The Spanish Tycoon's Takeover

by Michelle Douglas

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘I get to take that extra time worked in lieu. If I need an hour off for a doctor’s appointment I’m free to take that hour. If I work fifteen hours one day I get to take the following afternoon off. That sort of thing. Obviously if you want me to keep a timesheet I will.’

  Ugh.

  ‘I am tempted to insist upon it—just so you are forced to acknowledge how many hours you work—but as I can see you loathe the idea I will let it drop for now.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Also, you will take this afternoon off in lieu of all the overtime you’ve worked this week.’

  A free afternoon would be a godsend, but...

  ‘How do you know how much overtime I’ve been working?’

  Did his lips twitch upwards the tiniest fraction?

  ‘Tina has a very high opinion of you.’

  Ah... She couldn’t work out if, in his eyes, that was a good thing or not.

  ‘You are flexible with her hours because she is a single mother, yes?’

  ‘Tina is a gem and I want to hold on to her.’ Her mouth dried. ‘I try to be flexible with all my staff. Within reason,’ she added, because it seemed wise to add it even if it wasn’t a hundred per cent true. ‘I find that it earns me staff loyalty and goodwill.’

  He glanced at his computer and pushed a couple of keys. ‘Unfortunately that is not reflected in the efficiency rates of your housekeeping staff.’

  ‘No, it wouldn’t be.’

  Boom. Boom. Boom. The blood pounded in her ears.

  ‘But I would argue that those efficiency rates aren’t as important in a small concern like Aggie’s Retreat as they are in one of your big five-star hotels.’ She bit her lip. ‘I could write you a report.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. It is not on my agenda for today.’

  She had a reprieve? Thank you, God!

  ‘And you will not write a report on your afternoon off. Is that clear?’

  Whoa! Serious glare. ‘Crystal.’ She nodded, happy to move his thoughts away from possible staffing cuts and changes.

  It was only a temporary reprieve, and in her mind she started writing a report anyway.

  ‘So you will take the afternoon off and we’ll work hard this morning, yes?’

  She straightened. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  ‘Now, to today’s business. I am changing the name of the motel.’

  Her heart gave a funny little clutch, but it was gone again in an instant. She nodded. ‘That’s not wholly unexpected.’

  He stared at her as if he hadn’t anticipated such easy acquiescence. She stared back steadily enough. Two years ago such news might have shattered her, but the last two years had shown her what really mattered. A motel name-change was nothing to watching her grandmother’s slow decline. That was what raked ugly claws through her heart, shredding it until she almost wished she didn’t have a heart left. What the darn motel happened to be called wasn’t on the same scale.

  She rested her hands on the table and sent him a smile meant to reassure him. ‘What will you call it instead? I won’t deny that it’ll take some getting used to. I hope you have something colourful picked out.’

  ‘Villa Lorenzo.’

  His grandfather’s name? She repeated it slowly. ‘It has a nice ring to it.’ She reached out and briefly clasped his hand. ‘It’s a lovely tribute.’

  She refused to let her hand linger against the intriguing warmth of his. Releasing him, she pulled her laptop towards her and started making notes.

  ‘I’ll organise new stationery immediately, and the sign out at the front will need to be changed. I’ll organise that too. Are you happy for me to use local businesses?’

  She glanced up to find he’d pressed a thumb and forefinger to his eyes.

  A headache? Or grief?

  ‘Would you like me to get you some aspirin?’

  He pulled his hand away. ‘No. I’m fine. Thank you. And yes to using local businesses. It is usually...politic. I’d like the new sign fast-tracked if possible. I’m prepared to pay double the going rate to have that happen.’

  She jotted that down. ‘Would you like me to make some phone calls now?’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘If you can be done in fifteen minutes then, yes. We have an appointment and the car will be coming to collect us at nine-thirty.’

  ‘I’ll be ready,’ she promised.

  She tripped out without another word, saluting the Captain silently as she went past.

  * * *

  ‘We’ve come to the Golden Palace?’

  Wynne peered out of the limousine’s windows as the car was ushered through the security gates of one of Surfers Paradise’s most exclusive resorts. Today—unlike Tuesday—she’d taken such simple delight in the short limousine journey—exclaiming over the crystal wine decanter and glasses and luxuriating in the expanse of space—that Xavier wished the journey had been longer.

  ‘I want you to see what the Golden Palace offers its clients.’

  He was well aware of the resort’s prestige. And he had hotels dotted about the globe that matched and in some instances exceeded the Golden Palace’s luxury. He wanted Wynne to see it—to understand what he wanted to achieve with the Villa Lorenzo. That name, though, was only temporary. It would take many, many months before demolition could begin on the existing building and The Lorenzo could be erected in its place. In the meantime he refused to accept that any hotel of his would bear that woman’s name a moment longer.

  Wynne sat back and folded her arms. ‘I already know what it offers. It has Italian marble bathrooms, gold-plated fixtures, a resort-style pool...and its own private access to the beach.’

  He frowned at the stubborn jut of her jaw. The Golden Palace was a haven of calm, sophistication and good taste. ‘You will take careful note of all we see here this morning,’ he ordered, his voice sharp.

  Her jaw lowered. ‘Yes, of course.’

  Why did he get the feeling her deference only went skin-deep?

  He rolled his shoulders. Why should that bother him? He owned Aggie’s Retreat—Villa Lorenzo. Where the motel was concerned, his word was now law.

  The limousine drew to a halt and Wynne immediately slid out.

  He bit back a sigh. ‘Wynne, we have a driver to open the car doors.’

  ‘Ah, but you also have a hotel manager, and I don’t expect your staff to wait on me...sir.’

  So his order had ruffled her feathers, had it? ‘You will call me Xavier.’ He made his voice short and tart.

  ‘Yes, of course... Sir Xavier.’

  But her lips twitched as she said it, and he found himself having to bite back a smile. The woman was irrepressible. And she had a finely honed sense of the ridiculous. She loved to laugh at herself...and at him. And he was starting to find that he didn’t mind that so much.

  But now to business.

  ‘Mr Ramos, I’m Judith—one of the managers here at the Golden Palace. We’re delighted to have you visit us. Mr Fontaine sends his express greetings and apologies. He’s sorry he can’t take you for the tour personally.’

  Xavier introduced Wynne, and the two women shook hands.

  Wynne pointed. ‘Your scarf...is it Hermès?’

  ‘Yes.’

  When Xavier raised an eyebrow at her, she merely shrugged. ‘Just taking note of everything, as you ordered. So far I’ve noted that Judith’s scarf is worth more than my entire outfit.’

  ‘Is there some point you’re making?’

  ‘None at all...’ her eyes twinkled ‘...yet.’

  The tour of the hotel took an hour.

  Wynne did not display any of the delight that she had in the limousine—although both the public spaces and private rooms were exquisite. She made p
olite small talk with Judith, and asked intelligent questions, but beneath it all he sensed her silent disapproval. And the more he sensed it, the more Xavier could feel himself clenching up.

  The tour ended with Judith settling them at a table shaded by a large umbrella on the sun-drenched terrace and ordering them refreshments.

  ‘Please let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with.’

  With a nod she was gone, discretion itself. He wondered if Wynne could learn that same trick.

  Surprisingly enough, he didn’t doubt her ability to run an establishment like this. He had a feeling she could do that standing on her head. Wynne Antonia Stephens was a woman of many talents. He just doubted her ability to be quite so...invisible.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WYNNE GESTURED AROUND the terrace, her nostrils flaring. ‘This is what you want to achieve at Villa Lorenzo?’

  He refused to allow her disapproval to touch him. He intended to create a motel that would do Lorenzo proud—he would not be swayed from that purpose.

  ‘Objectively, what do you think of the Golden Palace?’

  ‘You want to know what I noted?’

  ‘You are still angry with me for my request?’

  ‘I’m not angry at what you asked of me—I’m angry at the way you asked it. It wasn’t a request. It was a demand.’

  He thrust out his jaw. ‘I am not used to couching requests to my staff in a manner meant to pander to their sensibilities. My request was not unreasonable.’

  But she wasn’t listening to him. Her attention had been snagged by a little boy—a child no older than Luis—who was walking across the terrace, crying. Behind the glass of both the restaurant and the foyer staff watched, but nobody made a move to approach the child.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’

  Wynne leapt to her feet and raced across to the little boy.

  Crouching down, she smiled at him. ‘Hello, pumpkin, are you lost?’

  He nodded in a woebegone way, hiccupping through his tears. Wynne reached out and wiped them away. Xavier glanced around. Why did none of the staff come out to help the child?

  ‘My name is Wynne. Would you like to come and sit at the table over there with me and my friend until your mummy or daddy or your nanny come and find you?’ She did a cute little excited shimmy. ‘We have lemonade, and it’s so yummy.’

  And then the little boy was in her arms and she’d brought him back to the table and cuddled him on her lap, letting him sip lemonade from her glass until he was smiling again and all traces of his tears were gone.

  Yearning suddenly gripped him. He missed Luis. It was time Luis and Paula finished their sightseeing in Sydney and came to the Gold Coast. Luis had been too quiet and too withdrawn lately. He needed to get to the bottom of it.

  The little boy stayed with them for ten minutes before his nanny was found. She’d been on the phone to her boyfriend. Apparently she’d thought he was asleep. Dios! He knew the staff would report the incident discreetly to the boy’s parents.

  Wynne watched the little boy disappear with a martial light in her eyes. She swung back to Xavier. ‘I couldn’t just ignore him.’

  She said it as if she expected his displeasure. Dios.

  ‘I am glad you did not.’ If Luis ever found himself in such a situation he hoped someone like Wynne would take him under their wing.

  She sat back and folded her arms. ‘So...you want to know what I noted about this pantheon of luxury?’

  It was all he could do not to wince at her scorn.

  ‘Other than the fact that—as I said before—the staff’s scarves are worth more than my entire outfit, did you notice that all the staff here are physically very beautiful?’

  He hadn’t. Though he was starting to find that when Wynne was around everything else seemed to fade into the background.

  ‘Why should that bother you?’

  ‘Because plain people and physically imperfect people make just as good employees as beautiful people.’

  He chose his words carefully. ‘A place like the Golden Palace provides its clients with a fantasy. Here, beauty is the ideal.’

  Her brow furrowed. ‘And that doesn’t bother you?’

  She made him sound shallow!

  He fought back a scowl. ‘It is a fact of life. It is admittedly perhaps a little unfair...’

  ‘Oh, you think?’

  He sent her the glare that usually had his employees trembling and backtracking. She lowered her gaze—eventually—but if there was any trembling it was due only to her frustration.

  ‘Tell me what else you observed.’

  ‘I saw that woman—a guest—in the dining area, making a scene because the waitress had served her a cappuccino rather than a latte.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘She threw a temper tantrum over a coffee.’

  ‘The staff should not make such mistakes.’

  ‘The staff are human—not robots. If I were the manager here I wouldn’t let anyone speak to my staff that way.’

  He stared at her, intrigued in spite of himself. ‘You do not subscribe to the motto “the customer is always right”?’

  ‘The customer isn’t always right. I do my best to accommodate our guests’ wishes and requests at Aggie’s Retreat, but I demand respect in return. There’s absolutely no need to speak to anyone the way that woman spoke to the staff.’

  He’d noticed the woman—she’d reminded him of Camilla. Secretly he agreed with Wynne, but...

  ‘Difficult guests are part of the business.’

  She remained silent.

  He folded his arms, tamping down on the laugh rising in his chest. ‘Why do I get the feeling that in the past you might have told some guests that their business was no longer welcome at Aggie’s Retreat?’

  Her gaze abruptly dropped to her glass of lemonade. She stirred it with her straw.

  ‘It works both ways, though. Did you see how supercilious that darn concierge was when a guest was asking directions to a restaurant?’

  He frowned. ‘I did not.’

  ‘He deliberately acted superior to make the man nervous. It was uncalled for.’

  If that was the truth, then she had his wholehearted agreement.

  ‘That man was obviously not wealthy. I mean not on the scale that many of the clientele here will be. He’s probably scrimped and saved for an entire year to give himself and his wife this amazing treat...and yet does he get treated with equal deference as the coffee tantrum-thrower? Is his money not as good? The unfairness of it makes me so mad!’

  Her eyes flashed green fire and her hair crackled about her face and for a moment Xavier couldn’t speak for the unholy thirst that gripped him. Today, if she stood a step above him and gazed at his lips with the same hunger as she had yesterday, he wouldn’t hesitate to wrap an arm about her waist and drag her mouth to his to slake the heat rising through him.

  He didn’t know if that made him a fool for not taking the chance yesterday, or a fool for wanting that same opportunity today.

  She slashed a hand through the air. ‘I’m sorry. I feel passionately about this.’

  ‘So I can see.’

  ‘One thing we have achieved at Aggie’s Retreat—’

  Those glorious eyes sparked and he had the distinct impression she called it Aggie’s Retreat rather than Villa Lorenzo on purpose.

  ‘—is that we do our utmost to make everyone feel equally welcome.’

  He recalled the afternoon tea that she had arranged for him—the one he hadn’t partaken of. It had been a nice gesture.

  ‘Seriously, Xavier, is this—’ she gestured to the hotel ‘—the kind of homage you want to pay Lorenzo?’

  ‘This is the best the Gold Coast has to offer.’ A fist tightened about his chest. ‘My grandfathe
r deserves the best!’

  ‘It’s the most luxurious. It’s the most expensive. It doesn’t automatically follow that it’s the best.’ She blew out a breath, sagging back in her chair. ‘I thought you said we were on the same page where the motel was concerned?’

  Nausea churned through him. He held himself rigid. ‘You said you wanted the motel to succeed. As do I. I never once said that I shared your vision for Aggie’s Retreat.’

  Hurt flashed in those eyes before her gaze was abruptly removed from his. He wanted to yell at her, tell her that she’d overstepped the bounds, but she hadn’t.

  He swore in Spanish. ‘For pity’s sake, Wynne. Not by any standards does Aggie’s Retreat fit the image of a modern, convenient business hotel.

  ‘If by “modern” you mean impersonal—’

  He held up his hand and she snapped her mouth shut while he searched his phone for the review he’d bookmarked earlier. ‘I have a review here that lists in detail all the flaws of your beloved Aggie’s Retreat.’

  She folded her arms and lifted her chin.

  ‘“One: the motel is not on the hotel mini-bus route from the airport, making it difficult to get to.”’

  ‘We’re a motor inn, Xavier. The majority of our guests drive their own cars.’

  ‘“Two: Surfers Paradise is one of the most beautiful strips of beach in the world, but the motel has neither beach nor canal views.”’

  ‘Both are easily accessed.’

  ‘“The oddly designed building was built in the nineteen-eighties, though it looks nothing like a modern motel...”’

  ‘I’d take that as a compliment rather than a criticism.’

  He continued to read. ‘“There is no business centre, gym or swimming pool...”’

  ‘We have a conference room.’

  ‘Which is poorly equipped,’ he felt compelled to point out.

  ‘And free WiFi.’

  Xavier read on. ‘“The rooms are advertised as having balconies, but as my room faced a busy road its balcony was a glassed-in sunroom, which made it unsuitable for an after-dinner cigar.”’

  Unexpectedly Wynne’s face cleared, but when she didn’t proceed to give him a lecture about the sins of smoking, he pressed on.