The Italian's Virgin Bride. Trish Morey
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you might accept a smaller share.’
‘How much of a smaller share?’
‘I was thinking, maybe forty-nine per cent?’
‘Now you are joking.’ His voice went up a number of decibels. ‘You expect me to outbid every other offer in the market, each of which is for ownership of Clemengers outright, I assume…’ he took her silence as assent before continuing ‘…and yet I will own and control only forty-nine per cent. That is not a deal worth making. That is not a deal at all.’
‘I assure you it’s no joke. You get a large share of the business and you get continuity in management—good management. I will stay on, working with Clemengers and with Silvers Hotels, where required. And within a year you’ll be reaping the rewards of a positive cash flow and you’ll be able to use the techniques you find in Clemengers in Silvers’ own operations. There have to be huge spin-offs for your other hotels. So even with less than complete ownership, you’re still getting a great deal.’
It had to sound convincing. It was the only way she was going to be able to keep Pearl’s Place—the refuge she’d established in a run-down inner-city terraced house four years ago—open for business.
Pearl’s Place was her secret, something she’d done because even though she’d never been able to help her own mother, other women would have a place to go, a place to flee. She’d bought the property with her own money and most of her own personal allowance went direct to the refuge, but without control of Clemengers there was no doubt what small funding it required would be one of the first sacrifices of the new merger. If she could retain fifty-one per cent of the business, however, her secret would be safe and funding would be ensured.
It was a far better scenario than if McQuade’s offer succeeded. Then there would barely be enough to satisfy the demands of the taxation department and the banks. She’d be able to make some sort of contribution out of any remaining share of her own, but after that Pearl’s Place would be on its own. She wouldn’t let that happen.
He shook his head. ‘No. This is not complete ownership. It is not even control of the business you are offering. It is a junior partner you want, but for the greatest investment. No one would accept a deal that one-sided, least of all a Silvagni.’ His hand slammed down on the table so hard she flinched.
‘There is no way I would ever accept less than fifty per cent on principle, especially where I have just paid over the odds for one hundred per cent. But if you really think your management skills are worth something, I will ensure you receive a suitable remuneration package. It will be worth your while continuing.’
‘That’s all you can offer? After I have brought you this opportunity? Don’t you see that you wouldn’t even have had this chance if it weren’t for this huge tax liability hanging over our heads?’
‘That, as they say in the classics,’ he said, with a look of complete satisfaction, ‘is not my problem.’
‘But you would have missed out on this opportunity entirely without my intervention. Your finance department hadn’t even considered Clemengers’ sale as worthy of your notice. Surely, if the deal is worth something, you should be prepared to acknowledge that fact.’
‘And surely you realised that once the business was sold, you would lose control completely.’
‘Yes, but that was before I spoke with you. I thought you understood this business, could see the benefits of a joint operation.’
‘You forget, first and foremost, I am a businessman. I am not running a charitable institution.’
‘I am not looking for charity!’
‘Then why do you expect something from me that you have not asked from the other bidders?’
She couldn’t tell him. Not the real reason. ‘I just thought you were more attuned to the business, that you might understand. I now see I was wrong to expect you to look at it my way.’
‘So my offer still stands. A higher bid than McQuade, you end up with an appropriate remuneration package, and Clemengers is saved from the bulldozers.’
She was silent for a few seconds and Domenic wondered what was going through her mind. Her eyes swirled with colour and he could practically see the machinations going on behind them. She couldn’t be serious. Any normal person would be satisfied with saving her precious hotels from destruction. Well, she’d made her stand and he hoped she understood his. There was no way he’d accept anything less than one hundred per cent ownership. No way.
‘I’ll have to think about it,’ she said at last, rising from the table as if he’d been dismissed.
He looked up sharply without saying a word. He didn’t have to say a word—she should be able to tell he was furious. He’d just wasted hours and all for nothing. No one had ever turned down a deal like the one he was offering. No one would. No one in their right mind, that was.
He had to hand it to her. Here she was with a solid offer to save her business, by far the best offer she had on the table and the best offer she was going to get in the twenty-four hours she had left, and she wanted to think about it, as if the ball was in her court.
She was not like the people he usually dealt with; people who exchanged properties and investments and millions of dollars with hardly a blink, who knew when to take a good deal and when to break one. Who knew when they were asking too much.
Opal Clemenger didn’t fit that mould. Opal Clemenger came with her own. He let his eyes wander over her woven-silk-clad figure, the rise and fall of her chest betrayed by the play of light over the textured fabric, the swell of her hips accentuated by the nipped-in waist of her jacket, and felt his eyebrows rise in appreciation as his anger turned into an entirely different emotion.
It was some mould. Even through the expensive fabric, he could just about picture the skinscape underneath—the firm, silky breasts and the subtle hollows he’d find below her ribcage, the bare swell of her tummy and the dip to the rise of her hip bones, and then down, beyond…
What would she be like in bed? How would it feel to have those long legs wrapped around him, her breasts peaked and firm and her eyes flickering green and blue when she lost control?
He would pay dearly to find out. It was some time since he’d had a woman, and something told him Opal Clemenger would be all woman. No one could be as passionate as she was about saving her hotels, and yet be cold and lifeless in bed. That kind of passion didn’t just come with a cause. It came with character. It came from within.
No, Opal was as polished and refined as the gem whose name she bore, and just as he’d seen it in the precious stone he’d seen the fire and the flame that lurked within her, below the surface, the sparks that erupted when provoked.
And she was interesting to provoke. It was interesting to try and work out what made her tick. She needed his money, but still she treated him almost as if he was the enemy. Peculiar. Most women were too happy to agree with him and pander to his every need, yet she seemed happier when they were disagreeing.
It would be no easy task orchestrating her into his bed.
And he wanted her there. Wanted her lush curves bucking beneath him. Begging for more. Wild. Unrestrained. Insatiable.
And he would have her.
Maybe there was a way, a way that could satisfy them both.
She was looking at him strangely, as if she was expecting something, and he smiled to himself, knowing there was no way she’d be expecting him to make a complete turn-around. Why would she, when it was a surprise to even himself?
‘Maybe there’s a way we can work this out,’ he said at last.
She looked confused and tugged nervously at the hem of her Chanel jacket as he continued to sit. ‘I don’t see how, if you’re not prepared to accept less than one hundred per cent control.’
‘Maybe there’s a chance I will accept your