The Italian Boss's Mistress of Revenge. Trish Morey
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shrugged, a careless hitch of his shoulders that ratcheted up her anger tenfold, before he sat up, turning his attention back to his breakfast. ‘Find other jobs, I expect.’
‘Just like that?’
‘If they’re any good, as they should be in a place that, as you say, claims to be the best, then it shouldn’t be a problem.’
Every answer as callous as the one that went before. Every answer building on the burgeoning rage she already felt inside. But she’d be damned if he thought she was going to sit by and watch him destroy such a beautiful building—the very building in which her own parents had celebrated their marriage forty years ago—and jobs and careers into the deal. There had to be a way of saving the hotel from this madman. But she would need time.
‘So when’s all this supposed to happen?’ she asked, doing all she could to keep the snarl out of her voice. ‘Given we have forward bookings more than twelve months out, are you saying the hotel’s got a year? Eighteen months? How much time will the staff have in order to find new positions elsewhere?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘What do you mean, “no”?’
‘I mean that there is hardly any point advising people that their positions will no longer be required in twelve months’ time when they may well be gone in six. Then there would be positions to fill. Better that there is a clean break all around.’
‘So…how long do we have?’
‘The hotel will close in three months.’
‘What? That’s impossible. There’s no way—’
‘Ms Keogh, one thing I have learned in business is that nothing is impossible. The hotel will close. End of story.’
‘But I…I can’t let you do that.’
He laughed, and the sound fed into her anger.
‘And how do you propose to stop me?’
‘By convincing you that this property is worth much more to you as a going concern. I’ve prepared reports for you, projections—’
‘You had a hearing,’ he argued. ‘You told me people come here for the view.’ He lifted one hand towards the fog- laden exterior. ‘So it’s not like they’ll be missing out on one hell of a lot if I close this place down, is it?’
Her knuckles turned white in her lap. ‘It’s winter in the Adelaide Hills, Mr Carrazzo. And, in winter, we sometimes get fog. Not every day. Not every other day. Just on occasion. This happens to be one such occasion.’
He didn’t rush to respond, just bided his time that way he did, like he was bored and wanted to be done with it.
‘Three months. That’s all you have.’
Her anger turned incendiary. ‘You’re insane! You must be. What about all the forward bookings? We have weddings booked—and conferences. People have paid deposits. You can’t just cancel them.’
‘They will be cancelled. Compensated as well, if need be. As manager that will, of course, be your job.’
She scoffed. ‘So you expect me to be the apologist for your act of bastardy? I don’t think so.’
‘You’re refusing to do your job, Ms Keogh? I’m sure we could arrange an earlier termination for you if that’s so. Say, today?’
Mackenzi gasped, the cold, hard reality that she might walk out of here jobless, not in three months but as soon as today, starting to bite. She was luckier than most—her home, a tiny stone cottage deeper in the hills, was almost paid off courtesy of a single life and a reasonable income. Still, a termination payment would keep her going only for how long?
On the other hand, there was definitely something to be said for getting out of here as soon as possible—very definitely before he discovered the truth. If she wasn’t going to have a job in three months, that was one very attractive option.
‘Put it like that,’ she said, her voice crisp as frost as she made up her mind, ‘and you leave me no choice. I’ll go. Today.’
She had him there, she could see by the brief flicker of surprise across his features that her acceptance was the last thing he’d been expecting. He’d thought she was going to beg for her job—no way!
He raised one cynical eyebrow. ‘Making the grand gesture? Don’t expect me to ask you to stay on.’
It was liberating, she realized, losing your job. Empowering. For now there was no reason for her to curb her tongue; she no longer had a job to lose. And suddenly all the things she’d been itching to say since she’d first sat down could have their moment in the sun.
‘You know, Mr Carrazzo,’ she said with a smile, returning his own formality, ‘despite what we’d heard, I actually believed there might be some point talking to you, some point in pleading our case to your better self. But there is no better self, is there? You really are a heartless bastard.’
‘That’s half my problem,’ he acknowledged with his own wry smile, finding this intercourse much more entertaining than he’d been anticipating when the mouse had first appeared. ‘I do have a reputation to uphold.’
‘I don’t understand how you can sleep at night!’
‘Is that why you provided the woman? Because you assumed I’d need entertaining while my guilty conscience kept sleep at bay?’
Twin slashes of red stained her cheeks. Her eyes shakily held his before she hastily turned her face away, pretending an interest in the sea of fog beyond the glass, while in her lap her hands twisted her napkin into a rope. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Dante smiled at her. At least, he projected a smile, one that would no doubt have made a crocodile proud. ‘The woman in my bed last night. You’re the manager here. Don’t tell me you didn’t arrange for her?’
Her eyes snapped back, her mouth set grimly, the knotted napkin forgotten as she rose shakily to her feet. ‘I don’t have to listen to this.’
He stood up and barred her exit from the table. ‘Did you honestly believe that having some whore waiting for me in my bed last night was going to make me feel more kindly towards keeping the hotel operating as a going concern?’
He watched her chin kick back on a swallow, saw her hands fisting at her sides. ‘So, tell me, where is this “whore” now, Mr Carrazzo? Waiting for you to return for a repeat performance of your no doubt magnificent services? I’m surprised you could drag yourself out of bed.’
Her words grated, rubbing him raw. She knew more than she was letting on, that was for sure, and she was guilty as hell. They’d set him up with some whore in the vain attempt that she might soften his intentions. Not likely, especially when she’d barely managed to soothe anything before she’d so rapidly disappeared. ‘You know she’s gone. What were you doing—paying by the hour?’
‘While I can quite understand why it would be necessary to pay anyone to sleep with you, Mr Carrazzo, I can assure you nobody was paid to be in your room. Maybe this so-called woman was never even there. Most likely she was just a figment of your imagination. So perhaps now you might let me pass? I have an office to clean out.’
His teeth ground together. Now she was laughing at him, her green eyes flashing like emeralds behind her modest glasses, the only splash of colour in her otherwise pale face.
Green eyes?
And suddenly he was back in his bed, her hair streaming across his pillow, the eyes he’d so wrongly imagined must be brown open wide in surprise.
Green eyes!
The same vivid green as those of the woman standing before him right now.
Mentally