Falling For The Secret Millionaire. Kate Hardy
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to *me* and not to my mum? It doesn’t make sense.
Pride again? Gabriel suggested. And maybe he thought it would be easier to approach you.
From the grave?
Could be Y-chromosome logic?
That earned him a smiley face.
Georgy, you really need to talk to your mum about it.
I would. Except her phone is switched to voicemail.
Shame.
I know this is crazy, she added, but you were the one I really wanted to talk to about this. You see things so clearly.
It was the first genuine compliment he’d had in a long time—and it was one he really appreciated.
Thank you. Glad I can be here for you. That’s what friends are for.
And they were friends. Even though they’d never met, he felt their relationship was more real and more honest than the ones in his real-life world—where ironically he couldn’t be his real self.
I’m sorry for whining.
You’re not whining. You’ve just been left something by the last person you expected to leave you anything. Of course you’re going to wonder why. And if it is an apology, you’re right that it’s too little, too late. He should’ve patched up the row years ago and been proud of your mum for raising a bright daughter who’s also a decent human being.
Careful, Clarence, she warned. I might not be able to get through the door of the coffee shop when I leave, my head’s so swollen.
Coffee shop? Even though he knew it was ridiculous—this wasn’t the only coffee shop in Surrey Quays, and he had no idea where she worked so she could be anywhere in London right now—Gabriel found himself pausing and glancing round the room, just in case she was there.
But everyone in the room was either sitting in a group, chatting animatedly, or looked like a businessman catching up with admin work.
There was always the chance that Georgygirl was a man, but he didn’t think so. He didn’t think she was a bored, middle-aged housewife posing as a younger woman, either. And she’d just let slip that her newly pregnant mother had been thrown out twenty-nine years ago, which would make her around twenty-eight. His own age.
I might not be able to get through the door of the coffee shop, my head’s so swollen.
Ha. This was the teasing, quick-witted Georgygirl that had attracted him in the first place. He smiled.
We need deflationary measures, then. OK. You need a haircut and your roots are showing. And there’s a massive spot on your nose. It’s like the red spot on Mars. You can see it from outer space.
Jupiter’s the one with the red spot, she corrected. But I get the point. Head now normal size. Thank you.
Good.
And he just bet she knew he’d deliberately mixed up his planets. He paused.
Seriously, though—maybe you could sell the property and split the money with your mum.
It still feels like thirty pieces of silver. I was thinking about giving her all of it. Except I’ll have to persuade her because she’ll say he left it to me.
Or maybe it isn’t an apology—maybe it’s a rescue.
Rescue? How do you work that out? she asked.
You hate your job.
She’d told him that a while back—and, being in a similar situation, he’d sympathised.
If you split the money from selling the property with your mum, would it be enough to tide you over for a six-month sabbatical? That might give you enough time and space to find out what you really want to do. OK, so your grandfather wasn’t there when your mum needed him—but right now it looks to me as if he’s given you something that you need at exactly the right time. A chance for independence, even if it’s only for a little while.
I never thought of it like that. You could be right.
It is what it is. You could always look at it as a belated apology, which is better than none at all. He wasn’t there when he should’ve been, but he’s come good now.
Hmm. It isn’t residential property he left me.
It’s a business?
Yes. And it hasn’t been in operation for a while.
A run-down business, then. Which would take money and time to get it back in working order—the building might need work, and the stock or the fixtures might be well out of date. So he’d been right in the first place and the bequest had come with strings.
Could you get the business back up and running?
Though it would help if he knew what kind of business it actually was. But asking would be breaking the terms of their friendship—because then she’d be sharing personal details.
In theory, I could. Though I don’t have any experience in the service or entertainment industry.
He did. He’d grown up in it.
That’s my area, he said.
He was taking a tiny risk, telling her something personal—but she had no reason to connect Clarence with Hunter Hotels.
My advice, for what it’s worth—an MBA and working for a very successful hotel chain, though he could hardly tell her that without her working out exactly who he was—is that staff are the key. Look at what your competitors are doing and offer your clients something different. Keep a close eye on your costs and income, and get advice from a business start-up specialist. Apply for all the grants you can.
It was solid advice. And Nicole knew that Clarence would be the perfect person to brainstorm ideas with, if she decided to keep the Electric Palace. She was half tempted to tell him everything—but then they’d be sharing details of their real and professional lives, which was against their agreement. He’d already told her too much by letting it slip that he worked in the service or entertainment industry. And she’d as good as told him her age. This was getting risky; it wasn’t part of their agreement. Time to back off and change the subject.
Thank you, she typed. But enough about me. You said you’d had a bad day. What happened?
A pointless row. It’s just one of those days when I feel like walking out and sending off my CV to half a dozen recruitment agencies. Except it’s the family business and I know it’s my duty to stay.
Because he was still trying to make up for the big mistake he’d made when he was a teenager? He’d told her the bare details one night, how he was the disgraced son in the family, and that he was never sure he’d ever be able to change their perception of him.
Clarence, maybe you need to talk to your dad or whoever runs the show in your family business about the situation and say it’s time for you all to move on. You’re not the same person now as you were when you were younger. Everyone makes mistakes—and you can’t spend the rest of your life making up for it. That’s not reasonable.
Maybe.
Clarence must feel as trapped as she did, Nicole thought. Feeling that there was no way out. He’d helped her think outside the box and see her grandfather’s bequest another way: that it could be her escape route. Maybe she could do the same for him.
Could you recruit someone to replace you?
There was a long silence, and Nicole thought maybe she’d gone too far.
Nice idea, Georgy, but it’s not going to happen.
OK. What about changing your role in the business instead? Could you take it in a different direction, one you enjoy more?
It’s certainly worth thinking about.
Which was a polite brush-off. Just as well she hadn’t given in