A Night, A Consequence, A Vow. Angela Bissell
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Ramon inclined his head. ‘Of course.’ He turned his gaze on her. ‘I have no wish, nor reason, to oust you from your business.’ He wrote a number on his lawyer’s notepad, locked his gaze onto those pale grey eyes again and slid the pad across the table.
She leaned forward to look, as did Carter. The two exchanged a glance, then she picked up her pen, slashed a line through the number Ramon had written and wrote down another. She pushed the pad back to him.
He glanced down at the number.
‘Done,’ he said, and ignored the small, wheezy cough that came from his lawyer.
Emily stared at him, wordless.
‘I suggest we make an immediate start on reviewing the financials,’ he said smoothly. ‘That is, if we’re all agreed...?’
A hush fell as all eyes looked to Emily. Ramon waited. Her features were composed but he knew she waged an internal battle.
Finally, she looked at Carter, gave the briefest of nods then stood and walked around the table. She extended her hand. ‘Congratulations, Mr de la Vega.’
He rose, wrapped his much larger hand around hers and registered at once the warmth of her skin. Surprise flickered. For some reason he’d imagined her touch would feel cold. Clinical. But the heat filling his palm was intense, almost electric.
Her eyes widened as though she too had felt something unexpected. Abruptly, she pulled her hand out of his. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll talk to our accountant and arrange for our financial records to be made available to you.’
‘Thank you.’
She started to turn away.
‘Emily,’ he said.
She paused. ‘Yes?’
He flashed his trademark smile. ‘You can call me Ramon.’
* * *
Emily locked the door of the powder room, turned on the cold tap over the basin and shoved her wrists under the water.
She felt flustered, unbearably hot, and she couldn’t understand why. Couldn’t understand why Ramon de la Vega should have this crazy, unbalancing effect on her. Just being in the same room as him somehow had elevated her body temperature. Made her lungs work twice as hard to get enough air into them. And when she’d touched his hand... Her nerve endings had reacted as if she’d grabbed an electrified wire.
She dried her hands and sank onto a stool.
Had she done the right thing?
She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.
What choice had she had?
Ramon de la Vega or Carl Skinner.
In the end she’d had no choice at all. Her hand had been forced. First by her father’s irresponsible actions and then by Ramon de la Vega’s ruthless, self-serving agenda.
In less than two days from now, the Vega Corporation would own fifty-one per cent of The Royce.
I’m so sorry, Grandfather.
She exhaled a shaky breath.
At least Maxwell had finally turned up, although she couldn’t have said whether it was an attack of conscience or the four messages she’d left on his phone, ranging in tone from pleading, to furious, to coldly threatening, that had prompted his appearance.
He’d looked terrible, as if he hadn’t slept in days, and part of her had hoped he hadn’t.
Why should he get the luxury of sleep when she’d lain awake all night worrying?
And then he had agreed to sell his shares.
It had taken Emily a full minute to realise the tightness in her chest had been not only shock, but sadness.
The Royce was the one remaining connection she had to her father. Now that connection would be irreparably severed.
She stood up suddenly and smoothed her hands down the sides of her trousers. She wasn’t going to do this. She wasn’t going to get emotional. It would only make her feel worse.
Drawing a deep breath, she headed down the plush carpeted corridor and looked into the accounting office.
It was empty.
Further along, she stopped at Marsha’s desk. ‘Do you know where Jeremy is?’
‘He called in sick this morning.’
She sighed. The news wasn’t welcome, and not only because she needed financial data from Jeremy. He was one of the few people at The Royce she felt able to confide in—and the only other person aside from Ray Carter who knew about her father’s gambling problem. It would have been nice to talk with him.
Marsha looked at her. ‘Can I help with something?’
‘Do you have access to the finance drive?’
Marsha nodded and Emily grabbed a pen and a piece of notepaper and scribbled out a list. ‘Download these files onto a flash drive and take them to our guests in the boardroom.’
‘Mr de la Vega?’
There was a gleam in Marsha’s eyes that Emily tried not to notice. ‘Yes. And please also arrange for refreshments and lunch for our visitors.’ She moved towards her office. ‘Thanks, Marsha. I’m going to keep my door closed for a while. If Mr de la Vega or his lawyer ask for anything more, let me know.’
So I can tell them to go jump.
Except she wouldn’t, because she didn’t have that luxury. But the thought was satisfying, if nothing else.
Sitting at her desk, she forced herself to focus. This morning’s outcome was not what she’d anticipated but she still owned forty-nine per cent of The Royce. She still had a job to do. The staffing budgets had to be completed and she’d promised the executive chef she’d look at his proposed changes to the seasonal menu and give her stamp of approval.
Plus there was the small matter of drafting a discreet communication to the members. Maxwell had agreed to a carefully worded announcement in his name welcoming the Vega Corporation as a shareholder. The members already believed he was the sole owner. Armed with only selective facts, they’d assume her father had retained the balance of the shares, and he and Emily and the club’s new shareholder would allow that assumption to go unchallenged.
It wasn’t ideal, but discretion was necessary. The club’s stability had to be her priority.
An hour later, despite her good intentions, Emily had abandoned her desk. She stood at her office window, her arms wrapped around her middle, her mind a tangle of thoughts as she stared sightlessly through the glass.
A knock at her office door jarred her out of her head. ‘Come in,’ she called over her shoulder, assuming it was Marsha.
It wasn’t. It was her father.
She turned around and he closed the door, pushed his hands into his trouser pockets.
After an awkward silence, he said, ‘The lawyers are fleshing out the terms. Ray will bring you a draft to review as soon as it’s ready.’
‘Fine,’ she said, but it wasn’t.
None of this was fine.
She wasn’t fine.
Maxwell looked away first. He always did. ‘If you don’t need me—’ he spoke to a point somewhere beyond her left shoulder ‘—I’ll head off and come back when the agreement is ready for signing.’
If you don’t need me.
Emily almost let out a bitter laugh.
Of course she didn’t need him. She had needed him as a child, but he’d never been there, so she had taught herself to need no one.
‘What