The Only Woman to Defy Him. Carol Marinelli
Читать онлайн книгу.
it! she cursed her overactive imagination, but really, with all the evidence to hand and with all that she had read about Demyan, it was a distinct possibility.
She stood, trying to work out what she should do, but then she almost shot from her skin as a deep, richly accented voice came from behind her.
‘Good, you are here.’
Alina swung around and braced herself—for what, she didn’t really know but the sight that greeted her certainly wasn’t on the list of possibilities that her mind had produced. Demyan might just as well have spent the night being groomed and pampered in the hotel spa to prepare for this moment. Like a beautiful phoenix rising from the ashes, he stood, looking absolutely exquisite, amidst the chaos.
The angels must have dressed him because his attire was the closest thing to perfection Alina had ever seen—an immaculate dark suit accentuated his tall, lean frame and his shirt was so white it was gleaming, but what drew Alina’s eye wasn’t just the dark silver-grey of his tie but that it matched his eyes, when first she met them, perfectly.
No, not perfectly, Alina, decided, because colours and hues were perhaps her favourite things.
Nothing could match his eyes—they made even the night sky seem dated. If he wasn’t so imposing, Alina could have stared into them for ever.
‘I’m Demyan.’
As if she needed to be told.
Alina took his outstretched hand and felt his long dry fingers close around hers. She caught a waft of his cologne, one that would surely mean her weekend was going to be spent in a perfume department just so that she could inhale that heady sent again—bold, clean and fresh yet with a musky undertone. She had never smelt anything quite so delicious before.
‘I’m Alina.’
‘Alina?’ Demyan gave a small frown. ‘That is a Slav name, no?’
‘No,’ Alina croaked. ‘Celtic...’ She could barely speak he was so stunning. Where was the crashing hangover he should be nursing? His black hair was freshly washed and brushed back and he was clean-shaven. Demyan’s skin was smooth and pale—certainly he didn’t come up all red and blotchy as Alina did if she drank so much as one glass of wine. On second brief inspection Alina saw that his dark eyes were perhaps a touch bloodshot but apart from that there was no evidence to denote a clearly wild night.
This was his usual, this was how he lived, Alina realised as she attempted to speak on. ‘Actually, it can be both.’
‘Both?’ Demyan checked. He’d already lost the thread of the conversation and desperately needed the kick-start of a very strong coffee. Usually he did not leave his bed without one but, remembering that he had ordered the temporary PA to be here at eight, instead of having his coffee brought to him, Demyan had first showered and dressed for work.
Work always came first for him.
He had never once been late, or missed an appointment. Every facet of his life he controlled to the letter.
Demyan was not at the top of his game by either chance or mistake.
‘I think it’s both Slav and Celtic. It means...’ Alina stopped herself then as she sensed his distraction. What would Demyan care about the meaning of her name? He had merely been making small talk. ‘What can I do for you?’ Alina asked instead.
‘Coffee.’ Demyan said. ‘A lot of it. And could you also ask that someone comes to sort the place out?’
‘Do you want breakfast as well?’ Alina asked, heading for the phone to ring down for room service.
‘I want coffee,’ Demyan said, but halted her as she went to pick up the phone. ‘Just press the bell in the butler’s kitchen.’ He frowned as she blushed and did as asked.
She couldn’t even get an order as simple as coffee right but, though Alina had worked with a few overseas clients at hotels, she had never found herself in the presidential suite before, where a butler was just a bell press away.
‘Could you organise coffee and for someone to come and sort out the suite?’ Alina said, when the butler knocked and she opened the door. She bit back on her need to apologise for the terrible mess as the butler’s eyes glimpsed the chaos behind her.
‘Certainly.’
Demyan gestured to her to join him at a large walnut table, where he had pushed aside an empty bottle of cognac and several glasses and was opening up his laptop.
‘I have allocated all of today to let you know what I expect from you in the coming weeks. I have two properties that I wish to sell...’ Demyan hesitated. He had a vast property portfolio and most of his investments were purchased and sold unseen, but all of that took place away from Australia. The two properties that were about to go on the market here were far more personal. ‘I want you to speak discreetly with some agents and give me the best two, perhaps three, and from there I will meet them and decide who to go with.’
‘I’ll ring a few this morning—’
‘And say what?’
His tone was suddenly sharp and, looking over, Alina saw that his eyes had narrowed and she realised that she had clearly said the wrong thing.
‘Firstly, you haven’t even seen the properties. Secondly, you are to be discreet. The last thing I need is the press to find out before I tell...’ Demyan hesitated again. He certainly wasn’t going to discuss his predicament about Roman.
‘You will make discreet enquiries with the agents, face to face, give me a shortlist, then I shall make my selection and then I will speak with them.’ He was still frowning. ‘You have done this type of thing before?’ Demyan checked. ‘Because I also have a farm out in the Blue Mountains and it is going to be a complicated sale. I have tenants and they’re not going to be particularly thrilled that I am selling. I do not need someone with no experience making—’
‘Do they run their business from the farm?’ Alina interrupted, blowing out a breath as Demyan gave a small nod, because there she did know what she was doing—her mother’s farm had at one stage nearly been sold to overseas investors, which might have meant that her mother could have retained the business. Unfortunately, at the last minute the property had sold to a well-heeled family that wanted a place in the mountains as a weekender.
‘I know a very good agribusiness agent,’ Alina said. ‘One who is very used to sitting tenants and international investors, though of course I’ll liaise with others.’
He had been about to tell her to leave.
Even ordering something as simple as a coffee had proved complicated but, just as he was about to dismiss her, Demyan decided to give her another chance.
‘You are a country girl?’ Briefly he tried to understand her.
‘Ex,’ Alina said. ‘Though you know what they say...’
‘No,’ Demyan said. ‘They?’
‘You can take the girl out of the country...’ Her voice trailed off. ‘It’s a saying. You can—’
‘I will call the tenants now.’ Demyan cut her off in mid-sentence. He was possibly the most abrupt man she had ever met.
Alina watched as he effortlessly, and without so much as a flinch, broke the difficult news. ‘I want to clear my portfolio here,’ Demyan said, and Alina looked away; it was all just a little too close to home. ‘I understand that, Ross,’ Demyan said, ‘but my decision has been made...’ Demyan stopped talking for a moment as Ross made rapid pleas. ‘It will be going on the market as soon as possible.’
He just said it.
It was too close to home because Alina felt tears prick at the back of her eyes as she thought of Ross picking up the phone and how so much had just been dashed in one call.
Alina could hear Ross’s voice rising, asking