Nodding, Angela sighed. “Anything else, sir?”
Cong shook his head and closed his eyes. “Not really. Just make sure you kick me out of the office by six.”
“Very good, sir.” When Angela didn’t make any attempt to leave, Cong glanced upwards and noticed the pensiveness in her eyes.
“What’s the matter, Angela?” he asked.
Somewhere in her late forties with short black hair and what Melissa would have called a cuddly frame, Angela had been his personal assistant for ten years. The woman never lost her cool, so seeing her this way made him curious.
Angela inhaled deeply before answering. “A woman is demanding to see you, sir. She said her name was Wei Ruomei.”
Unable to suppress the groan that escaped his mouth, Cong sank back into his seat. The woman was relentless. “Tell her I’m not here,” he said, weariness coating his words.
“Don’t be like that,” a voice chuckled from the doorway. “You know you want to see me.”
Lifting his head, Cong watched as Ruomei strode towards him. Effortless stylish in a form-fitting black dress, the deep v-neckline emphasised her cleavage while the split at the side displayed her leggy figure underneath. Her long black hair was left loose, resembling a midnight waterfall, while her dark eyes glittered mischievously. There was no doubt the woman was gorgeous, but nothing was stirring unless it was for a certain redhead.
Cong exhaled but nodded to Angela to leave. Seconds later, he heard the door close behind her, leaving him left alone with Ruomei. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
Ruomei stalked her way forward, her bottom swinging from one side to the other. “I thought since you couldn’t join me at my hotel last night, I’d come and surprise you here,” she said, her voice taking on a seductive tone.
Shaking his head, Cong placed a neutral mask over his features. “Sorry, Ruomei, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here.”
Standing beside him, Ruomei traced a finger down his arm. “On the contrary, I think it’s an excellent idea,” she whispered before reaching up and pulling the dress down over her slim body, revealing just how naked she was underneath.
Cong’s heart raced in his chest as she swung a leg over his legs and positioned herself on his lap. Reaching up, she laced her hands in his hair, bringing her face down towards his. Just as her lips hovered over his, Cong reached for her waist and forced her to stand. “Sorry, Ruomei, but I’m not in the mood. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
Resentment burned in her eyes for a moment before it disappeared. Plastering a smile on her face and leaned back on the glass table. “Come on, baby. You know you want me. You fuck everyone over on this table. I’ve wanted you to fuck me on it, too.”
Snorting, Cong turned away, picked up his briefcase and strode towards the door. An exit had never looked so good as it did right that moment. “Thanks, but no thanks. As I’ve said, I’ve got work to do. When I want you, I’ll give you a call. Now get dressed, and Angela will show you out.”
Shutting the door behind him and ignoring the sounds of swearing emanating from the room behind him, Cong shook his head. The only thing he wanted to work on today was seeing Tara again. He wanted to see delight sparkle in those beautiful green eyes again.
And she would see him again. He would make sure of it.
After all, he was the Master of Macau. Nothing was out of his reach.
Tara
Nerves fluttered along Tara’s veins as if they were butterflies racing away from some unseen presence. For crying out loud, she was acting like a schoolgirl nervous about her first date. At twenty-eight she shouldn’t be feeling this way, but for some reason, dinner with Cong was making her feel as if she was sixteen all over again.
The message and flowers had been a surprise. Scarlet roses mixed with gold orchids placed in a beautiful, elegant vase had waited for her at reception, along with a note. Be ready at eight. I await your views on my city.
A smile had blossomed over her face when she read the note. Cong was certainly persistent. It had only been six pm when she arrived back at the hotel, leaving her two hours to get ready. Ignoring the voice in her head telling her it was something he probably did with a lot of women, Tara decided she would bite the bullet and meet him for dinner. After all, what harm could it do? It wasn’t as if she had any special plans for the night, anyway.
Trying to decide what to wear had been hard, despite the fact she had only brought a limited amount of clothes to wear. It was a toss-up between a light green flared dress or a long black maxi dress with a red ribbon belt. In the end, she decided to go with the black. Paired with a pair of strappy black heels and a silky black cardigan, it wasn’t the most sophisticated of outfits, but after she’d brushed her hair loose and with a light dusting of make-up, Tara had to admit she looked she looked decent.
Sitting in the bar, sipping on some fruity concoction the barman had suggested, Tara attempted to settle those nervous butterflies dancing within her stomach when the subtle scent of sea salt and caramel hit her senses. Twisting her head, whiskey-coloured eyes gleamed back at her and lips the colour of crushed berries curled up in a smile.
“Good evening, lengzai,” he said, his voice low and husky, sending those butterflies into a frenzy and causing a heat within her core to simmer. Wearing a black suit moulded to his lean frame and a dark blue shirt that set off the warmth of his eyes, she couldn’t deny just how good he looked.
Inhaling deeply to calm them, Tara smiled back. “Hello, Cong. Thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful.” Damnit, girl, the voice in her head sighed. You sound all breathless and swoony. Get a grip. Breathless women sound pathetic. Men think they’re an easy lay.
Holding out an arm, Cong stared at her, as though his eyes could pierce through her, spiking her heartbeat into a frenzy. “Shall we go to dinner? I’ve been waiting all day to hear about your time in my city.”
Arching an eyebrow, Tara set down her drink, picked up her clutch bag, and took his arm. “Your city? Just how much of it is yours?” she teased.
“Enough,” Cong replied, his voice layered in a coating of casualness as he guided her out of the hotel where a sleek black limousine waited for them. “But I want to hear about your day.”
A driver hurried to open the door for them. Tara stopped, her mouth agape. “Is this for us?” she asked, almost whispering.
Cong chuckled, his dark eyes glittering in amusement. “Of course. Come on. We have reservations.”
Aware that she would most likely trip on the hem of her dress, Tara carefully slid into the car. Inside, the air conditioning wafted refreshing cool air over her skin, a welcome relief from the humid temperature outside. Soft leather seats faced each other, while a fully stocked mini bar and TV screen sat to one side. Tinted windows meant no one could see inside but still gave her the ability to look out. Excitement coursed through her as she glanced outside, watching the city past by her in a blur of darkness and bright lights. It was as if she was sixteen again, most definitely.
Suddenly remembering that she wasn’t on her own, Tara turned to find Cong looking at her, unable to hide the grin stretching across his face. Tara felt blood pool to her cheeks, and she groaned inwardly at her stupidity. “I’m so sorry, Cong,” she told him, trying to suppress an embarrassed laugh. “It’s just Macau looks incredible at night.”
Laughter flowed from his lips. “Do not worry about it, Tara. In fact, I’ve never enjoyed watching someone as much as I have just now. For a moment, you looked as though you were a child, amazed by a new toy.”
“I like new experiences,” Tara told him, her voice playful. “Don’t you ever get excited by small things?”
“I get excited by many things,” he replied, the smile dropping its edges as his eyes grew darker. The fluttering developed into a hurricane within her stomach, and suddenly it was hard to breathe while he stared at her with those piercing eyes.
Trying to distract herself from the heat
within his eyes, Tara asked him questions about Macau as they sped through the streets. Occasionally, Cong would point out a landmark or a remark about a building or monument. After several minutes, the limo pulled up, and the door opened to reveal a smiling doorman greeting them warmly. Careful not to trip on her dress, Tara couldn’t help but gasp at the building. While she had never been a big fan of the whole steel and glass architectural style, Tara couldn’t deny the sleek, smooth beauty of it. The entire front of the building was tinted glass, just light enough to see through inside where lanterns illuminated the setting.
Cong guided her inside and, after greeting the hostess in his native language, were seated by a quiet table near the window.
“This is an amazing place, Cong,” Tara whispered, even though conversations swirled around them. It truly was. Delicious scents rose in the air, some she could recognise and others she couldn’t. Her nose couldn’t help but follow the smell of something sizzling nearby, followed by the rumbling of her stomach. Christ, girl, the voice in her head sighed. Very sophisticated. I can’t take you anywhere. When she looked back, the hostess was nowhere to be seen.
Cong smiled, his eyes never leaving her face. “I know it may look a little over the top, but the food is excellent. I heartily recommend the beef brisket and the crab ravioli.”
The hostess returned, a stunningly beautiful Chinese woman with deep brown eyes and black hair tied into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and placed two glasses in front of them. Tara watched as she presented Cong with a bottle of champagne and, after nodding his approval, poured it into the glasses. After offering a menu to each of them, she left once more.
Cong handed Tara a glass and held his own up in a toast. “To new experiences,” he said.
“To new experiences,” Tara repeated, clinking her glass against his.
Tara allowed herself to sink into the ambient music for a few moments, wondering what the words were, and drinking in the fragranced air. To the right, an older Asian man dined with a gorgeous woman a third of his age, dressed in a tight red dress, emphasising her considerable cleavage. Behind Cong sat a trio of men, all dressed in suits of varying shades of grey.
Looking at the menu, which thankfully had English translations, Tara realised that she had been transported to another world. A world that she could most definitely not afford if she went by the prices on the menu.
After making her selection, Cong placed the order with the hostess, which gave Tara the opportunity to study him. He certainly had the air of someone used to punctual service, of someone who knew what he wanted and took it, but there was something about him that drew her to his side no matter what. She’d only known him a short time but still …
Cong turned back to her with those dark, glittering eyes. “While we’re waiting, you can tell me what you did today.”
So Tara did. In between sips of cold champagne, bubbles tingling on the tip of her tongue, she explained how she explored the rest of A-Ma Temple, before heading off to the ruins of St. Paul’s, and then the Celebrity Wax Museum. Initially, Tara’s shyness had taken hold, but Cong’s persistent nature had drawn her out of her shell, and she found herself laughing at his jokes and enjoying his witty conversation. All traces of the anxiousness that had flooded her body earlier dissipated with the delicious scent of seafood in front of her and the flow of easy conversation.
Halfway through dessert, savouring the most delicate pastry she had ever imaged, the hostess returned and whispered something in Cong’s ear. A line creased his brow as he twisted his head around and sighed when another man from across the room nodded to him. Turning back to her, Cong stood up. “Forgive me, Tara, this will only take a minute,” and quickly strode away where the gentleman grabbed his arm and began talking swiftly in his ear.
While Cong was conversing, the hostess refilled her glass. “You’re so lucky,” the girl whispered in a breathless tone.
Tara’s eyebrows rose. “Lucky, how?” she asked.
The girl’s dark eyes twinkled in the soft glow of the lantern hanging above them. “Dinner with Zheng Cong. It’s every girl’s fantasy come to life.”
“Really? How so?”
The hostess glanced at Tara, a confused looked etched across her face. “You don’t know who he is?” Tara shook her head. “Zheng Cong is the richest man in Asia. Everyone knows who he is. He made his first billion dollars within a year of setting up his company and tripled it by the following year. He’s amazing.”
“Oh,” Tara replied, not really knowing what to say to that. “Has he got a reputation?”
“Oh yes,” she replied, her voice taking on a breathless, husky tone. “Everyone knows that he’s ruthless. Once he’s got the scent of your blood in his nose, he’s after you and won’t stop until he has you. Everyone wants him. Men want to be in business with him, and every woman wants to be in his bed. I’m so jealous of you right now, miss.”
A nervous half-smile surfaced on Tara’s lips. She didn’t know what to do or say. All coherent thoughts scattered on the air and she vaguely noted the hostess’ withdrawal from the table.
So Cong was a billionaire with a reputation. His persistence at asking her to dinner was undoubtedly evidence of someone used to getting their way, but what was it that he wanted with her? There was no doubt that she found him attractive, and she loved the way he talked about the city’s history and culture, but the questions continued to float around in her mind.
Could she settle for a holiday fling after just breaking up with someone?
And was pursuing a relationship with him wise considering his ruthless reputation?
Not knowing what the answers were to these questions, Tara jolted when a hand gently touched her shoulder.
“Shall we go?” Cong asked, standing above her, the humour in his face drained away.
Nodding, Tara allowed herself to be guided out of the restaurant, the young doorman opening the door for her. Giving him a small, sweet smile, she sighed as the cool night breeze caressed her face.
Since the limo had disappeared, Cong suggested they walk to a nearby bar for drinks. Graciously offering her his arm once again, Tara couldn’t help but enjoy the old-fashioned, gentlemanly gesture. Many may consider him ruthless, but Tara couldn’t help but notice that he had a sweet side.
“So how do you like Macau so far?” he asked.
“I love it,” Tara replied honestly trying to ignore how his touch thrilled her blood faster in her veins. “It’s beautiful and exotic and just incredible.”
Soft laughter flowed over Cong’s lips. “I’ve visited England a few times, but there’s just no place quite like Macau for me. This is home.”
Nodding, Tara’s eyes widened as she watched fireworks shoot across the velvet night sky, transforming it into a kaleidoscope of colour. “Oh, I quite agree. There’s no place like Macau.”
Turning to face him, Tara inhaled sharply as she watched a fire simmer in his whiskey-hued eyes. Cong’s lips opened, but before he could say a word, shouts shadowed them.
“Zheng Cong! Zheng Cong, you bastard!”
Twisting in the direction of the voice, Tara stepped back as a man strode forward. Dressed in jeans and a rumpled shirt, with shaggy dark blonde hair flowing in the breeze behind him, the man carried on forward and it wasn’t long before Tara could see the anger stretched over his face. Narrow eyes focused on Cong’s face, cold and hard. Tara drew in a deep breath as Cong positioned her behind him.
“David Jenkins,” Cong said, his voice taking on a neutral tone. “How are you?”
Guessing that the hostile man was David, Tara watched as he positioned himself right in front of Cong, only mere inches from his face. “How am I? How am I? How the fuck do you think I am?”
“This is not the time or the place,” Cong responded, his tone eerily calm for someone being shouted at in the streets.
“It’s the perfect fucking place for what I’m going to say to you,” David shouted, his face an ugly mask of rage, his fi
sts clenched so hard that Tara could see his knuckles growing white even in the limited lighting. “You took everything from me. You fucked me over, big time.”
“Your lawyer should have taken you through the contract bit by bit,” Cong said, and Tara detected a hint of weariness in his voice, as though he was talking to a child who couldn’t understand they’d done something wrong. It was a tone she had adopted herself many a time with her students. “You should have read it thoroughly before you signed, David.”
David moved his face in closer to Cong’s, and Tara tasted the hint of stale alcohol wafting on the breeze. “I’m going to fuck you up one way or another, Zheng Cong, just like you did to me. And then maybe your two-bit dollar whore behind you will see you for what you really are.”
Tara stepped forward and saw Cong’s expression change to something fierce and dangerous. Suddenly, David crumpled to the floor as Cong’s arm slowly returning to his side. His expression quickly transformed back to a lethally neutral look. “Don’t call her a whore. Go home, David. Sober up and start afresh. That’s my advice to you.” Grabbing Tara by the hand, he pulled her away from the man grunting on the floor, but Tara couldn’t escape the sounds of resentment and pain trailing behind her.
Cong
Cong ran as though his life depended on it. Not that it did, of course, unless he slipped up and banged his head on the treadmill, and ultimately died from a resulting brain injury. But still, he continued to pump his legs as though there was a crazed killer after him.
By the gods, how long had he been running now? An hour? Two? It wasn’t as if it mattered. All that he cared about was keeping his mind focused on the task at hand, and not the disastrous results of last night.
It wasn’t as if he could concentrate on either thing when Angela was going off about his upcoming schedule.
“Did you hear what I said, Mr Zheng?” she asked, glancing down at the diary in her hands.
Intoxication Page 7
