One side of his mouth curled upwards as he bent down to retrieve his briefcase and jacket. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, lengzai. Come, let me give you a tour of the place.” Offering her the crook of his arm, Tara tentatively took it, but reminded herself to blame it on the blistering heat, and not the man by her side.
As they made their way up the stairs, Cong slipped his arm out of hers and slid it around her waist, ensuring that she didn’t fall again. Tara glanced in his direction. “What does lengzai mean?”
Her words made him grin, although she wasn’t sure why. “I’ll tell you over dinner,” he told her.
Damn. His persistence wrung a smile from her tired lips. She couldn’t help it; he was hard not to smile for. “By the way, how long are you planning to keep your hand around my waist?”
“Until I decide to place it somewhere else,” he told her, giving her a cheeky wink.
Tara shook her head and gulped in as much air as she could once they finally reached the top. “Wow,” she breathed, glancing around, drinking in the sight. “It’s incredible.”
“It is. This way,” he urged, guiding her to a large building with graceful eaves and ornate decorations adorning the tops. “When the Portuguese arrived in the sixteenth century, the temple was already standing. It was first built in 1488 and is dedicated to Mazu, the Taoist goddess of the sea. Did you know that the city was named after the temple itself?”
Tara shook her head, listening with rapture. “No, I didn’t.”
They passed through a door where an ornate altar stood with large coils of incense hanging from the ceiling. Several people in front of them pressed their hands together and bowed three times before moving on. “It is said that when the Portuguese sailors asked the locals where they had landed, they were told A-maa-gok, which means the Pavilion of the Mother. It wasn’t long before the Portuguese renamed the peninsular Macau. The Hall of Benevolence is the oldest part of the complex.”
As they walked closer to the altar, Tara couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Cong removing his glasses, placing his briefcase and jacket down, and then bowing himself. Turning those whiskey-coloured eyes on her own, he smiled in response and explained. “In China, it is customary to bow three times to the gods.”
“Why three times?”
At her question, Cong stilled, his brow creasing in thought. “I honestly don’t know. It’s just tradition.”
“Did you grow up near the temple?” she asked, inhaling the sickly-sweet scent of the incense that coiled around them.
The smile on Cong’s face slipped away. “No, I grew up in a mountain village in the middle of Guangdong.”
The tinge of sadness wrapped around his words like a lover refusing to let go. “Really? When did you move to Macau?”
Taking her arm once more, Cong guided her away to another room. “I moved here twenty years ago when I was just sixteen. Determined to make my mark and succeed.”
“And did you?”
Cong stopped and looked at her, the warmth of his fingers on her bare skin seeping through and causing a rush of heat to flow through her veins as he stared at her face. “What?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
“Did you succeed?” Tara repeated.
For a moment, a silence hung between them. Another crease lined the centre of his forehead. “I thought I did,” he eventually whispered.
Not knowing what to say, Tara just stared back, allowing the silence to take hold. A moment or two later, her thoughts were interrupted by a monk wearing blue robes. Cong dropped her arm, and disappointment surged through her at the loss of contact.
The priest greeted Cong warmly as they began chatting away in Cantonese, leaving Tara with an opportunity to study the room they stood in. Beams of sunlight poured into the room, drenching it with a shimmering golden hue. Statues of various figures stood in different positions, some wearing simple designs, others in more ornate styles. It was breath-taking and captivating, weaving a magical and dream-like quality around her. It was too beautiful for mere words. I could spend a lifetime here and never have the right words to describe this, she thought to herself.
As she turned around, movement caught her attention. Brushing a wayward lock of red hair from her face, Tara watched as Cong presented the priest with a slip of paper. Glancing at it, she couldn’t help but notice the priest’s eyes widen when he looked at it, and bowed deeply. She couldn’t read the expression on Cong’s face, but when he spied her looking at him the edges of his face softened.
How long had it been since she had seen any man look at her in that way? It was refreshing in one way, but utterly nerve-wracking in another.
A rustle of cloth caused Tara to look the other way. Two more men hurried over, both wearing matching deep blue robes and their hair pulled up into a tight bun on the tops of their heads. The taller priest had skin the colour of polished bronze, with thin lips. The other was young, appearing to be in his early twenties, a friendly grin shining across his face, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight. They hurried past her, joining Cong and the other priest.
Tara couldn’t help but watch the four men converse with each other. It was rude as hell to stare, but something just compelled her to look; she couldn’t help herself. It was evident from their gestures that the men knew each other, and despite the harsh tone of the language they spoke, the conversation was relaxed and comfortable. The sound of laughter floated across the room on a light breeze which caressed Tara’s welcoming skin, wishing it was Cong’s fingers instead.
Turning around so no one could see the blush staining her cheeks, Tara mentally kicked herself. Where did that come from all of a sudden? And in a temple, for crying out loud! There was no doubt she was attracted to him, her body aching for his touch, but she wasn’t here for a holiday romance.
A deep cough forced her to turn around. The priests had disappeared, whiskey-coloured eyes replacing everything around her. They locked with her own eyes, their gaze piercing straight through her entire being. Determination sparked within them, causing a full-body flush to wash her over, tingling the tips of her ears to her toes, lingering in numerous places in-between. “Let me show you another part of the temple before I have to go. Then you can tell me what you think over dinner tonight.”
Cong
Cong was surprised at how bored he was today. Usually, sitting in the boardroom with his lawyers and business associates talking about the latest deal was enough to get his heart pounding and the blood rushing through his veins, but nothing was flowing now.
Zhihuan sat to his right, along with several other lawyers who worked for his company facing the various managers and project leaders who dealt with the day to day running of his business. All wore the same standard white shirts and dark trousers; if it weren’t for their faces, Cong wouldn’t be able to recognise who they were.
Day in, day out. Just the same. All in it for one reason, and one reason alone. Money.
It had taken him years to get the company to this point, but Cong couldn’t have been prouder of what he’d accomplished. Twenty years ago, he’d been a skinny sixteen-year-old boy from a mountain village where the most significant accomplishment anyone could hope to achieve was to finish school. Now he owned the biggest private company in Macau and Southeast China, his fingers in all sorts of pies. Local magazines had proclaimed him the Master of Macau, the wealthiest man under forty in China, and the most eligible bachelor in Asia. Men admired him, until they realised he had his eye on their businesses, and women fawned all over him, desperate to be the lucky Mrs Zheng.
Not that he was ever likely to marry. No way in hell was he falling into that trap. Let Zhihuan and the others do that crap. Cong suppressed a shudder at the thought of one woman nagging him to put the toilet seat down, to pick up his clothes, telling him everything he was doing was wrong. He’d watched so many wives scold their husbands for not doing enough around the house, and he’d had more than his fair share of married women coming onto him. Than
ks, but no thanks.
It was enough to keep a guy single.
No, give him the single life any time of the day. It was far easier to go out and find a beautiful woman, bring her back to his apartment (or hotel, depending on where he was at the time), fuck her for all she was worth, then get out. A few days, maybe a few weeks, but after that, they tended to get clingy, and clingy women were the biggest turn-offs imaginable. Especially the married ones.
“Mr Zheng, your thoughts?”
His train of thoughts interrupted, Cong turned his head towards the voice. “Sorry, Adao, would you mind repeating that?”
The Portuguese manager cleared his throat, eyes darting to his colleague sitting next to him before returning to the boss. “I was discussing this morning’s effects on Fujimara Industries. The newspapers caused an uproar, and the shares have plummeted by forty-five percent. We estimate it to drop a further six percent by the end of the day.”
Cong leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in thought. Silence invaded the room as the others glanced in his direction. “What news of Fujimara himself?”
Zhihuan leaned forward, elbows resting on the black glass table where files sat neatly before him. “Fujimara arrived at his office this morning, although it took him fifteen minutes longer than usual to get into the building due to the paparazzi. Within twenty minutes, however, he left and went straight to his youngest son’s house. My man said he was in there for two hours before he emerged, his face red and angry, before heading straight back home. No one has seen him since.”
“What news on Aikawa? Cong asked, craning his neck to look at his top lawyer.
Shrugging, Zhihuan picked up a folder and glanced at a file briefly. “According to the report, Aikawa’s daughter was thrown out of her house by her husband about an hour after the news broke. She then went to daddy’s house where he screamed at her. Shares in Aikawa Industries have fallen by fifteen percent since this morning.” Zhihuan glanced upwards, his own eyes narrowing in satisfaction. “I think it’s more likely to drop to around eighteen percent by tomorrow, but the damage is done. Aikawa won’t be in any position to help Fujimara with his company now.”
Cong bought a hand up to his neck, lightly rubbing the knot that had formed at the back. “So Fujimara Industries is ripe for the pickings,” he murmured, then leaned forward and glanced around at the sea of faces staring back at him. “OK, here’s what I want you to do. Start a new offer for Fujimara. Take off thirty percent of our last asking price, and see what he comes back with. If luck is on our side, he’ll take it. If not, then let’s increase the damage.”
“How so, sir?” came the thin, almost squeaky voice of his research manager, a Chinese-Portuguese man by the name of Aleixo.
One side of Cong’s mouth curled up dangerously. “Get all the dirt on Fujimara’s and Aikawa’s daughter published. I bet a thousand pacata that all the hotels they used were paid for by daddy’s accounts. Use that against them, and the public outrage will increase. The scandal will cause Fujimara to hide, especially as his shares profit. He’ll find it hard to run a company when he’s hiding in shame.”
Zhihuan cleared his throat. “What do you want to do about Aikawa?”
Resting his chin on his chest, Cong closed his eyes and pondered. “Poor Aikawa has got in my way. He should never have got involved, but now … Do they have anything of interest to us?”
A deep voice spoke out from near the bottom of the table. “I hear they’ve been working on a new technology that they’ve been trying to keep under wraps.”
Cong rose his head and felt the first signs of interest stirring in his veins. “What kind of technology?”
The man shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure, but something to do with cold-resistance, so I hear.”
Murmurs flooded the room softly. Cong’s brain drowned them out as the thoughts swirled around in his head. OK, Aikawa wasn’t a big player in Japanese industries, but he had a decent reputation, and their goods had never suffered from damaging reports. Maybe they could use this to their advantage.
Holding up a hand, silence invaded the room. All eyes turned back to him. “OK, OK. Aleixo, I want you and your team to research everything you can on Aikawa’s new technology. Don’t scare him off, but dig as deep as you need to. If they’ve got something worth having, then this may be the ideal time.”
“Strike while the iron’s hot,” Zhihuan mumbled, his voice barely audible.
“Indeed,” Cong replied, the grin stretching across his face deepening. “That’s how you do business. Take it when it shows up and don’t let go until you’ve got what you want.”
“But you want everything, Cong,” Zhihuan said, raising both eyebrows as he gathered his files.
Laughter spilled out of Cong’s mouth before he could stop it. Zhihuan was right. He did want everything. He was the Master of Macau; he would take whatever he desired. But one thing he prided himself on was that he did everything legally. Fine, it may not have been ethical every single time, and his ruthlessness was renowned throughout Asia, but it was legal. There was no way he was walking the murky paths which so many other companies tread on just for money.
He wasn’t losing everything he’d spent a lifetime working towards. There was too much at stake for that.
Another hour passed as they discussed the Tokyo project and others in the works. Admiration for his team washed over him. They were a well-oiled machine, each of them knowing exactly what they needed to be doing and when. The lawyers, slick and capable, ensured that nothing went unnoticed when it came to drawing up and closing contracts. Sometimes it staggered him how lawyers were so unappreciated outside the business world; after all, they followed the law. If your contract was tight enough, it would stop anyone trying to swindle you. If it wasn’t, then you paid the price.
And Cong ensured that each of his contracts were air-tight.
As the meeting concluded, Cong asked Zhihuan to stay behind. They’d been working together for years, and Cong knew that he depended on his lawyer for many things, including if he ever took things too far. Zhihuan may have been a slippery lawyer, but he was also a good friend.
Gathering documents into his briefcase, Cong offered him a smile. “How did thing go with Melissa last night?”
His friend groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I tell you, man, don’t go out with a pregnant woman. First, we went to the opera which was fine, but then she got upset because I was drinking, and she couldn’t, so I had to stop. Then we went to the new seafood restaurant down by the waterfront but had to leave ten minutes later because she said the smell of spring onions were making her sick.”
Cong laughed at him. “Oh, I bet that was so much fun. I take it you didn’t get anything to eat then?”
Scratching the bridge of his nose with a finger, Zhihuan sighed. “Yeah, we did. We ended up at a greasy pizza place somewhere. It stank to high heaven, but Melissa refused to leave. She ended up eating eight slices before she finally decided she was tired and demanded a bath.”
“The joys of married pregnant life,” Cong said, trying his best not to laugh but failing miserably.
“Tell me about it. This baby better be worth it because it’s going to kill me before its born,” Zhihuan grumbled. “What else did you need?”
“I want you to talk with Fujimara and Aikawa personally,” Cong told him, the smile slipping from his face and his eyes growing serious. “I know you. You’ve got a nose like a bloodhound when it comes to people trying to hide things.”
“You may want to talk to Melissa about sniffing things out lately. She can smell everything.”
Shaking his head, Cong suppressed a sigh. “I love Melissa and she’s a great lawyer herself, but you’ve got a sense about this kind of thing. With Fujimara, I want you to see how low things are and get a better price. The bigger the difference, the bigger the commission, and with a baby on the way you’re going to need it. Kids are expensive and you’re going to be paying for it for the rest
of your life.”
“True. Fine, I can do that,” Zhihuan replied, his voice taking on a serious tone.
“I especially want you to talk to Aikawa himself. Make up some excuse to speak to him, but get a general feel for the man. We’ve not paid him too much attention before, so I want to see what he’s like.”
“Want me to set something up between you two? There’s a charity ball in Tokyo next month. I know Angela had marked you down as not going, but maybe it’d be worth it.”
Cong pursed his lips as he mulled it over. “Maybe. Although it would be better to get him on our home turf. Men are more nervous when they’re out of their own water. If I can’t get to Japan next month, I might send you there in my stead. For now, a conversation will suffice.”
Nodding, Zhihuan slipped on his jacket and walked out of the room. Cong sank into his chair, the soft leather caressing his skin like a lover. An exasperated sigh shot out of his mouth as he rubbed a hand over his tired face. There were times when business was just exhausting.
Not that he had much time to rest.
Heels clipped on the wooden flooring, quickly followed by the scent of floral perfume he’d come to know so well. Angela’s face came into view as he glanced upwards, her normally relaxed features hidden behind an expression of anxiousness.
“Mr Zheng, I need to speak to you,” she said, the words hurried out.
Cong raised a hand. “Before you do, I need you to do a little job for me, Angela.”
Mouth wide open, her dark hooded eyes darted back and forth before closing momentarily. “Yes, sir. What do you need?”
“There’s a woman in the Orchid Hotel, the one I purchased last year. Tara Benson, but I’m not sure what room she’s in. I want you to send some yellow roses to her room and leave a message for her.”
Angela pursed her lips, a crease forming between her brows. “What’s the message, sir?”
“Tell her to be ready by eight o’clock. I’m taking her out for dinner. Remind her that I’ll be waiting to hear about her views on the temple,” he said, a ghost of a smile forming on his lips.
Intoxication Page 6
