Читать книгу Salazar's One-Night Heir - Jennifer Hayward - Страница 9
ОглавлениеSt. Moritz—February 2017
A 1946 MACALLAN, his three closest friends consuming that exceptional bottle of whiskey with him and a game of high-stakes poker played in a private room at one of St. Moritz’s swankiest clubs was a trifecta of such absolute perfection, Alejandro Salazar could not deny it was the ideal ending to a day spent paraskiing in the Swiss Alps.
Cutting a vertical line to the cliff’s edge, throwing yourself off a mountainside only to hope your parachute landed you in an equally traversable stretch of snow below required some coming down from—quality bonding time that only this particular male ritual could supply.
It had dwindled down to the four of them tonight after today’s challenge—Sebastien Atkinson, his good friend and mentor, founder of the extreme sports club they’d joined in college; Antonio Di Marcello, a giant in the global construction industry and Stavros Xenakis, the soon-to-be CEO of Dynami Pharmaceutical—perhaps the only quartet with the spare change to put up the ante this type of a game required.
Not even the trio of delectable Scandinavian women draped across the packed bar, looking for an opportunity to crash their party had been enticement enough to abandon such a rich moment in time. Friendships forged in fire.
Just last year they had pulled Sebastien off a Himalayan mountainside before it had collapsed in a cloud of snow that had nearly killed them all. The ending to this weekend’s challenge seemed tame in comparison.
An intense feeling of well-being settling over him, Alejandro sat back in his chair, rested his tumbler on his thigh and considered the table. There was a different air about the celebration tonight—subtle, but distinct.
Perhaps last year’s near tragedy still lay too close to the surface. Perhaps it had reminded them all that their club mantra—life is short—was truer than it had ever been. Or maybe it was because Sebastien had gone and done the sacrilegious in getting married, taking the sampling of the popular ski enclave’s wares off the table.
Stavros, as if sensing this new playing field, eyed Sebastien across the table. “How’s your wife?” he asked with a curl of his lips.
“Better company than you. Why so surly tonight?”
Stavros grimaced. “I haven’t won yet.” He lifted a shoulder. “And my grandfather is threatening to disinherit me if I don’t marry soon. I’d tell him to go to hell, but...”
“Your mother,” Alejandro said.
“Exactly.”
The Greek billionaire was between a rock and a hard place. If he didn’t play the game, extend the Xenakis line with an heir, his grandfather would follow through on his threat to disinherit Stavros before he assumed control of the pharmaceutical empire that would be his.
Stavros would have called his bluff, walked away with pleasure if it weren’t for his mother and sisters who would be stripped of everything they possessed if that happened, something Stavros would never allow.
Sebastien pushed a pile of chips toward the center of the table. “Do you ever get the feeling we spend too much of our lives counting our money and chasing superficial thrills at the expense of something more meaningful?”
Antonio tossed a handful of chips at Alejandro. “You called it,” his friend muttered, “four drinks and he’s already philosophizing.”
Sebastien scowled at Stavros as he added his own chips to Alejandro’s pile. The Greek billionaire shrugged. “I said three. My losing streak continues.”
“I’m serious.” Sebastien eyed the table. “At our level, it’s numbers on a page. Points on a scoreboard. What does it contribute to our lives? Money doesn’t buy happiness.”
“It buys some pretty nice substitutes,” Antonio interjected.
Sebastien’s mouth twisted. “Like your cars?” he mused, then moved his gaze to Alejandro. “Your private island? You don’t even use that boat you’re so proud of,” he said, moving on to Stavros. “We buy expensive toys and play dangerous games, but does it enrich our lives? Feed our souls?”
“Exactly what are you suggesting?” Alejandro drawled, pushing a pile of chips into the pot. “We go live with the Buddhists in the mountains? Learn the meaning of life? Renounce our worldly possessions to find inner clarity?”
Sebastien made a sound at the back of his throat. “You three couldn’t go two weeks without your wealth and family names to support you. Your gilded existence makes you blind to reality.”
Alejandro stiffened. He took offence to that. Sebastien might be the only self-made man among them, older than the rest by three years, but they had all achieved success in their own right.
Leading his family company had been Alejandro’s birthright, yes, but he had been the one to transform the Salazar Coffee Company from a fledgling international player into a global household name as CEO. He had more than paid his dues.
Stavros threw away three cards. “Try telling us you would go back to when you were broke, before you made your fortune. Hungry isn’t happy. That’s why you’re such a rich bastard now.”
“As it happens,” Sebastien countered with a deceptively casual shrug, “I’ve been thinking of donating half my fortune to charity to start a global search and rescue fund. Not everyone has friends who will dig him out of an avalanche with their bare hands.”
Alejandro almost choked on the sip of whiskey he’d taken. “Are you serious? That’s what? Five billion?”
“You can’t take it with you. I’ll tell you what,” Sebastien mused, gaze moving from one to the other, “you three manage to go two weeks without your credit cards and family name and I’ll do it.”
Silence fell over the table. “Starting when?” Alejandro queried. “We all have responsibilities.”
“Fair enough,” Sebastien agreed. “Clear the decks at home. But be prepared for word from me—and two weeks in the real world.”
Alejandro blinked. “You’re really going to wager half your fortune on a cakewalk of a challenge?”
“If you’ll put up your island...your favorite toys? Yes.” Sebastien lifted his whiskey glass. “I say where and when.”
“Easy,” said Stavros. “Count me in.”
They all clinked glasses, Alejandro dismissing the challenge as one of Sebastien’s philosophical, whiskey-induced rants.
Until he ended up undercover as a groom in the Hargroves’ legendary Kentucky stables exactly five months later.
