by Faye Avalon
‘That’s not true.’ He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded to the nearest chair. When she sat, he settled beside her and reached for the jug to pour them both coffee. ‘Do you know the real reason Dad insisted on a business degree before you could access your trust fund?’
‘Yes. Because he thought I was incompetent, in the same way he thought Mum was. He knew that, like her, I wanted to set up a health studio at the Cabacal, but he didn’t think I was capable of making it work. He thought I’d be tossing away my inheritance.’
Damian sipped his coffee then looked down thoughtfully into the dark liquid before he met Lola’s gaze again. ‘I’ve learned the hard way that you’ve got a hell of a backbone, Louise.’
She was so busy basking in the startling compliment that she almost missed his next words.
‘Dad never wanted you to know, but I think you deserve the truth.’
‘What truth?’ Her insides flipped uncomfortably, probably because Damian’s expression signalled it wouldn’t be to her liking.
‘The Cabacal wasn’t the only part of her inheritance our mother lost.’
Lola frowned, her breath shuddering. ‘I thought it was the whole part. The property.’
‘Our grandmother left her very financially secure, but Mother always had a guilt complex about that. She became involved in charity work, sat on committees, was actively involved in fundraising events. Unfortunately, her need to help people wasn’t matched by a good head for business. She was easy prey, a target for manipulation by some unscrupulous types. She gave every penny of that inheritance away, and probably would have done the same with the Cabacal, except she’d earmarked that for her studio. It was symbolic for her.’
He took a breath, his face turning ashen. ‘By the time father found out and stepped in to try and salvage the situation it was too late. All she had left was the Cabacal.’
Lola wrapped her hands around her cup, needing something to clasp as she tried to make sense of what her brother said. She hadn’t known anything about her mother’s extra inheritance—had never heard mention of it.
‘Dad felt that if mother had invested her wealth wisely and made better business decisions she could have helped even more people, but she just acted rashly and without much thought. Then when she lost the Cabacal—’
‘She didn’t lose the Cabacal, she was cheated out of it.’
‘Dad didn’t see it like that, at least not totally. He saw it as yet another instance when mother didn’t keep tighter control of her assets. She trusted too easily.’
‘Nobody expects their own brother to steal from them.’
‘Uncle Guy wasn’t exactly trustworthy at the best of times. How many dubious dealings was he involved in? How many start-ups did he have that didn’t get off the ground? His own parents didn’t trust him to run their affairs, yet our mother decided that he was working in her best interests?’
‘We all know how manipulative he could be.’
‘Exactly. So you can’t blame Dad for becoming paranoid about protecting you. He wanted to ensure you had a good financial grounding so that you’d make sound business decisions. That’s why he set up the condition that you get the degree before you get your trust fund.’
Lola frowned. ‘Did he make the same conditions for you? Did getting your trust fund require that you meet certain stipulations?’
‘Yes. But I had to prove myself in business. Reach certain targets.’
That stopped her in her tracks. ‘Really?’
She had always suspected that she’d been singled out, but if it was true that Damian had had to jump through similar hoops then it changed things.
Or did it?
‘Then you should have been more understanding of my position. Even after I’d got my degree, proved myself capable, you refused to listen to my business proposal. You should never have withheld the acquisition of the Cabacal from me. You should have talked to me, discussed it as I asked. You wouldn’t look at my projections, my ideas, my financial data. You completely dismissed me.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry for it. My only defence is that I was still trying to protect you. That property had already caused so much heartache for our family, I didn’t want it back in our lives. I didn’t want you hurt any more.’
Damian scraped his hand through his hair, then pushed his coffee away. ‘I need something stronger.’
He walked to the small bar in the corner and held up the whiskey decanter.
Lola shook her head. ‘I don’t drink. You’d know that about me if you took the time to find out instead of thinking you have to save me from myself all the time.’
Damian returned to his chair, whiskey tumbler in hand. ‘Fair comment.’ He sipped his drink. ‘I’ve been wrong to dismiss your plans out of hand, and from what I hear you’ve got it all down pat. The figures, projections, anticipated profit and loss for the first five-year trading period. Not to mention ideas for promotional activities to set your studio apart from others offering similar things.’
Surprised, Lola raised her eyebrows. ‘Where did you hear that from?’
Damian frowned. ‘Your friend the ball-breaker, for one. She gave me an earful when I called and asked her to give you the message about lunch today. Told me that if I took my head out of my backside long enough I might learn something. Then, as if I hadn’t been reprimanded enough, I got an earful from Connor.’
Lola shot forward as her heart jumped into her throat. ‘Connor?’
Damian took another sip and nodded. ‘Met him at the official handover of the keys. Apparently, he’s refurbishing the place after all, turning it into another nightclub. I happened to say that it was a good move.’ He paused, watching her. ‘He asked about you. I told him you weren’t taking my calls. That you were still pissed at me.’
Lola’s brain had latched onto the fact he’d asked about her, and her insides were currently doing a crazy, hopeful dance.
‘He said he couldn’t blame you,’ Damian went on, unaware that his sister was having difficulty breathing. ‘That the least I could have done was listen to your proposal, seriously consider your plans for your business instead of dismissing them like they didn’t matter. He said you had a good head on your shoulders, that you thought things out, knew your own mind. According to him your plans to open a studio are sound. He finished by saying I didn’t know jack shit about you.’
Lola’s hand went to her throat, which was currently threatening to seize up. ‘He said all that?’
Damian shrugged. ‘Maybe he was right. Somehow it slipped my notice that you’re all grown up now. A formidable woman who knows what she wants and goes all out to get it.’ He smiled, looking vulnerable, something she’d never associated with her strong, opinionated brother. ‘I’d really like to get to know that woman.’
She felt a loosening around her heart and smiled back. ‘I’d like that too.’
Damian was half out of his chair before she could finish the sentence and they came together in a hug.
‘Forgive me?’ Damian asked when they drew back.
‘Of course. You’re my big brother. I know you’re looking out for me and I appreciate it. Just do it a little less often, maybe? And hear me out?’
‘Agreed. But maybe I can stick my nose into your business just one more time before I leave the dark side?’
Lola raised her eyebrows, expecting that he’d have something to say about her putting in an offer on the property she’d seen. ‘Go on.’
‘Hopefully you now understand where Dad was coming from when he placed the stipulation on your trust fund, and now that I’ve explained my actions you’ve forgiven me. Don’t you think that maybe Connor would understand your reasons if you explained them to him?’
She toyed with the cup. ‘I tried. But I’ve really hurt him. I never meant to, but I have.’
She hated what she’d
done. If she’d felt manipulated by her father and brother, how much worse did Connor feel? He’d been manipulated, lied to, betrayed. Twice, she thought as her heart twisted. By her cousin and by her. Did she really think that a few words of apology would make it right?
‘What happened to my formidable sister? The one who knows what she wants and goes all out to get it? Are you telling me that sticking to your guns despite everything, and fighting for your own studio, means more to you than making things right with Connor?’
Her head shot back. ‘No.’
Connor meant everything to her. Certainly more than any studio. More than anything she had ever wanted, and would likely ever want. Which made him worth fighting for. With everything she had. Whatever it took.
Before she could second-guess herself, she stood, leaned down to peck Damian on the cheek and grabbed her bag as she headed for the door. ‘Sorry, can’t stay for lunch.’
At the door she stopped and looked back. ‘As older brothers go, you’re okay.’
She bolted from his office, her breath tight. Had Connor really said those things to Damian about her? That had to mean he would be willing to listen, didn’t it? That he’d be open to letting her explain how she felt.
Her brother was right. She had fought for her dream of owning her own studio. But that didn’t come close to how much she wanted Connor. Not having him in her life was like a huge slice down the middle of every dream she’d ever had and she wanted nothing more than to stick those parts back together, with Connor at the very centre.
She had to make him see that. Had to make him understand that she’d never intended to hurt him, deceive him. He needed to realise that he could trust her. That she cared only for him.
During the tube journey she planned what she would say, dismissing each and every attempt at an explanation almost as soon as she’d considered it.
She visited both his clubs, but he wasn’t at either of them. She struck pay dirt when she bumped into the security man who had been there the night she’d first met Connor. He told her that his boss was busy sussing out his new club premises over on the South Bank and wasn’t expected back until that night.
With her heart in her mouth, she hailed a cab and headed straight for the Cabacal.
* * *
Connor walked through the property with his foreman. Renovations had started and by rights he should have been pleased with progress so far. News of his plans for his latest club had already garnered interest, and his investors were happy that he was sitting on a potential gold mine.
Yeah, he should be on Cloud Fucking Nine, but the truth was he found it hard to give a damn. Maybe his plans for the place were foolish, but they seemed right somehow. Fitting.
And maybe he was a stupid prick who needed a reality check.
He walked across the newly renovated limestone floor and tried to focus on what he was creating here. He’d always been lucky that he could visualise how something would turn out, and various consultants had agreed that his vision for the place was spot on.
So why the fuck was he thinking of Lola again?
Slowly, his anger towards her had dissolved, and in its place was this damned melancholy.
In retrospect, it might have been better to renovate this building along the lines of his other two clubs, but the idea had entered his head and stuck there. Then he’d mentioned it to Logan and to a handful of other people whose opinions he valued. Spurred by their enthusiasm, he’d rolled with the idea and now there was no going back.
Maybe he’d been naive thinking that he could keep Lola from his thoughts. Every time he stepped foot in the place all he could do was remember how she’d looked wandering around the space, probably imagining how it would feel to run her studio there, in the place that had been in her family for generations and which held her mother’s cherished vision. Her expression had turned wistful as she’d run her hands over the soon-to-be-refurbished pillars with their pink marbled inlays.
It had been her dream to run the studio in this building and there was a part of him, way down deep beneath the anger and the hurt, that suffered a sting of remorse that he had been instrumental in denying her that dream.
As for his own dream? He didn’t rightly know what that was.
To expand his empire? Open more clubs? Go international?
Maybe.
He looked out through the windows towards the river knowing that, while those things might once have comprised his dream, lately his vision had morphed into something else.
Something far more valuable and precious.
Because somewhere in all this jumbled mess, despite the deceit and the lies, his dream had become...her.
Shit. He was a fucking moron. Acting like a love-sick fool.
Love-sick?
That hit him with the force of a truck and he came to an abrupt halt. He pulled his wayward thoughts together, or tried to.
Love-sick?
It was just a word. One he’d plucked out of thin air. A word with which his treacherous heart thought to torture him. Taunt him. Make him suffer.
Which was fair enough. A man who had allowed himself to trust again, despite his experiences, his promises not to get involved, deserved nothing less. He’d let Lola sneak under his defences. He’d let her take up residence in his head, in his heart, and now here he was. Raw. Disheartened. Dispirited.
Bloody love-sick!
Fuck that.
He gave himself a mental shake. All this maudlin introspection was doing nothing for his mood, and today of all days he needed to keep from sliding further into his self-imposed pit of gloom. Tonight was Logan’s stag party, and his brother deserved better than Connor’s dark attitude.
His foreman chose that moment to bring Connor the latest sketch for the renovation of the glass panels beside the rear exit doors, the ones that would reinstate the views of the River Thames beyond. The man was an artisan, and Connor felt lucky to have him at the helm of the refurbishment. Determined to focus on his newest acquisition, he gave his full attention to the sketch pad and his foreman’s animated explanations.
Until the door to the building swung open...
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EVERY SINGLE THOUGHT in his head disappeared when his gaze fell on Lola, and then a barrage of emotions shot through him, each one urging him to go to her, kiss the very life from her, tell her that they could work things out.
Except they couldn’t. He knew that. He’d lain awake too many nights these past few weeks, considering things from all angles, but every avenue brought him back to just one.
She’d conned him. Thought to trick him. There was no way back from that.
He met her gaze, noticing the slightly bruised look beneath her eyes. Had she been having trouble sleeping, like him? A well of concern hit him out of the blue and made him want to gather her up and make all her problems go away. Not that he should care. He didn’t care. All she was to him now was a part of his past that, while painful, had thankfully been brief.
She raised her chin as she walked towards him: upright, resolute, full of confidence. Only those tell-tale shadows hinted at a different story. His peripheral vision shimmered to a blurry haze, his full attention riveted on her and the way she pulled so many conflicting emotions from deep inside him.
With Caroline, there’d been only one emotion. Anger.
With Lola? Damn it, there were too many to count.
She stopped in front of him, her gaze yet to leave his. Terrified he might disgrace himself and pull her into his arms, he slid his fisted hands into his pockets.
‘Shall I come back later, boss?’
Vaguely aware of his foreman’s presence, Connor nodded, although he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from Lola. ‘That’d be great, Sid. Thanks.’
His blood began a slow and steady burn. She was so close that her citrus and floral scent
wrapped around him, layering over the smell of newly plastered walls and freshly cut wood.
She took a breath and looked off to the side, past the half-dozen builders working in different areas, until her attention landed on the beginnings of a curved raised floor in the corner. ‘I heard you were renovating after all. It’s starting to look amazing.’ A noise from the opposite side of the room garnered her attention. ‘You’re having the two smaller rooms incorporated into the main space? It’ll look great.’
There was no disapproval in her tone, no sadness evident in her expression. Instead, she looked animated, almost enthusiastic. He wasn’t about to let his guard down. ‘If you’re here for one last try to get me to sell to you, then I’ll tell you straight off. You’re wasting your time. Because I’m not selling this place to you, or to anyone else.’
Connor wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to get all that out, seeing as his damn chest was squeezed so tight. His voice sounded firm, gruff. But inside he was in bloody turmoil.
‘That’s not why I’m here. In fact, I’m putting in an offer on a place I’ve found close to where I live.’
‘Good for you.’
He wanted to pull her into his arms. He wanted to draw her close, lose himself in her, but he kept his distance.
She looked straight at him, her eyes clear and earnest. ‘How’s your back?’
His jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth. Her question wasn’t welcome, nor was the concern in her stunning eyes. He didn’t need a reminder of how amazing his back had felt that night when she’d massaged away the tension in his muscles. When they’d shared parts of themselves, and he’d wondered if things could be different and if he could learn to open up to someone again.
‘It’s fine.’
Another noise came from the side, followed by heavy banging. ‘Can we go somewhere quieter?’ she asked, hiking the strap of her bag higher onto her shoulder. ‘There are things I’d like to say to you.’
