Entrapped: A Billionaire Romance (The ROGUES Series Book 3)

by Tracie Delaney

  James accompanied a grimace with a low chuckle, then nodded. “I’ll get the message to her.”

  He spun on his heel and left, clicking the door closed behind him.

  I split my screen so I could read the rest of Ryker’s presentation and keep an eye on the cameras in the lobby, and scanned the rest of the document. By the time I reached the last slide, I’d decided to support the motion. The return on investment was far too good to pass up. I groaned, imagining Ryker’s smug expression when he presented yet further evidence his pet project was raking it in.

  Sitting back in my chair, I steepled my fingers underneath my chin and watched Catriona grow more and more fidgety. She kept getting to her feet, pacing up and down, retaking her seat, and then starting the whole process all over again. Several times she checked her watch, then glanced up at the clock on the wall behind the main reception desk. Further pacing ensued.

  Once thirty minutes had passed since I’d gotten the call, she walked over to the receptionist. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but I knew the point of her query.

  How much longer will I have to wait?

  The answer: At least ten minutes after her twenty-four hours were up which meant, technically, my offer timed out.

  Yeah, I’m a bastard. I live with it just fine.

  At one point, she glanced up at one of the CCTV cameras affixed in the corner, and I could have sworn, if my lipreading abilities were up to scratch, she mouthed “asshole”.

  I chuckled to myself. I hadn’t had this much fun in ages, and I planned to stretch it out for nothing more than my own amusement.

  When the clock ticked past the deadline, Catriona made another visit to the reception desk. I watched as the receptionist clearly tried to make excuses for my behavior, her hands waving about, gesturing, no doubt explaining how busy I was and that I’d be available soon, while internally cursing me for putting her in such a difficult and potentially confrontational position.

  Catriona wouldn’t berate the member of staff, though. No, she’d save her ire for me.

  I couldn’t wait.

  I left it another five minutes, then buzzed through to James.

  “Send her up.”

  I watched as the receptionist answered James’ call, nodded, replaced the receiver, and then handed Catriona a visitor’s pass. She motioned to the bank of elevators. Catriona strode in that direction and disappeared from view.

  Standing, I stretched out my back and ambled over to the corner sofa on the far side of my office. I unfastened my jacket, sat, crossed my legs, and waited.

  The door opened, and Catriona walked inside. Her gaze fell on my empty desk, and she frowned and paused mid-step.

  “What a lovely surprise, Miss Landry,” I drawled.

  She spun around and narrowed her eyes. “Finally,” she said, staring at me coldly. “I’ve been waiting downstairs for almost an hour.”

  I rose to my feet, refastened the button on my single-breasted jacket, and prowled toward her. “I’m a busy man, Miss Landry. When people turn up without an appointment, I can’t simply drop everything to accommodate them.”

  She stood her ground, hatred burning in her eyes, the potent emotion darkening her striking irises from emerald to a forest green. “Whatever,” she muttered and thrust the contract at me. “Here. You got what you wanted.”

  Smirking, I took it from her and flipped to the back page. As her comment indicated, she had signed it.

  Let the fun begin.

  I tore it in half, drawing a gasp of horror from Catriona. I let the pieces fall to the floor.

  “You’re too late. I told you my offer was only open for twenty-four hours.” I made a point of checking my watch. I even tapped the clock face for added effect. “I make it twenty-four hours and thirteen minutes.”

  She gracefully dropped to her knees and gathered up the bits of the contract. I bit back a moan as blood rushed to my groin, the sight of her kneeling hardening my cock.

  “I told you, I got here almost an hour ago,” she declared. “I was here in plenty of time. It’s not my fault you waited until now to see me.”

  I noted a hint of desperation to her tone that wasn’t there before. Something had changed since I visited her studio yesterday, something that made Catriona desperately need to sell when she’d blocked every attempt for me to purchase her business for the last three weeks.

  “It’s hardly my issue that you left it until the eleventh hour to do what you should have done weeks ago.”

  Her gaze lowered to the floor. “What happens now?” she asked. “Is that it? The deal’s off?”

  There it was again. Desperation. Worry. A note of fear to her soft, lilting voice. Hell of a one-eighty from her previous entrenched position, and I wanted to know why.

  “What’s changed?”

  She touched the base of her neck, and her head flinched back slightly. “What?”

  “You heard me. I don’t like repeating myself.”

  “What game are you playing now, Mr. Gauthier?” she bit out. “You wanted my business. I’ve agreed to sell it at the price offered. What more is there to say?”

  I stroked my chin, then strolled past her and settled behind my desk. I knitted my fingers together and locked my gaze on her. “Here’s the thing, Miss Landry. I’ve been entrenched in the business world long enough to know that when there is a huge gulf between two opposing parties, for the gap to narrow in such a short space of time means there’s been a profound shift of some sort. I’d like to know what changed your mind.”

  Her lips thinned into a firm line. “My reasons are my own, Mr. Gauthier. You wanted my business, even threatened me to get it, and now you’ve won. Pay me what you promised, relish in your victory, and you and I never have to see each other again.”

  Oh no. That won’t do at all.

  Catriona Landry was someone I wanted to keep around for a while longer yet. The entertainment value was too good to pass up, not to mention the granite-like erection this altercation between us had given me. I didn’t expect her to tell me her motive for selling, but I’d find out the reason why one way or another.

  I opened a file on my computer where James had stored the different contracts for the hotel venture. Inside the main folder were sub folders for each of the businesses. I found the one containing all the offers made to Catriona. Bypassing the latest one, the pieces of which she clutched between her fingers, I opened the previous contract. I clicked on the print icon, and seconds later, the printer on my desk spat out the eight pages constituting the sale and purchase agreement.

  I pushed it across the desk and placed a pen on top of the wad of cream pages.

  “Sign it.”

  Catriona shuffled over to my desk and set down the torn pieces of paper from the other contract. She picked up the pen and the new contract and flicked through each individual sheet. When she reached page seven, where the financial settlement was laid out, she sucked in a sharp breath.

  “This is not the amount we agreed upon, Mr. Gauthier.”

  I arched a brow. “I think you’ll find it is, Miss Landry. I made it very clear to you yesterday that the enhanced offer extended for a period of twenty-four hours. That deadline has passed, meaning it is now null and void. What you see there is all I am willing to pay. Take it or leave it.”

  She’d shown her hand, revealed she needed the money, and if she’d told me outright why, I might have allowed the increased offer to stand. As she’d decided to make me work for the answers I sought, I’d charge her a fee amounting to the ten percent increase I’d proposed yesterday. Regardless of my growing and, frankly, surprising attraction to the fiery woman standing before me, business was business. I never allowed my dick to rule my head. She knew the rules, and she flouted them—somewhat aided by me.

  Her eyes glistened, and for one horrifying moment, I thought she might cry. Then she blinked several times, gathered her emotions, mashed them into a ball of hatred that she parked in the pit of her stomach, and s
crawled her signature on the bottom of the contract, digging the pen so hard into the paper, it almost went right through.

  “There. I hope this makes you happy, you absolute bastard.”

  I leaned forward and twisted the contract around, then pulled it toward me. “Thank you. It makes me very happy indeed.”

  She snorted. “You’ll get what’s coming to you one day, Mr. Gauthier. And I hope I’m around to witness it.”

  Spinning on her heel, she marched across my office, wrenched open the door, and slammed it behind her.

  I pushed back my chair and stepped over to the window, waiting for her to appear on the street below. I caught sight of her, shoulders hunched, and a defeated curve to her normally erect spine. Despite that, she still moved with poise and grace, and try as I might, I couldn’t tear my gaze away as her long limbs ate up the distance.

  A trace of contrition took root in my gut. I killed it with a shot of bourbon.

  I’d never allowed room for sentiment in business, and I didn’t intend to start now.

  10

  Catriona

  I couldn’t face going straight home in the wake of that horrendous meeting with Gauthier. Instead, I grabbed a cup of tea and sat in the window of a café across the road from the bus stop. I played our meeting over in my mind. God, the man was so callous. I hated him. Hated. Him. How he managed to sleep at night was beyond me. Then again, he’d probably sold his soul many years ago and consequently slept like a baby.

  When he’d withdrawn the higher offer, I’d almost told him to shove it. Hell, I’d come within an inch of ripping up that second contract and scattering the pieces over his head, but I couldn’t do that to Aiden. While I hadn’t told him yet that I’d found a way to send him to Switzerland, meaning he’d be none the wiser, I’d know.

  But Gauthier’s reduced offer meant Aiden’s time in Switzerland would be even shorter now, and that piled more financial pressure on my shoulders. I mused whether I should have told him how sick my brother was. Maybe knowing a fifteen-year-old innocent boy had contracted a life-threatening illness might tug on his heartstrings. Then again, a man like that would probably use it to his own advantage in some way. Knowledge is power. Never truer when it came to the heinous Garen Gauthier.

  I checked my watch and saw it was past seven-thirty. Damn. I’d lost track of time. I launched to my feet and jogged across the street to catch the bus. I’d just missed one, but another would be along in a few minutes so I might as well wait. The last thing I needed was to get distracted again and end up having to catch a cab home. I needed every cent I could lay my hands on. There was no room for any kind of luxuries now, not that there ever really had been.

  A stiff wind raised the hair on the back of my neck, and I lifted the collar on my coat. A couple joined me at the bus stop, their arms wound around each other, their lips touching in a brief moment of intimacy before they caught me looking and broke apart. I wanted to tell them not to mind me, but that might embarrass them further, and so I averted my gaze.

  Peering down the street, I spotted the bus pulling into another stop about a quarter mile away. Good. I could barely feel my feet, and my nose kept running from the cold.

  What is going on with this shitty weather?

  I riffled through my pocket and produced a tissue, then blew my nose. As I stepped forward to put it in the trash, a sleek limousine eased to a halt right at the bus stop, blatantly ignoring the clear signs that marked the space as busses only. When the rear door opened, my jaw dropped.

  What the hell is Gauthier up to now?

  “Get in,” he ordered, jerking his chin at me.

  “No, thank you,” I replied stiffly, stamping my feet to try to get a bit of life back into them. “My bus is on its way.”

  “Get in the damn car, Catriona, or the deal is off.”

  The young couple stared at us, their eyes wide as they absorbed the vexatious atmosphere between the two strangers, the unexpected entertainment a welcome distraction from the interminable wait for public transport.

  “You wouldn’t,” I gasped.

  He arched a perfectly shaped brow. “Is that a serious comment?”

  “I’ve signed a contract.”

  “Who says?” he replied. “There were no witnesses, and you didn’t take a copy. Rookie mistake, but there we have it.”

  I laughed bitterly. “Oh, you are a piece of work.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  “I know. Now get in the car before I throw you over my shoulder.”

  Trapped, and with no clear way out, I skirted around him and climbed into the back of his car. Even before he got in beside me and closed the door, the warmth of the cabin started to unfreeze my feet. I fastened my seat belt and rubbed my hands up and down my arms.

  “I can warm you up, if you’d like,” Gauthier said, his eyes glowing with mirth.

  Damn man is enjoying my discomfort.

  I cast a withering scowl in his direction. “I’d rather get into a coffin filled with rats.”

  He chuckled. “Sounds like a day in the business world.”

  “Where you’re the biggest rat of all, no doubt.”

  His chuckle grew into a loud laugh. “Keep the insults coming, Catriona. I find it an enormous turn on.”

  My eyes flitted to his crotch. It was a pure reflex given his comment, and they barely went there. Not really. It didn’t matter, though. He noticed.

  And so did I.

  Yep, there’s a definite bulge.

  Then again, as far as I understood male physiology, most men his age got a hard-on without any form of stimulation, either physical or mental.

  “Does it turn you on, too, Catriona?” he murmured, his gray eyes locking on to mine and sending a fissure of anxiety traveling up my spine. “Are you turned on simply by knowing I’m hard for you without you doing anything to instigate it?”

  “No,” I snapped. “I find you disgusting.”

  I held my breath, waiting for a biting comeback. Instead, he schooled his expression, his smirk fading into nothingness.

  “Where shall I drop you?”

  I shifted uncomfortably at the icy chill to his tone. “At my studio is fine.” Not a chance I’d let this man know where I lived. I didn’t doubt for a second he could find out my address without too much trouble if he desired, but I wouldn’t gift him the information.

  “My studio, you mean,” he stated.

  I winced. “The contract said I had two days to clear out my things.” I shrugged. “No time like the present.”

  “As you wish,” he murmured. He pushed a button on the center armrest and gave his driver the address, then turned his attention out of the window. For the rest of the journey, neither of us spoke, and by the time the car drew to a halt in front of the row of businesses, all of which were now closed up and firmly in the possession of the man sitting to my right, the atmosphere had become almost unbearable.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I muttered, eager to leave his presence. Pressing down on the handle, I had one leg out of the car when he spoke.

  “Catriona?”

  I twisted to peer over my shoulder. “Yes?”

  “I’ll be in touch. Soon.”

  “Don’t bother,” I hit back. “I’ll email over my banking details. You can deposit the money directly into my account. I’ll be sure to vacate the property by the end of Sunday.”

  I got out before he could say another word. Fumbling for my keys, I unlocked the rarely used front door—I had the students use the one to the side as that entrance took them past the changing area—and entered my beloved ballet studio for one of the last times.

  The second I closed the door, locking out the cruel world beyond, I slid to the floor and dissolved into tears.

  I gave myself exactly one minute to cry, to grieve for the loss of a business that had been in my family for over forty years, and then I scrambled to my feet, dusted myself off and, once I’d made sure Gau
thier wasn’t still loitering outside, I set off for home.

  Tomorrow I’d call Dr. Sully and put the wheels in motion for Aiden’s treatment in Switzerland.

  In the end, that was all that mattered.

  11

  Garen

  After a restless night’s sleep, I trudged downstairs, calling out for Margo. And then I remembered it was Saturday, and she didn’t work weekends.

  Unlike me.

  It didn’t matter what day of the week it was, I always worked. Now that Catriona had finally conceded defeat and signed over her dance studio, I could put the wheels in motion to get the building of the hotel underway.

  Task one: demolition.

  Usually I looked forward to this part. Razing the buildings to the ground and making way for the footings of the new hotel to begin always gave me a sense of thrill, of achievement. Yet for some strange reason, this time I dreaded it.

  Maybe I’d become jaded. When I’d first touted the idea of a chain of hotels with the aim to further diversify the ROGUES’ portfolio, I’d relished every single build, treating each one like my baby. Vancouver would be the eighth ROGUES hotel, and I should be eagerly awaiting this one more than any of the others. Vancouver was my home. Although I was born and raised in Quebec, Montreal, where my parents still lived, Vancouver had stolen my heart. To build a hotel here should bring me an enormous sense of pride, yet the thought of flattening that row of buildings where dreams had been fulfilled—and crushed—brought me no joy at all.

  Catriona.

  Her name sprang up out of nowhere. That woman had wormed her way inside my head, and I’d only met her three times. I couldn’t work out why she was on my mind more than she should be, or why the sight of her entering her studio last night, her shoulders bowed as if she carried the weight of the world on them was the cause for last night’s lack of sleep. Whatever the reason, it wouldn’t veer me from my path.

  And to prove that point to myself, I fired off an email to the firm I’d hired to take on the build and instructed them to begin the preparations. I’d already secured planning consent, predicated on the butcher and Catriona signing over their businesses. Now that they had, there was nothing to stop me forging ahead.