'My father was adamant that the painting remain in my possession.'
Clive took a deep breath. 'Alexandra, I don't think you realize how much money is at stake. This is big—'
'No figure would be large enough to make me betray my father’s trust, Mr Gacos.' Her throat felt like sandpaper and she reached for the glass of Pellegrino on the bedside table.
'Five million dollars!' he blurted. ‘Think how that would change your life.'
The glass slid from her hand. Alex pushed back the blankets and jumped to her feet, her mind spinning. 'What did you say?' Alex kept her voice calm, but the rush pounded through her now, the painting, the adrenaline, five million dollars.
'Five...million...dollars! I think even your father would agree. None of us could have predicted such a meteoric rise in prices for his work. Selling now would catapult your father's name into artistic infamy. Just think what you would be doing for his reputation. ‘It's a record sum for a New Zealand artist. Quite dazzling. But we must move quickly.'
What was the urgency? Clive's pressure addled her brain. Was notoriety what her father wanted? It took a few more stunned moments before she managed to speak again. 'Is this for real?'
'I can assure you the buyer is quite serious.' Clive replied infusing his voice with professional stoicism, but she sensed the zealous excitement he was suppressing. The commission on five million dollars was obviously blinding.
She could well imagine how brokering a deal of this size would clinch Clive's well known ambition to join the elite club of the world's most powerful art dealers. Had the painting been for sale she may have admired his ambitious drive, perhaps even been grateful, but it wasn't for sale, and he was clearly driven by his own self-interest. But what Clive wanted was none of her concern. For once what she wanted would be her dominant priority.
Recovering from the initial shock Alex's mind kicked up a gear. Someone wanted that painting very badly. The question was, who and why?
'Who is the buyer?' she asked, keeping her tone even.
'They have asked to remain anonymous.'
'Of course they have,' she said, wearily.
'I honestly don't know. In this type of situation, the bids always come through a third party. Some people don't wish to be in the spotlight. However, I can assure you the offer is authentic. Just say “yes” and the money will be in your bank account tomorrow.'
Someone wanted the painting desperately. This was what she had hoped for, it was the sole reason she'd agreed the painting be put on exhibition—and the response was beyond her wildest dreams. She had to figure this out carefully. If she couldn't get through all the middlemen she'd blow the opportunity to find out if the person behind the offer knew anything of her father's past.
Alex paced the room, her tension growing. When at last she spoke it was in a flat, detached voice.
'Mr Gacos, tell the intermediaries that unless I deal with the buyer directly there is absolutely no chance of a deal.'
'It's not the done thing,' he spluttered.
'Then I guess it's goodnight,' she bluffed, hoping he didn't detect the squeak in her voice.
'Wait. I'll pass on your instructions. Hold the line.'
Alex's hands trembled as she pressed the cordless phone to her ear and paced the room, her tension growing as the minutes ticked by. She felt desperately tired, but her mind was spinning. Her demand must be meeting with resistance. A great deal of resistance. Hopefully that was a good sign.
'I'm sorry. The buyer is not prepared to discuss the matter in person. It's your decision but I firmly believe if you refuse their terms the bidder will disappear.’
Alex's head pulsed. She had nothing to go on. But if someone was prepared to offer that much, she didn't believe they would walk away. They had to be bluffing to force a quick decision. Bad luck for them that they had seriously underestimated her motivation. No amount of money would ever persuade her to give up Lost Love. And now that she knew someone else wanted to possess the painting as badly as she wanted to keep it she was even more determined to follow the trail. She knew now, without a doubt, that Lost Love held some special significance to someone else. She took a long, deep breath, needing to slow her pulse-rate before she threw down her last card.
'The answer is no,' she said flatly. 'You can tell them I will never sell to a stranger. They know how to reach me if they change their mind.’
‘Alexandra—' She could hear the hiss of Clive's breath as he bit back a protest. 'Very well. As you wish. I'll pass on your reply.' His tone held a note of desperation.
Alex sat on the bed, slid back on the pillows and tried to relax. It was utterly impossible. Her mind kept racing backwards and forwards. Had she played the right hand? She couldn't think how she could have played it differently. Until the buyer made his decision she couldn't plan her next move. But that didn't stop her volleying the possibilities around in her mind.
It was a longer wait this time, but Alex didn't mind. Each minute that passed increased her hope. Obviously they were talking very seriously, and she had no doubt that Clive's tenacity would keep the deal alive.
‘Alex—' The note of relief in Clive's voice brought an elated smile to her lips. 'The principal insists that the meeting be kept completely confidential.'
'Absolutely,' she agreed quickly.
'And it has to be tomorrow morning. As early as you can make it.'
The buyer was clearly impatient. While Alex needed as much time with the mysterious person as possible, she just wasn't a morning girl. And since she held the trump card at the moment she would call the shots.
'Lunch near my hotel would suit me better.' She glanced out the window at the Sky Tower dominating the skyline with its commanding presence. 'The Orbit Revolving Restaurant,' she said impulsively. 'Eleven-thirty.'
There was only a short pause before Clive came back with the reply. 'Agreed.'
‘How will I recognize them? Don't tell me—red carnation, dark glasses?' she said flippantly.
'I'll be there, Alexandra,' he said quickly. 'To introduce you and to represent your interests.'
'No, Clive. I'm sorry.'
He heaved a reluctant sigh. 'Of course.' A pregnant pause crackled down the line. 'Will you sell, Alexandra?'
'Thank you for negotiating the meeting, Mr Gacos.’ She forced her voice to a nonchalant crawl. ‘Good night, Mr Gacos. I'll let you know the outcome.’
A Tsunami of exhaustion, anxiety, apprehension and excitement crawled over her as she put the phone down. Maybe the buyer just loved the painting. But it didn't stack up. Five million dollars spelled out a compulsive desire to acquire, and there had to be some reason for it over and above the usual obsession of an art-lover. Her father, while popular in New Zealand, was no Da Vinci. It could hardly be an investment buy at that price. So that left—what?
She stared out the window at the fiery red neon lights of the Sky Tower. Meeting so close to Auckland's casino seemed ironically appropriate. Everything about the meeting was a gamble and she would need to play a skillful hand if she were to win. Would lady luck be her ally or would she shine her benevolent light on the mysterious, but clearly determined opponent?
CHAPTER FOUR
Alex pressed against the wall as a Korean tour party posed for the in-house photographer before bustling into the Sky Tower lift.
'I hate having my photo taken even on a good day,' she told him politely as she waited for the second lift to arrive. And today had the potential to be the worst day of her life. As she stepped into the lift her stomach clenched as she thought of what was at stake. This meeting was her best chance. All other attempts had resulted in dead-ends. If she blew today's negotiations she might never unravel the secrets that would help her understand her past.
Alex sighed with relief as the doors began to close. Placing her palm on her belly she lifted her tissue saturated with a confidence-boosting blend of essential oils. Pressing the scent of geranium, lavender and ylang-ylang to her nose she inhaled deepl
y, hoping to settle her nerves. She looked at her reflection in the glossy wall panels and began to mentally rehearse her strategy out loud. 'Good afternoon, thank you so much for meeting me.' She forced a confident smile 'Before we settle down to business, I'm curious…what draws you to the painting?'
Suddenly a muscled arm forced through the gap in the doors forcing them to crash open.
'What the—' Her tissue flew to the floor as the Adonis who had rattled her equilibrium at the gallery strode into the lift. Heat sparked between them as she saw the flash of recognition. His mouth twisted with cynical amusement at the crimson blush that burned her cheeks. There could be no doubt that he remembered last night's encounter.
A mop of dark wavy hair fell across his face as he raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'Scuse, was I was interrupting something?' His deep honeyed Italian voice was textured by sexual confidence and power, making her knees go weak.
Oh, crap. He'd obviously heard her rehearsing. She studied her feet, hoping the stain heating her face would disappear—and her with it—as the doors shut, filling the lift with his testosterone-laden presence. The orange blossom and sandalwood scent that oozed from him was reminiscent of the scene of another one of her father’s paintings—the beautiful gardens of Isola Bella, one of the Borromean Islands of Lake Maggiore near Milan. Earthy, sensual and thoroughly intoxicating.
A bolt of awareness streaked down Alex's backbone as sexual tension echoed in the silence around them. Excruciatingly aware of his amused stare, she locked her gaze on the elevator panel forcing herself to find it infinitely fascinating, as every fiber of her body orbited in his direction.
No gaping. Didn't the brute know elevator etiquette.
She inhaled sharply and, in an uncharacteristic move of boldness, slowly turned her head and surveyed him with one calm, detached glance.
At least that was what it was meant to be. Maddeningly, sage green eyes trapped hers, forcing her gaze to sensuous lips curved into a sardonic smile, as he leaned against the wall. Strong arms folded against his powerful chest as he faced her with the arrogant confidence of a non-conformist who found her mortal embarrassment amusing and cared nothing for rules. Clear and confident and incisive, his piercing gaze stirred an instant protective instinct, hammering home her acute vulnerability.
Damn, she thought helplessly. Alex's heartbeat kicked up a gear even as her senses hummed, every cell detonating into life. Up close he was even taller and more warrior like than he'd appeared at the gallery. Long-legged, with shoulders that would be a credit to any Greek god, he was 110% pure man. 1001% pure danger.
What if he was the mysterious buyer, she thought for a reckless second? No impossible. He looked to be in his early-thirties, not old enough to be a man who had known her father and what had happened over 20 years ago. This man would only have been a child then. And he was far too young and far too casually dressed to be in possession of such a fortune.
Her heart contracting in her chest as she ran a swift glance over his clothes. A rich chocolate hip-length leather jacket covered a V-neck navy cashmere jersey and white shirt hanging informally over ink colored designer jeans. Casual they may appear, but they were tailor made for brute strength, impeccably proportioned for his lean body and long, strong, muscled legs.
Her pulse hammered as the lift began to climb toward the restaurant 192 meters above the city. Don't look down, a voice warned as the lift climbed higher. Alex fixed her gaze on a spot on the horizon, trying to block out the stranger's unrelenting stare.
‘Allora, is your invisible friend afraid of heights?' His unsmiling, icy calmness was in direct contrast to her uneasy emotions. 'Afraid of heights? Nope,' she lied, hoping he wouldn't detect the fear sucking life from her voice. She hadn't thought about her fear of heights when she'd impulsively picked the meeting venue. She wasn't a planner. She was impetuous, impulsive.
Stupid.
The brute obviously had no empathy. Why the hell hadn't she thought it through? Whether it was a fierce determination to prove him wrong, or the mortification of already having made a fool of herself, she plastered on her most fearless, warrior-woman face and stepped over to the viewing glass inserted in the middle of the floor. Feel the fear and do it anyway, isn't that what the self-help gurus advocated? Heck, it wasn't as if she'd die.
You can do this she told herself, fixing the stranger with a defiant stare. Whether it was fear or the thrill of the crazed energy that sparked between them like wild-fire she didn't know, but her head began to spin as she peered down into the abyss of the lift shaft. Her body tilted as the whole lift seemed to sway, pulling her in one lethal direction.
Gasping, she fought to control her legs. She squealed as she lost her balance. For one stark second she felt the undulating contour of every muscle in his hard torso on her back, and the strength of his arm across her breasts. Sparks like flints on graphite ignited between them as she clung to the man of steel and their bodies momentarily fused.
Although the heat storming her chest robbed her of breath, strength and wits, instinct kicked in. "Move back!" it snapped.
'I'm so sorry,' she mumbled mortified, her voice barely audible, as she sprung away from him as though his touch burned her.
'Che cavolo! Are you all right?'
'I'm fine,' she said, injecting her voice with her cultivated aloofness. 'It's these heels,' she said, clutching the hand railing with one hand and pointing a blaming finger at the far too high shoes she'd decided to wear to impress the prospective buyer.
Doubly amused at what no doubt he regarded as her foolish antics he smiled with the confidence of a man used to having women throw themselves at his feet. But there had been something about the way his body tensed as his arms had encircled her. Something she couldn't put her finger on. Almost an uneasiness at the chemistry igniting the space between them that belied his smug arrogance.
He laughed, as though sensing her confusion. It was not the easy laugh of a man in full control of his emotions, but a raw, unsteady laugh.
Hurry, she silently prayed wishing the lift were a bullet train speeding to her destination. She drummed her fingers on the steel railing. Thank God she'd decided to get to the restaurant early. She'd need the extra time to regain her composure.
Mercifully, after what seemed like eternity, the lift doors released her. She tumbled out anxious to put as much distance between them. A thrill of exhilaration stopped her in her tracks as she stepped into the foyer and savored the spectacular panoramic views.
Auckland's Hauraki Gulf spread like sapphire silk before her. Sunlight glinted off the serene waters sparkling like a pool of diamonds. All she had to do was stayed chilled and maintain her own serenity Alex reminded herself as she gave her name to the waiter.
‘I’m expecting a business acquaintance to join me,’ she told him quietly, conscious the lift-hunk was behind her. She quickly scanned the restaurant and looked for the best vantage point, then requested a table opposite the lifts. She would size-up the prospective buyer before they identified her and plan her strategy from there.
The waiter quirked his eyebrow and smiled. Alex wondered what he found so amusing as he led her to the table. He offered her sparkling water and, her body still burning from the humiliation of the lift encounter, she accepted it gratefully.
She was relieved, yet a little disappointed, when the lift-hunk's mobile rang and he disappeared around the corner to take the call discretely. Men like him eat women like her for breakfast then throw away the bones, she reminded herself, taking refuge in the magnificent views as she was led to her table.
Besides she wasn't looking for a man. She was looking for her father.
She mentally rehearsed what she would say and all the questions she would ask, and visualized how skillfully she would lead the buyer to reveal everything she needed to know. If affirmations and visualizing success could help Olympians win gold they could help her win too. She looked out toward Rangitoto Island, the largest of the fifty or so volcanoes which
peppered Auckland's landscape, poking up from sea and land.
'Bloody sky,' she muttered, recalling the passage in her Lonely Planet travel guide summarising the Māori name given to it after a historical bloody battle. Tension held her shoulders rigid. Beguilingly dormant, the island hid latent power, masking the threat that lay beneath the surface and threatening to erupt without provocation.
Taking a slow sip of water, she glanced around the restaurant. Seated at a table to her left she recognized the Korean tour party she had encountered earlier and she smiled politely as they waved at her. The discordant sound of their clipped voices as they resumed their conversations was slightly jarring and she felt her anxiety return.
Go with the flow, she reminded herself gazing down at the cool blue waters. So long as she looked out and not down, she could convince herself she was on terra firma. “Go with the flow”, that's what her Zen teacher reminded her every time she had paroxysms of anxiety.
Go with the flow. Who was to know? Fake it, 'til you make it. All those other sage words and more. She drank them as thirstily as she downed the glass of Pellegrino. She gazed at the water momentarily to settle her nerves, trying to stay anchored in the present and not give too much energy to what may, or may not happen when the stranger finally arrived.
She smoothed her hand over the cream antique lace of her dress. Even her critical mother would approve of her efforts to look appropriately elegant. It was a good middle of the road option, neither understated nor over the top. Best of all it didn't need ironing and travelled easily. She was no powerhouse negotiator but perhaps if she looked neither too needy, nor too casual, things would go better. Rocking up with a backpack, clad in jeans with her favorite travel camera dangling around her neck wouldn't put her in the power seat. If anything her normal travel attire might cause the buyer to question her integrity.
She felt her heart rate quicken each time someone approached the table. But only a steady stream of tourists emerged from the lift. She glanced at her watch. 11:29. What if the buyer had changed their mind? She scanned the restaurant anxiously. Then she caught sight of the Adonis who had rattled her equilibrium, striding toward her with a cocky grin on his smug face. Like an animal caught in headlights she stared at him, her stomach fluttering.
The Italian Billionaire’s Scandalous Marriage: An Italian Billionaire Romance (Italian Billionaire Christmas Brides Book 2) Page 3
