Читать книгу Falling For The Secret Millionaire - Kate Hardy - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

‘IT’S A PIPE DREAM, Gabriel. You can’t create something out of nothing. We’re not going to be able to offer our guests exclusive parking.’ Evan Hunter stared at his son. ‘We should’ve got the land on the other side of the hotel.’

‘It was a sealed bid auction, Dad. And we agreed what would be reasonable. Paying over the odds for the land would’ve wrecked our budget and the hotel might not have been viable any more.’

‘And in the meantime there’s an apartment block planned for where our car park should be,’ Evan grumbled.

‘Unless the new owner of the Electric Palace sells to us.’

Evan sighed. ‘Nicole Thomas has already turned down every offer. She says she’s going to restore the place.’

‘It might not be worth her while,’ Gabriel pointed out. ‘She’s a banker. She’ll understand about gearing—and if the restoration costs are too high, she’ll see the sense in selling.’ He paused. ‘To us.’

‘You won’t succeed, Gabriel. It’s a waste of time.’

Maybe, Gabriel thought, this was his chance to prove his worth to his father once and for all. ‘I’ll talk to her.’

‘Charm her into it?’ Evan scoffed.

‘Give her a dose of healthy realism,’ Gabriel corrected. ‘The place has been boarded up for five years. The paintwork outside is in bad condition. There are articles in the Surrey Quays forum from years back calling it a flea-pit, so my guess is that it’s even worse inside. Add damp, mould and vermin damage—it’s not going to be cheap to fix that kind of damage.’

‘The Surrey Quays forum.’ Evan’s eyes narrowed. ‘If she gets them behind her and starts a pressure group...’

‘Dad. I’ll handle it,’ Gabriel said. ‘We haven’t had any objections to the hotel, have we?’

‘I suppose not.’

Gabriel didn’t bother waiting for his father to say he’d done a good job with the PR side. It wasn’t Evan’s style. ‘I’ll handle it,’ he said again. ‘Nicole Thomas is a hard-headed businesswoman. She’ll see the sensible course is to sell the site to us. She gets to cash in her inheritance, and we get the space. Everybody wins.’

‘Hmm.’ Evan didn’t look convinced.

So maybe this would be the tipping point. The thing that finally earned Gabriel his father’s respect.

And then maybe he’d get his freedom.

* * *

The figures worked. So did the admin. Nicole had checked online and there was a huge list of permissions and licences she needed to apply for, but it was all doable. She just needed to make a master list, do some critical path analysis, and tackle the tasks in the right order. Just as she would on a normal day at her desk.

Once she’d talked to her boss and he’d agreed to let her take a sabbatical, she sat at her desk, working out how to break the news to her team.

But then Neil, her second-in-command, came in to her office. ‘Are the rumours true?’

It looked as if the office grapevine had scooped her. ‘What rumours?’ she asked, playing for time.

‘That you’re taking six months off?’

‘Yes.’

He looked her up and down, frowning. ‘You don’t look pregnant.’

Oh, honestly. Was the guy still stuck in the Dark Ages? ‘That’s because I’m not.’

‘Then what? Have you got yourself a mail-order bridegroom on the internet—a rich Russian mafia guy who wants to be respectable?’ He cackled, clearly pleased with himself at the barb.

She rolled her eyes, not rising to the bait. Neil liked to think of himself as the office wise-guy and he invariably made comments for a cheap laugh at other people’s expense. She’d warned him about it before in his annual review, but he hadn’t taken a blind bit of notice. ‘You can tell everyone I’m not pregnant. I’m also not running off to Russia, thinking that I’ve bagged myself a millionaire bridegroom only to discover that it was all a big scam and I’m about to be sold into slavery.’ She steepled her fingers and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Are there any other rumours I need to clarify, or are we done?’

‘Wow—I’ve never heard you...’ He looked at her with something akin to respect. ‘Sorry.’

She shrugged. ‘Apology accepted.’

‘So why are you taking six months off?’

‘It’s a business opportunity,’ she said. ‘Keep your fingers crossed that it works, because if it doesn’t I’ll be claiming my desk back in six months’ time.’

From him, she meant, and clearly he recognised it because his face went dull red. ‘No offence meant.’

‘Good,’ she said, and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Little tip from me. For what’s probably the six millionth time I’ve told you, Neil, try to lose the wisecracks. They make you look less professional and that’ll stand in the way of you being promoted.’

‘All right. Sorry.’ He paused. ‘Are you really going today?’

‘Yes.’

‘Without even having a leaving do?’

‘I might be coming back if my plans don’t work out,’ she reminded him, ‘so it would be a bit fake to have a leaving do. But I’ll put some money behind the bar at the Mucky Duck—’ the nearby pub that most of her team seemed to frequent after work ‘—if you’re all that desperate to have a drink at my expense.’

‘Hang on. You’ll pay for your own sort-of leaving do and not turn up to it?’

That was the idea. She spread her hands. ‘What’s the problem?’

Neil shook his head. ‘If it wasn’t for the fact you’re actually leaving, I’d think you’d be slaving behind your desk. You never join in with anything.’

‘Because I don’t fit in,’ she said softly. ‘So I’m not going to be the spectre at the feast. You can all enjoy a drink without worrying what to say in front of me.’

‘None of us really knows you—all we know is that you work crazy hours,’ Neil said.

Which was why nobody ever asked her about how her weekend was: they knew she would’ve spent a big chunk of Saturday at her desk.

‘Do you even have a life outside the office?’ Neil asked.

And this time there was no barb in his voice; Nicole squirmed inwardly when she realised that the odd note in his voice was pity. ‘Ask me again in six months,’ she said, ‘because then I hope I might have.’ And that was the nearest she’d get to admitting her work-life balance was all wrong.

‘Well—good luck with your mysterious business opportunity,’ he said.

‘Thanks—and I’ll make sure I leave my desk tidy for you.’

Neil took it as the dismissal she meant it to be; but, before she could clear her desk at the end of the day, her entire team filed into her office, headed by her boss.

‘We thought you should have these,’ he said, and presented her with a bottle of expensive champagne, a massive card which had been signed by everyone on their floor, and a huge bouquet of roses and lilies.

‘We didn’t really know what to get you,’ Neil said, joining them at Nicole’s desk, ‘but the team had a whip-round.’ He presented her with an envelope filled with money. ‘Maybe this will help with your, um, business opportunity.’

Nicole was touched that they’d gone to this trouble. She hadn’t expected anything—just that she’d slip away quietly while everyone else was at the bar across the road.

‘Thanks. You’ll be pleased to know it’ll go to good use—I’ll probably spend it on paint.’

Neil gaped at her. ‘You’re leaving us to be an artist?’

She laughed. ‘No. I meant masonry paint. I’ve been left a cinema in a will. It’s a bit run-down but I’m going to restore it and see if I can get it up and running properly.’

‘A cinema? Then you,’ Neil said, ‘are coming across to the Mucky Duck with us right now, and you’re going to tell us everything—and that’s not a suggestion, Nicole, because we’ll carry you over there if we have to.’

It was the first time Nicole had actually felt part of the team. How ironic that it had happened just as she was leaving them.

‘OK,’ she said, and let them sweep her across the road in the middle of a crowd.

* * *

The next day, Nicole was in the cinema with a clipboard and a pen, adding to her list of what she needed to do when her phone rang.

She glanced at the screen, half expecting that it would be her daily call from the lawyer at Hunter Hotels trying to persuade her to sell the Electric Palace, even though she’d told him every time that the cinema wasn’t for sale. Not recognising the number on her screen, and assuming it was one of the calls she was waiting to be returned, she answered her phone. ‘Yes?’

‘Ms Thomas?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Gabriel Hunter from Hunter Hotels.’

Clearly the lawyer had realised that she wasn’t going to say yes to the monkey, so now it was the organ-grinder’s turn to try and persuade her. She suppressed a sigh. ‘Thank you for calling, Mr Hunter, but I believe I’ve made my position quite clear. The Electric Palace isn’t for sale.’

‘Indeed,’ he said, ‘but we have areas of mutual interest and I’d like to meet you to discuss them.’

In other words, he planned to charm her into selling? She put on her best bland voice. ‘That’s very nice of you to ask, but I’m afraid I’m really rather busy at the moment.’

‘It won’t take long. Are you at the cinema right now?’

‘Yes.’

She regretted her answer the moment he asked, ‘And you’ve been there since the crack of dawn?’

Had the Hunters got someone spying on her, or something? ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.’ There was a lot to do. And she thought at her best, first thing in the morning. It made sense to start early.

‘I’d be the same,’ he said, mollifying her only slightly. ‘So I’d say you’re about due for a coffee break. How about I meet you at the café on Challoner Road in half an hour?’

‘Where you’ll have a carnation in your buttonhole and be carrying a copy of the Financial Times so I can recognise you?’ She couldn’t help the snippy retort.

He laughed. ‘No need. I’ll be there first—and I’ll recognise you.’

Hunter Hotels probably had a dossier on her, including a photograph and a list of everything from her route to work to her shoe size, she thought grimly. ‘Thank you for the invitation, but there really isn’t any point in us meeting. I’m not selling.’

‘I’m not trying to pressure you to sell. As I said, I want to discuss mutual opportunities—and the coffee’s on me.’

‘I’m not dressed to go to a café. I’m covered in dust.’

‘I’d be worried if you weren’t, given the current condition of the cinema. And I’d be even more worried if you were walking around a run-down building wearing patent stilettos and a business suit.’

There was a note of humour in Gabriel Hunter’s voice. Nicole hadn’t expected that, and she quite liked it; at the same time, it left her feeling slightly off balance.

‘But if you’d rather I brought the coffee to you, that’s fine,’ he said. ‘Just let me know how you take your coffee.’

It was tempting, but at least if they met in a neutral place she could make an excuse to leave. If he turned up at the cinema, she might have to be rude in order to make him leave and let her get on with things. And, at the end of the day, Gabriel Hunter was working on the business next door to hers. They might have mutual customers. So he probably had a point about mutual opportunities. Maybe they should talk.

‘I’ll see you at the café in half an hour,’ she said.

She brushed herself down and then was cross with herself. It wasn’t as if he was her client, and she wasn’t still working at the bank. It didn’t matter what she looked like or what he thought of her. And if he tried to push her into selling the Electric Palace, she’d give him very short shrift and come back to work on her lists.

* * *

So Nicole Thomas had agreed to meet him. That was a good start, Gabriel thought. He’d certainly got further with her than their company lawyer had.

He worked on his laptop with one eye on the door, waiting for her to turn up. Given that she’d worked in a bank and her photograph on their website made her look like a consummate professional, he’d bet that she’d walk through the door thirty seconds earlier than they’d agreed to meet. Efficiency was probably her middle name.

Almost on cue, the door opened. He recognised Nicole immediately; even though she was wearing old jeans and a T-shirt rather than a business suit, and no make-up whatsoever, her mid-brown hair was pulled back in exactly the same style as she’d worn it at the bank. Old habits clearly died hard.

She glanced around the café, obviously looking for him. For a moment, she looked vulnerable and Gabriel was shocked to feel a sudden surge of protectiveness. She worked for a bank and had worked her way up the management ladder, so she most definitely didn’t need protecting; but there was something about her that drew him.

He was horrified to realise that he was attracted to her.

Talk about inappropriate. You didn’t fall for your business rival. Ever. Besides, he didn’t want to get involved with anyone. He was tired of dating women who had preconceived notions about him. All he wanted to do was talk to Nicole Thomas about mutual opportunities, point out all the many difficulties she was going to face in restoring the cinema, and then talk her into doing the sensible thing and selling the Electric Palace to him for a price fair to both of them.

* * *

Nicole looked round the café, trying to work out which of the men sitting on their own was Gabriel Hunter. Why on earth hadn’t she looked him up on the internet first, so she would’ve known exactly who she was meeting here? Had she already slipped out of good business habits, just days after leaving the bank? At this rate, she’d make a complete mess of the cinema and she’d be forced to go back to her old job—and, worse still, have to admit that she’d failed in her bid for freedom.

Then the man in the corner lifted his hand and gave the tiniest wave.

He looked young—probably around her own age. There wasn’t a hint of grey in his short dark hair, and his blue eyes were piercing.

If he was the head of Hunter Hotels when he was that young, then he was definitely the ruthless kind. She made a mental note to be polite but to stay on her guard.

His suit was expensively cut—the sort that had been hand-made by a good tailor, rather than bought off the peg—and she’d just bet if she looked under the table his shoes would be the same kind of quality. His shirt was well cut, too, and that understated tie was top of the range. He radiated money and style, looking more like a model advertising a super-expensive watch than a hotel magnate, and she felt totally scruffy and underdressed in her jeans and T-shirt. Right then she really missed the armour of her business suit.

He stood up as she reached his table and held out his hand. ‘Thank you for coming, Ms Thomas.’

His handshake was firm and a little tingle ran down Nicole’s spine at the touch of his skin against hers. How inappropriate was that? They were on opposite sides and she’d better remember that. Apart from the fact that she never wanted to get involved with anyone again, the fact Gabriel Hunter was her business rival meant he was totally out of the running as a potential date. Even if he was one of the nicest-looking men she’d ever met. Didn’t they say that handsome is as handsome does?

‘Mr Hunter,’ she said coolly.

‘Call me Gabriel.’

She had no intention of doing that—or of inviting him to call her by her own first name. They weren’t friends; they were business rivals.

‘How do you like your coffee?’ he asked.

‘Espresso, please.’

‘Me, too.’ He smiled at her, and her heart felt as if it had done a backflip.

‘If you haven’t been here before, I’d recommend the Guatemala blend.’

‘Thank you. That would be lovely,’ she said politely.

This was the kind of café that sold a dozen different types of coffee, from simple Americanos and cappuccinos through to pour-over-and-siphon coffee; and she noted from the chalk board above the counter that there were a dozen different blends to choose from, all with tasting notes, so this was the kind of place that was frequented by serious coffee drinkers. The kind of coffee bar she half had in mind for the Electric Palace, depending on whether she kept it as a cinema or turned it into a craft café.

But Gabriel Hunter unsettled her.

She wasn’t used to reacting like that towards someone. She hadn’t reacted to anyone like that since Jeff. Given her poor judgement when it came to relationships, she really didn’t want to be attracted to Gabriel Hunter.

Focus, Nicole, she told herself sharply. Business. Work. Nothing else.

Gabriel came back to the table carrying two espressos, and set one cup and saucer in front of her before sitting down opposite her again.

She took a sip. ‘You’re right; this is excellent. Thank you.’

‘Pleasure.’ He inclined his head.

Enough pleasantries, she decided. This was business, so they might as well save some time and cut to the chase. ‘So, what are these mutual interests you wanted to discuss?’ she asked.

‘Our businesses are next door to each other. And they’re both works in progress,’ he said, ‘though obviously the hotel renovation is quite a bit further on than the cinema.’

‘Are you thinking mutual customers?’

‘And mutual parking.’

His eyes really were sharp, she thought. As if they saw everything.

‘Are you really going to run the place as a cinema?’ he asked.

She frowned. ‘Why would I discuss my business strategy with a competitor?’

‘True. But, if you are going to run it as a cinema, I’m not sure you’ll manage to make it pay, and it’s not going to be good for my business if the place next door to me is boarded up and looks derelict,’ he said bluntly. ‘Most people would choose to take the Tube into the West End and go to a multiplex to see the latest blockbuster. One screen doesn’t give your customers a lot of choice, and you’ll be competing directly with established businesses that can offer those customers an awful lot more.’

‘That all depends on the programming.’ She’d been researching that; and she needed to think about whether to show the blockbusters as they came out, or to develop the Electric Palace as an art-house cinema, or to have a diverse programme with certain kinds of movies showing on certain nights.

‘With your background in banking—’ well, of course he’d checked her out and would know that ‘—obviously you’re more than capable of handling the figures and the finance,’ he said. ‘But the building needs a lot of work, and restoring something properly takes a lot of experience or at least knowing who to ask.’