Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
The fact that she denied what we’d shared last night, that she refused to admit the memory of it had embedded itself in her skin… well, it was like a challenge she’d thrown. I’d felt vindicated when I’d touched her and she’d melted, the room seeming to dissolve for both of us.
“We’ve had another call from Marchand’s legal team again.”
I come back to the present with my fingers at my mouth. Despite having washed, it’s as though I can still enjoy the aroma of her. Like I’ve somehow absorbed her.
“They’re still threatening breach of contract.”
“Let them.” I force my hand to rest on my knee. “The cost of litigation will wipe them out.”
“Not if they win,” he mutters under his breath.
“Unlikely,” I retort. “But you may convey a message to him.” I turn my head and watch my land pass by the window. “Tell him he showed me how he treats people when he believes they have no power, so I decided to curtail his.”
“Cryptic as fuck,” he says, entering it into his tablet word for word.
“I won’t get into bed, so to speak, with a man like him.”
“I’ll… call him.”
“It’s better you go to Paris and deliver the message yourself.”
“Okay.”
The car falls quiet again, but for the hum of quiet the engine and sound of the tires.
“I’ve booked your usual suite for tonight.”
“Cancel it,” I reply impulsively.
Beside me, Jacques stills. “I’ll make arrangements for an early flight back.” His gaze dips to the phone in his hand as though stalling for time. Or arranging his thoughts. “Is everything okay? The kids, they’re not ill, are they?”
I should be relieved he wasn’t in the main house this morning. One look at Primrose and he wouldn’t need to ask.
“They’re fine.”
“Is there another reason?”
“Not that you need to be aware of.”
“Noted,” he says in that way of his that suggests he already knows. “Do you wanna go over the agenda?”
I dismiss the offer with a slight shake of my head. There’s little point when I can’t concentrate.
He taps at his screen, glances at me, then drops his voice as though unconvinced. “Okay.”
He isn’t easily fooled. I don’t pay him to be as he rubs his chin in an action that seems oddly out of place for him. “How about I brief you on the guests?”
“Any changes?” Hijos de Valdés is a family concern. The board is comprised of family members. Most of whom I’ve already met. Courted, you might say.
“One of the brothers has pulled out.”
“Issues?” My gaze turns his way sharply. As the producers of some of Europe’s finest leather, I want no surprises today. What I do want is to own their operation—the workshops, their people, their connections. I plan on relaunching them as the atelier of the next must own brand. That is my plan, without deviation.
“No. Andre, the youngest brother? He’ll be joining the meeting remotely. A Family issue. One of his children is ill, I understand.”
I relax back in the seat. “I trust it’s nothing serious. Find out and send the child something appropriate.”
“Will do,” he says with a nod. The car falls quiet again, but for the noise of tires over gravel.
“Though, you know you kinda promised the brothers a good time.”
“I did what?” My attention swivels Jacque’s way. Is he fucking with me? I think as my mind jumps immediately to Ardeo.
“It’s part of your schtick, your sell. Your reputation. You’re flying them private to Barcelona, putting them up in the best hotels, getting some big-name chef to serve up the kind of dinner they’ll be talking about for years. Wines from your own vineyard, a taste of your home. It’s what you’re known for, Luc. What the group is known for. What you want the sellers aspire to. Quality, class. The fuckin’ high life.”
“Today is nothing but decoration,” I retort brusquely, despite hearing the truth in what he says. “They’re here to collect a fat check with their name on it.”
“Yeah, but—”
“They want to increase production and profits without putting their homes at risk. They want their history and their artisans protected, and a flagship store in Paris with their name above the door.” I turn away. “That is what they’re here for.”
“You’re the boss.”
Like I don’t know that already. “Anything outside of that, what do you call it—the wining and dining? I’m sure you and Albert can handle,” I say, speaking of the groups’ COO.
“You want me to stay over?”
I shrug like I don’t give a fuck when the reality is, I don’t like being called out. I’m just waiting for him to say her name. “I’m sure he’ll be glad of your help.” Let them play bon vivant.
“Whatever you say.” Jacques tucks his phone away. “Can I ask something? Off-book?”
No one ever says that unless the next words are a risk. Or a stick. I glance pointedly his way, surprised when he speaks.