What The Millionaire Wants...: What the Millionaire Wants... / Spencer's Forbidden Passion. Brenda Jackson
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have left for the Thanksgiving holiday. His office is trying to reach him. When they do, I’ll get this mess straightened out.”
“Talking with Benton isn’t going to change the facts, Ms. Spencer. Your mother pledged this hotel as collateral on a loan and Hawke Industries purchased that note, along with several others, from the bank. Since your mother defaulted on that loan, the Contessa Hotel now belongs to Hawke Industries.”
“I’m telling you, you’re wrong,” she insisted. “There is no way my mother would have ever pledged the Contessa.”
Tiring of her refusal to accept the obvious, Jack snatched the stack of legal documents, pulled out the collateral mortgage note signed by her mother and slapped it in front of her. “Look at it,” he commanded. “That’s a promissory note signed by your mother, pledging her stock in the Contessa as guarantee on the loan. Are you going to deny that’s her signature?”
Something flickered in her eyes as she stared at the damning document. For the first time since he’d arrived and introduced himself to her as the hotel’s new owner, the lady looked uncertain. Just as quickly it was gone and the defiance was back. “I don’t care what that says. Even if my mother had wanted to use the hotel as collateral for a loan, she couldn’t have.”
“And why is that?”
“Because my sister and I each own ten percent of the hotel’s stock. And neither of us would ever consent to her using the hotel.”
“She wouldn’t have needed your consent—not to pledge her own stock. Which is exactly what she did,” he pointed out.
“My mother would never do such a thing. Not without telling me first.”
There was something in her voice, a hint of uncertainty. There was also a flicker of fear in her eyes. It was that fear that stirred something inside him. “Didn’t you say your mother was out of the country on business?”
She nodded. “She and her husband are opening a nightclub in France.”
“Well, maybe she meant to tell you, but just never got around to it,” he offered, surprising himself with this sudden surge of empathy. He frowned. Emotion was something he never allowed to enter into his business dealings. It was his own cardinal rule. In the dozens of takeovers he’d engineered, no amount of tears, pleas or offers of sexual favors had deterred him from his course.
“She has been busy getting ready for the grand opening.”
But he could tell from the lack of conviction in Laura’s voice that she didn’t believe that telling her about the loan had slipped her mother’s mind any more than he did. He had learned firsthand that when it came to money and sex—blood was no thicker than water. Apparently, Deirdre Jordan Spencer Vincenzo Spencer Baxter Arnaud had sold her daughter’s legacy and hadn’t bothered to inform her of what she’d done.
“At any rate, if, and I’m not saying that she did, but if my mother did pledge her shares of the Contessa as collateral on a loan, I’m sure she didn’t understand exactly what that entailed,” she told him.
Her stubborn denial sobered him. Shaking off his uncharacteristic spurt of compassion, Jack reminded himself that this was business. Sentiment had no place in business. He didn’t intend to let a pretty face, a great pair of legs and a mountain of attitude deter him from his plan. “Or perhaps your mother understood exactly what pledging the hotel as collateral meant.”
She stiffened. “Just what is it you’re implying, Mr. Hawke?”
“I’m not implying anything, Ms. Spencer. I’m simply pointing out that if your mother had wanted to sell the hotel, but knew you would be opposed to it, using it as collateral on a loan and then defaulting on that loan would be a means of accomplishing her goal.”
“How dare you!”
“Why don’t we skip the outrage, Ms. Spencer. You strike me as a smart woman. Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind. Your mother isn’t interested in this place. Why else would she have dumped it in your lap and left the country? Not that I blame her. The hotel was barely breaking even when your grandfather was alive. Since his death, it’s been losing money steadily.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I won’t waste my breath asking where you got your information.” Temper laced her voice causing the trace of a Southern accent she bore to be more pronounced. “But apparently your source doesn’t have all the facts. If he or she did, they would have informed you that the hotel has shown a steady improvement over the past four months. Whatever difficulties the Contessa may have had in the past, they’re over. The hotel is doing just fine now.”
“Showing a slim profit on last month’s financial statement is a long way from being fine.”
“I—”
Jack held up his hand. “I’m aware of what you’ve done since you took over the management six months ago. But you and I both know that this hotel is in need of major upgrades. I intend to see that it not only survives, but that it dominates the small luxury hotel market in this area.” He paused, then pressed his point home, saying, “Since you own ten percent of the hotel’s stock and are familiar with its operations, I’m willing to allow you to be a part of those plans. Or not. It’s your choice. Either way, I’m prepared to make you and your sister both a fair offer for your stock.”
“I’m not interested in selling my stock. And neither is my sister.”
“Don’t be too hasty, Ms. Spencer. After all, you haven’t heard my offer yet. And neither has your sister.”
“I don’t need to hear it. I don’t—”
“I’ll give you and your sister each two million dollars for your stock. And—”
“I’m not interested.”
“Please, do allow me to finish,” he said pointedly and noted the angry color flooding her cheeks. “In addition, I’m willing to offer you a management contract with the Contessa at a substantial increase in salary. A salary, which, I might add, is far greater than the one you earned when you were working for the Stratton Hotel group or the Windsor,” he added, mentioning the two hotels where his research revealed she had held positions previously.
She hiked up her chin a notch. “Perhaps you should have your hearing checked, Mr. Hawke. As I’ve already told you, I’m not for sale and neither is the Contessa.”
But before he could point out that he already owned the majority of the hotel’s stock, there was a tap at the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Laura,” the perky brunette assistant who had ushered him into the office earlier said from the doorway.
“It’s okay, Penny. What is it?”
“You’re needed downstairs.” She looked over at him, then back at her boss. “You know, for that meeting you scheduled with the kitchen staff.”
“Thank you, Penny. Tell them I’m on my way.”
Jack didn’t miss the look that passed between the two women before her assistant retreated. He suspected it wasn’t a meeting that required Laura Spencer’s immediate presence. More than likely it was another crisis, one of the many that had plagued the hotel in recent years. As beautiful as the Contessa was and the potential profit she would generate for Hawke Industries, age had taken its toll on the structure. The hotel would continue to deteriorate unless it underwent the necessary maintenance and upgrades it so sorely needed. He intended to see that the hotel was returned to its former glory and became profitable—with or without Laura Spencer’s cooperation.
She stood. “As you heard, I’m late for a meeting, Mr. Hawke. So this discussion is over.”
It wasn’t often that he found himself so clearly dismissed and certainly not by someone who was in no position to call the shots. A part of him was annoyed. While another part of him couldn’t help but admire her spirit. Standing, Jack adjusted his gray suit