her father would have demanded no less.

  An image of Alejandro talking about his daughter in the past tense sprang to mind.

  No. No room for weakness. This was business, not personal.

  “I’d appreciate that,” Roger replied. “We’re digging, looking for an Achilles heel, but so far there’s nothing to report.”

  “Roger,” Rebecca said when they were wrapping up the conversation. “I wanted to ask you something else before you go.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why’d you pull out of the Ramirez deal five years ago?”

  He hesitated a moment before speaking. “We decided it wasn’t a good investment after all.”

  “But you financed our South American acquisitions.”

  “The stake was less than Ramirez required.”

  Rebecca’s temples throbbed. “But you didn’t pull out of Ramirez because of us, right?”

  He sighed. “Your father thought it was a bad bet, love, and he didn’t want to do business with us if we took the risk. Ramirez had a reputation as a risk taker, you see. He was unorthodox, and several of our investors were already wary. Your father’s opinion simply helped put the nail in the coffin.”

  Rebecca’s heart squeezed. Yes, her father had been at the top of his game then. He’d had a lot of influence in the industry and would have been listened to with the reverence of an Oracle. She drew a breath into her painfully tight chest. “All right, thanks.”

  “Ring me if you hear anything about Dubai.”

  “I will.”

  They said their goodbyes and Rebecca put her cell phone on the desk before leaning back in her chair. Icy dread dripped down her spine. What if Alejandro was right? What if it was her fault he’d lost his backing from the Cahill Group?

  Oh God.

  In a moment of weakness, she’d called her mother when she’d been sitting in the Madrid airport five years ago, her eyes puffy and red, her throat sore. She’d had no one else to talk to back then. She’d been stunned, hurt, humiliated. And she could still see the severe-looking wedding coordinator with her folder and her samples, asking for the groom and saying, “Gracias, I will wait for him to return. His fiancée is anxious to begin the plans, yes?”

  Ridiculously, Rebecca had hoped for a mother-daughter connection, some sage advice. How she’d forgotten for those few moments that her mother was as shallow as a puddle, she’d never know. Amelie Layton made sympathetic noises, but she spent more time talking to her dog than she did offering advice.

  Later, Rebecca realized she’d just needed to say it aloud to someone. Once she’d confessed, she had the good sense to regret it. She’d made her mother promise not to say anything to her father, a ‘just us girls’ pact. After the incident with Parker Gaines—hired by her father to prove that she was a weak, vulnerable female who couldn’t be trusted to run the company once he was gone—she didn’t want to give him any further evidence of her ‘feminine weakness.’ She’d had to be strong, had to prove she could run Layton International some day.

  Since it hadn’t been like her father to keep quiet about her personal life—especially something as negative as a breakup with Alejandro—she’d breathed a sigh of relief when he’d never said anything. She’d assumed her mother had kept the secret after all. In fact, she’d always thought her father’s dislike of Alejandro happened much later and was due to simple rivalry. Ramirez Enterprises’ influence had grown in leaps and bounds while the Layton star had been sinking. It’d been hard for her father to accept as the years went by and their positions were reversed.

  But what if his dislike was based on more than that?

  Rebecca grabbed her phone and stabbed the number for her mother’s mobile. She wanted the truth, no matter how difficult. “Did you tell Dad about Alejandro Ramirez?” she demanded when Amelie Layton answered.

  “Is that any way to talk to your mother, ma belle?” Amelie’s voice trailed off as she shushed her dogs. “I may have. I can’t remember. Is there a problem, darling?”

  11

  Several days of fighting with government officials in the United Arab Emirates had put Alejandro in a foul mood, especially since nothing was solved yet. Worse, his parents’ anniversary party was tonight at the Villa de Música. As much as he’d like to stay home and sit on the terrace with a glass of sherry, he had to put in an appearance.

  The plane had landed half an hour ago. How his chauffeur got them through the mess that was Madrid traffic and to his villa in that little amount of time was nothing short of a miracle. One of these days, he was putting in that helicopter pad he kept thinking about. As his business spread, so did the necessity for trips abroad.

  He usually kept a tuxedo on the jet, along with several suits and other things he might need, but his personal assistant had somehow sent everything to the cleaners without first rotating in a fresh supply. He had barely an hour to change and be on his way to the hotel.

  Another year, another party to suffer through. Alejandro ripped at his tie and tossed it on the bed. Señora Flores had laid out a
fresh shirt for him and his tux was hanging nearby, ready to go. Why must he suffer through these damnable parties every year? On the outside, Carmen and Juan Ramirez seemed the happy couple. They played it up quite well, in fact, except for a few public incidents Alejandro didn’t like to recall in detail.

  But Alejandro knew the truth. So did his sister, Valencia—which was why she always found an excuse to stay in Paris with her husband—and Roberto before he’d died.

  Juan enjoyed his various mistresses du jour, and Carmen enjoyed her society committees as well as a little too much wine. Still, it mostly worked for them, even if there were moments of drama. Carmen forcing a mistress out of Juan’s city apartment naked, for instance. Juan cutting off Carmen’s credit line the moment she went abroad on a shopping trip.

  It was always something. As if he needed more confirmation that being chained to another person for life was bad. He’d tried it once—albeit without the drama and emotion—and that was enough. Emotionless or not, marriage wasn’t for him. Sometimes he thought it might be nice to have more children, but his sister’s children would inherit the business when it was time. He did not need to risk the heartbreak that marrying and having a child could bring ever again.

  He finished inserting the studs into his shirt and sleeves and went to work on the tie. After three attempts, he was ready to ring for Señora Flores—except this was her night off and she wasn’t here.

  Swearing, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the limo. The doors to the terrace were open as he passed through the Great Room. A female voice drifted to his ears and he changed direction. Something kicked him low in the gut when he emerged onto the terrace and saw her. It should surprise him, the physical jolt, but it didn’t. Not any longer, and not since he’d decided to do something about it.