Читать книгу Worth The Risk - Zara Cox - Страница 10
ОглавлениеLeonie. Two weeks later
NO MAN WAS worth it.
I slammed the phone down, and then got even more annoyed that I’d lost my cool. For three days I’d jumped through every hoop imaginable and some I’d never thought even invented.
Granted, if I succeeded, this would be the sale of a lifetime. My fifteen per cent stake in this deal would double my already-impressive bank account but, more important, put me squarely on the map in a place where arrogant billionaires with egos the size of small countries lounged on every corner.
Hell, I could even relocate to another sun-drenched locale. One that didn’t hold the ravaging memories this place did.
I glanced out of my office window and was greeted by the stunning marina a good percentage of the world’s population believed was the gateway to paradise. Most people would give a piece of their souls for this.
Not me.
To me, this would always be ground zero of the worst moment of my life. The most humiliating, too. Definitely the most heartbreaking—
I wasn’t ashamed to admit part of my reason for wanting this deal over and done with was the shattered heart bit. I’d used my work to patch myself together and lately I’d become aware that I might have missed a few vital pieces in my repair job, like a broken leg that hadn’t been set properly.
It supported you by keeping you alive, breathing, reasoning, but toss in more challenging things like trust and emotional investment and, heaven forbid, taking another chance on happiness, and it withered and shrank, its acute flaws lighting with the dire warnings of its impending malfunction.
It was too late to salvage the pieces of my heart that betrayal had rotted away, but it wasn’t too late to hit the reset button on the rest of my life.
If only this damn client would play ball.
I sighed and let my gaze drift over the horizon.
The Côte d’Azur in June was living up to its hype where the cloudless blue sky, dazzling sunlight, sparkling ocean and blinding bling were concerned, at least. In the marina, multimillion-pound yachts bobbed smugly in the midmorning heat.
With almost undeniable compulsion, my gaze shifted left beyond the marina wall to the superyacht moored a quarter of a mile away in deeper waters.
La Sirène.
My biggest and riskiest investment to date.
Larger than all of the other boats currently moored, it was a sight to behold. Every client who’d attended the boat show a week ago had rhapsodised over it.
Fresh off the tram lines of the shipping yard in Greece, it was truly breathtaking. The most innovative vessel of its kind with unimaginable luxury to please even the most jaded appetite.
The day I’d received the call that my investment had been accepted, that I was part owner of one of the most breathtaking vessels ever built, was the proudest moment of my life.
But I’d learned to detach myself from falling in love with it. I didn’t get attached to things any more, especially things I was actively attempting to sell.
One by one the stragglers had fallen away until only one remained.
Gideon Mortimer.
A potential client who could be the answer to my achieving next-level status. A client with demands so absurd—
I jumped as the phone rang. I took a beat to calm my pulse before picking up the handset.
‘Branson Sales and Leasing, Leonora Branson speak—’
‘You hung up. I wasn’t done talking, Miss Branson,’ interrupted the deeply masculine, very arrogant voice.
Despite my irritation, the sheer sexiness of his voice sent a decadent shiver over my skin. I turned my back on the view and tried to ignore the sensation.
‘I got tired of being on hold after ten minutes.’
He made a sound as if he was grinding his teeth. ‘It was for less than five minutes and I believe my assistant told you I might have to take a call I’d been waiting for all day. Maybe you need a refresher course on the basics of customer service?’
Maybe you need a refresher course on how to be a human being.
In the six years since I defiantly started my own business on the southern French coast, I’d dealt with clients with egos of all shapes and sizes and heard enough outrageous demands to last a lifetime. Gideon Mortimer’s requests came within the top five per cent.
‘The yacht has a crew of twenty-five. That’s more than adequate to provide the service you need. As for your other requests, the captain also has a helicopter licence, twenty years’ flying experience under his belt and can fly you anywhere you need to go from the vessel.’
‘I’m bringing my most important client on board to finalise a business deal I’ve been trying to close for the best part of a year. Absolutely nothing can go wrong.’
‘And nothing, within my purview and the terms and conditions I sent to your assistant, will. All your demands...within reason, will be met.’
‘“We provide a three-sixty-degree service of excellence, one hundred per cent of the time.” Isn’t that your slogan?’
‘Yes, and the crew you need are ready to be allocated to you should you wish to lease the yacht. That includes three extra staff from my Monte Carlo office. Any more and I’ll have to shut that office down for the summer.’
‘Then do it.’
‘No, I won’t. You’re a potential valued client, but you’re not my only client. As a businessman you’ll understand that I can’t place my eggs in one basket. And frankly, the staffing ratio you’re asking for is excessive so if you’re not willing to budge on that, then we’ve come full circle.’
‘As a businesswoman, you should know that sometimes success hinges on making that one bold decision that could turn a crucial tide in your favour.’
I allowed myself a small smile at the irony. Gideon Mortimer had no idea how much I’d risked to be a part of the consortium that had built the yacht. How much he himself was crucial to achieving my next goal. ‘Trust me, I do. But from where I’m standing, I’m not sure you’re that tide bringer.’ Right now, he was more like a pain in my ass, albeit a very sexy-sounding one.
Silence greeted my response.
Had I been too bold? I might not be the biggest dog in the yard but I hadn’t let that stop me from barking long and loud when I needed to.
I mentally shrugged. If Gideon Mortimer wanted to take his business elsewhere, it’d be a blow, but it wouldn’t kill my plans for the future. It’d just delay it a little.
That stony ache beneath my breastbone rubbed hard, as if reminding me of its existence. I breathed through it.
‘A bold move, insulting a potential client,’ he said, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.
‘I believe in playing a straight bat. If that’s too offensive for you, I’ve given your assistant the names of much larger firms who could cater to what you want.’ Those firms believed in landing their business no matter what it took. I didn’t.
‘It’s not my assistant’s job to sell the yacht to me. It’s yours. Shouldn’t you be bending over backwards to please me? Or are you inflexible?’
‘I’m flexible in every way that counts. I was a junior athletics gymnast before I went to university and I have three medals to show for it, two of which are gold.’
‘And how long ago was that?’ he mused. ‘Thirty? Forty years? You’ve obviously grown rusty.’
My fingers tightened around the handset as I counted to ten. I’d let a personal detail slip. My number-one rule of business was to keep my emotions out of it. That included not letting clients rile me.
‘I can fly in the special smoked salmon you requested so it’s ready for you each morning. Same goes for the caviar from Iceland and the tuna from Norway. Any other culinary requests will be catered for, you have my word. And...I can stretch the crew to twenty-seven if you really need it. It would involve taking more members of staff from Monaco but with some clever balancing, I could make it work.’
‘My client is bringing a large entourage, possibly his extended family. So might I. That’s why we’re hiring a twenty-cabin vessel. Three weeks is a long time on a boat. We’ll all require various forms of entertainment. A crew of twenty-seven at full capacity would be a stretch. On top of that, I believe you told my assistant the captain is the only one who knows the vessel inside and out. I’ll need an experienced member of crew who is not the captain—since I believe he’ll be otherwise occupied actually piloting the boat—to answer any questions my client will have about the yacht. This is your golden opportunity to turn a lease into a sale. I may be in the market for the right yacht. My client has two and is looking for a third. Does that register at all?’
‘Of course,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘Every crew member is given a tutorial on the boat.’
‘Really? And how long was this tutorial?’
I felt heat rise up my neck. ‘Sixty minutes.’
He didn’t respond for a long time. ‘For a five-hundred-foot, five-deck yacht?’ Disbelief rang through his voice. ‘Do you want this commission, Miss Branson?’
I bit the inside of my cheek until my eyes watered. With every atom of my being I wanted to say no. I’d sunk all my capital into this vessel in the hope of making a once-in-a-lifetime sale that would be an answer to all my dreams. But the rental Gideon Mortimer was dangling in front of me, with the possibility of an extension, would also bring in a considerable injection of cash, enough for me to expand my business.
To do that, I needed men like Gideon Mortimer. ‘I want your business.’
‘Then find a way for us to both get what we want.’
I took a breath. ‘Fine. You’ll hear from me by five p.m. today.’
‘Wonderful. And please bear in mind that if you don’t call me back, I’ll remember it for a very long time.’ The line went dead.
This time I resisted the urge to slam my phone. After replacing the handset, I went to the kitchenette attached to the open-plan office, boiled the kettle and dropped a teabag into my favourite mug.
I stirred slowly while counting to a hundred. Then I threw the whole thing down the drain. Normally, I loved my job, loved turning a dream into reality for the average Joe like my grandfather, who’d made my childhood a little bearable by passing his love of sailing to me.
He’d take me out on the water when my mother’s mood swings veered into bitterness and depression, or when my father made one of his transient, illicit visits to the woman who’d never managed to free herself from a man unworthy of her love.
The freedom of being out on the open sea had helped me to forget the man who’d never been interested in fatherhood.
It’d been a natural transition to turn that hobby into a business with Adam, the man I’d thought I’d marry.
Until he’d nearly derailed my life with his betrayal.
But there was a reason Grandma Agnes had claimed my middle name was stubborn. Letting treachery get the better part of me hadn’t been an option.
Maybe in the beginning, with my name over the door and gleaming on my stationery, I’d hoped Adam would crawl back and beg forgiveness for the shitty move he’d pulled.
Or maybe I’d wanted to rub my success in the faces of those who found it so easy to snatch my happiness from me. I wanted to show them that I could exist in their world, hell, even rub shoulders with them.
Whatever. Freud would have a field day with me.
But those sensations had passed quickly and left a burning need to succeed for me and me alone.
But not the memory of Adam’s betrayal.
I rinsed the cup and walked over to the large corkboard where I’d pinned the itinerary for the next three months. I had the same schedule on my laptop but it pleased me to see my hard work laid out in pretty stationery.
May to August was the height of boating season. Most of my full-time staff were all on board leased vessels.
Monaco was especially busy. But a quick calculation confirmed what I’d told Gideon Mortimer. I could spare one member of staff, two at a stretch, which left Andrea, my second in command, and our part-time secretary. At seven and a half months pregnant and seasick even when on land, Andrea was going nowhere.
As if conjured by my thoughts, she waddled in a second later and stopped in surprise when she saw me. ‘Oh, I thought you’d have left for the day.’
‘No, I’ve been on the phone with Mr Mortimer.’
She rolled her eyes and fanned herself with a paper napkin. ‘Oh, jeez, is he still going on about the extra crew?’
Among other things. ‘Yep.’
‘And?’ She shuffled over and dropped heavily into the nearest chair.
‘I’m going to see if any of the other leasing companies can spare any crew members.’
Andrea grimaced. ‘Not to be a pessimist but you don’t have a hope in hell of that happening. They were super pissed when Giannopolous Boats chose you to join in the investment consortium on this yacht deal. They won’t be in a hurry to help you out.’
Just what I’d feared. I forced a shrug. ‘Then come five p.m. I’ll be calling Mortimer back to tell him to look elsewhere.’
Andrea rubbed one hand over her belly and continued to fan herself with the other. I was about to offer to crank up the AC when she looked up. ‘What’s the most important thing he’s asking for that we haven’t been able to provide him, apart from the unnecessary crew?’
‘From the sounds of it, he’s looking to buy a boat, and this client he’s expecting to wow the pants off of is a boat fanatic. He wants someone on hand 24/7 to spout statistics should he need it.’
She stared at me as her eyes brightened. ‘Pregnancy brain might be affecting me but aren’t I looking at the person who learned every nook and cranny of Giannopolous’s business so you could land a spot on the consortium?’
I shook my head. ‘Yeah, but it’s not going to work—’
Andrea started to lean forward, winced and sat back again. Her hand shifted to rub the side of her stomach. ‘Okay, no need to kick me quite so hard, mon petit coeur,’ she murmured to her baby. After a moment, she looked up. ‘Leonie, think about it. You’re exactly what this client needs. Are you really going to lose this commission or sale over one extra person?’
I frowned. ‘He hasn’t even stepped aboard yet and he’s already a giant pain in my arse.’
‘So what? You’ve dealt with worse and come out smiling.’
‘Not like him, Andrea.’ Not with that voice and that take-charge manner that had always been a weakness for me. They said opposites attracted. But I wasn’t shy and retiring one little bit. Besides stubborn, Grandma Agnes had also referred to me as a charging heifer once or twice. Unattractive but accurate. So Gideon Mortimer should be the last person to make my lady parts quiver. But quiver they did. I’d ignored my reaction but its effect lingered for a little longer than I wanted it to.
‘Well, I looked him up on the internet on my break. He’s effing loaded, Leonie. And not just him. His family are seriously influential. Like, related-to-royalty-from-the-year-dot type of influential. He’s a mathematical genius or something. His IQ is through the roof. Don’t ask me what it is, I don’t remember. Did I mention he’s loaded?’
My mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. ‘Yes, you did. Still doesn’t change the fact that I can’t conjure up crew I don’t have.’
‘No, but you can offer yourself.’
‘What?’
‘For the service he needs,’ she stressed.
I pulled my overactive brain from images of me servicing Gideon Mortimer in the most basic of ways to a much more professional arena. ‘It’s not just that. I can’t leave you to man the office for three weeks.’
‘Sure you can. Laurent loses a little more of his mind every time I walk out the door. I thought I was bad, but he’s been getting progressively worse as the birth gets closer. He finishes with the market at midday. He’d love nothing more than to spend the rest of the afternoon here keeping me company. Plus, if you do get the rental commission or—please, God—the sale, that would solve a few money issues for us.’
I mulled it over for a minute. If I sold the boat I would be able to do much more than that. I could make Andrea a partner, a plan I’d been mulling over as part of my expansion. ‘Are you sure?’
She nodded eagerly. ‘Absolutely.’ She struggled to her feet and headed towards the back of the office. ‘I need to pee. Don’t overthink it, Leonie. Just call him back and say yes.’
Don’t overthink it.
I took a deep breath and reached for the phone. ‘Hello, can I speak to Gideon Mortimer, please?’
He answered immediately, ‘You’re calling me with a yes, I hope?’
I ground my teeth for a single second. Any more and I risked a cracked molar. ‘Yes. On the crew front, you’ll have the additional staff you need. On one condition.’
‘I hate conditions.’
‘And I detest games, Mr Mortimer.’
‘All games or just specific ones?’ he drawled, amused.
‘For the sake of our potential business relationship, let’s stick to all games,’ I responded tightly.
‘Shame,’ he murmured. ‘What’s this condition?’
‘That you let me have full control of the crew and rotate them the way I see fit without any interference.’ The last thing I needed was any unreasonable demands on my crew.
‘I accept your condition. But before we move forward I also need your reassurance that you will be as flexible as you claim you can be.’
For some absurd reason my breath caught, my imagination latching on to sexual positions and breathless fucking. Exhaling slowly, I reined myself in. ‘Yes. Fine.’
‘No, I need a little more than that,’ he insisted, his tone half amused, half irritated, if such a thing was possible. ‘So say the words, Miss Branson. Tell me you can accommodate my wishes.’
I crossed my fingers and prayed my response would hold true a day, or even a week from now. That I wouldn’t be tempted to throw Gideon Mortimer overboard before he’d bought my boat. ‘I can accommodate your reasonable wishes.’
‘Good. I arrive at seven tomorrow morning.’
The line went dead.
I stepped into my shower two hours later with a sigh of relief. My apartment on the Rue Jean Jaurès in Cannes was large and spacious and beautifully decorated. It was a little on the extravagant side, but I was determined to make a statement straight off the bat. I meant business and I wanted anyone who paid attention to know it. The sea view alone was worth the five figures I paid in monthly rent.
But if I had to pick my favourite thing about my apartment, it was the luxurious power shower and sauna. With multiple jets and settings that delivered everything from rainforest mist to candlelit steam, it’d been love at first viewing.
For the first four months after I started Branson Sales & Leasing I’d lived on bread and cheese just so I could pay the rent. I could afford a more well-rounded meal in the best Michelin-starred establishment these days, but, while I thoroughly enjoyed those solo treats or client-wooing power lunches, my apartment was my sanctuary.
A place to forget men like Gideon Mortimer, with their endless bank accounts and lofty demands and pussy-tingling voices.
I braced my hands on the tiles and willed my irritation away. Two seconds after I’d hung up, I’d realised he hadn’t told me which airport he’d be flying into. His assistant had informed me when I called back that Gideon had left for the day and she had no idea what his plans were since he hadn’t informed her.
So now I had two limos heading to two private airports. It wasn’t a big deal—my business could easily absorb the costs—it didn’t augur well for ignoring the temptation to throw him overboard at the first opportunity.
Just a little longer.
By this time next month, the yacht would either be sold or the rental commission would be a huge boost to my firm’s profile and hopefully attract more clients like Gideon Mortimer.
Then I could be rid of the lingering sense of unworthiness I’d never been truly able to shake since Adam—
Dammit, why was I thinking about Adam again when he hadn’t crossed my mind in weeks? I hated that he’d compounded feelings my father had engendered within me by his blatant dismissal of me as a child.
But then, your fiancé running off with a rich heiress weeks before your wedding had a way of totally sideswiping you. And as much as I tried I couldn’t rid myself of the hollow sensation inside me.
Enough!
I was probably thinking about the past because Gideon’s air of entitlement triggered traits I’d seen in my father before I’d cut off all contact with the man.
As for Adam...it’d been a relief that six months ago he’d finally stopped opening dummy accounts in the hopes of friending me on Facebook. Not so much the hang-ups I’d been getting on my mobile phone lately, forcing me to change my phone number.
Whatever he was selling, I wasn’t buying.
Being rejected once by your own flesh and blood was bad enough. A repeat by the man you’d thought you’d spend the rest of your life with had a way of sharpening your perspective on men and relationships.
These days I was much more discerning of men to the point where the occasional one night was more than enough for me. The rest of the time, my battery-operated boyfriends sufficed just fine.
I turned off the shower, dried off and sprawled out on my bed. Unbidden, the conversation with Gideon Mortimer replayed in my mind, especially the naughty bits, uttered in that unbelievably sexy voice of his.
Find a way to get us both what we want. Tell me you can accommodate my wishes.
Did he use suggestive words like that in the bedroom? Or was he an outright dirty talker?
What the hell did that matter to me?
I flipped over, my body growing hot and clammy as his deep voice continued to echo through my head. Clamping my eyes shut, I growled in frustration and tugged open the drawer of my bedside table. I hadn’t touched my vibrator in a while, not since the preparation for the busy season had kicked in. Usually I was too tired from a hard day’s work and crashed the moment my head touched the pillow.
Today I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep without a little carnal therapy.
With an anticipatory shiver, I turned on the device. I slid it over my belly and between my legs, my breath catching at how wet I was already. At the first touch of the vibrator against my clit, my nipples pebbled, pleasure radiating from my groin. As a resident of a place that boasted more beautiful people per square metre than anywhere else on earth, I never lacked visual fodder for my sexual fantasies.
A French count with a hot accent.
An Australian bodybuilder here for the summer.
A Californian surfer crewing on a catamaran while learning French.
They were a dime a dozen along the coast.
But of course, the moment I found my groove and my hips began to move in pleasurable rhythm, the deep, sinfully cultured tones of a minor British aristocrat invaded my brain.
Miss Branson...
I need a little more than that...
Accommodate my wishes...
Say the words, Miss Branson...
With a broken gasp, my orgasm tore through me. My back arched off the bed and my whole body shook as I came harder than I had in a long time. I dropped the vibrator and boldly cupped myself, eager to hold on to the release for a little longer as my body continued to convulse, my gasps growing louder as I teased out of the last of my climax.
The descent was slow and languid, my body humming contentedly as I regained my breath.
And then with a groan, I buried my face in the pillow.
Hell.
Gideon Mortimer hadn’t made an appearance yet and he was already more than a pain in my arse. He’d just elevated himself to an ache in my pussy.
