His face had also grown broader and harder. Everything about it was strong and chiseled--the lines of his cheekbones and the planes of his cheeks were slashes that only just evaded harshness. Not even his lips--firmly sculpted as they were--showed any hint of softness.
But, some things definitely had not changed--the intensity he exuded the way some men exuded aftershave. And of course, the lethal potency of his smile.
There really should be a law.
“Ali! Good to see you again!” Evidently, he had decided to continue with his façade of affability.
He took her hand in a firm grip, sending a jolt of awareness through her. She was still tightening her control over that reaction when he reached up and ran a light finger along the side of her face. She started at the electricity of that touch.
“You are looking well, querida,” he said, his tone caressing. And then, before she could deliver an appropriate set-down, he had dropped his hand and turned away. “Sit, please.” He glanced back at her with another careless grin.
She gave him a nod that was, if anything, even stiffer than her smile. Her face, she was sure, must be bright red. She could still feel the surging heat that his touch had provoked, even though he was now a safe distance away. And she was fervently glad that she had kept her jacket buttoned over the thin silk of her shirt, for the visibility of her peaked nipples would only have deepened her chagrin.
How could her body still respond to him like this? She knew as well as anyone could, that he was a ruthless, opportunistic bastard. But dammit, it still hurt to see him again. She really hadn’t thought it would. Not after all these years.
“Alvarez.” She sat.
“Why do you insist upon standing on formality like this, Ali?”
Because I don’t trust you. You fooled me once before with your cursed charm and your ardent looks.
She shrugged. “It’s been a few years. We’re strangers, really.”
“Nonsense! Your father…” Rafael shook his head, and Ali noticed a momentary hardening of his expression before it was wiped away by more smiles and ease. “He is family. And that makes you family as well, Ali. So come, let’s dispense with this artificial barrier you insist upon erecting between us.”
Ali drew in a deep breath. Did she really want to do that? After a moment’s thought, she shrugged. “All right Rafael. So, tell me about this new fund you’re setting up.”
He shook his head as he settled back into the plush leather chair behind his desk. “First, I wanted to ask about Mason.” The smile had disappeared and as he continued, he watched her with those intent black eyes. “I spoke to him this morning, and he made it sound as if he would be ready to go back to work tomorrow. How is he really?”
Ali’s jaw tightened. What the hell do you care? she wanted to ask. But, looking at his grim expression, she had to concede the slim possibility that maybe he really did care about her dad. At least that’s something.
Her father loved Rafael like the son he never had--and so, even when she had discovered what a bastard Rafael could be, she hadn’t told Mason. Who knew--perhaps Rafael had, in part, been acting on some subtly expressed wish of her father’s, in wooing her as he did.
But regardless, she knew it would have hurt Mason deeply to hear the truth about what she thought of Rafael and his behavior. And she couldn’t do that to him--so instead, she had simply declared the subject of their breakup off limits. As usual, her father had honored that declaration.
“He’s not well at all--but he’s just looking for an excuse to get back to work,” she said, her frustration at her father’s stubbornness creeping into her tone. “He’s been okay these last few days because he’s had to get me up to speed and that’s kept him busy. But I’m not sure what he’s going to do once I’m completely up to speed.”
Rafael nodded, sitting back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Perhaps you could keep him involved? Bring home information on new directions, investments and the like for him to explore?”
She shook her head. “The doctor says he mustn’t have any kind of stress, Rafael. He needs to rest if he’s to get better.”
His mouth tightened. “It seems to me that being forced to twiddle his thumbs and do nothing would be far more stressful to someone like Mason than reading through a few annual reports.”
Irritation flared at the wry authoritativeness of his tone. “He’s my father, Rafael. I think I know what’s best for him.”
Rafael raised an eyebrow. “If you did, then perhaps you would not have abandoned him for eight years while you gadded about, here there and everywhere.” His expression hardened as he leaned forward in his chair once more and impaled her with a glare. “He wanted you here--you do know that don’t you? He wanted you to take over the business from him.”
“Funny--I thought it was you who was being groomed for that role.” Ali didn’t want Rafael to guess at how much his words, all those years ago, had hurt her. Her refusal accept the leg up that being her father’s daughter would have given her was the direct result of Rafael’s cutting set down during that disastrous final argument. Instead, she had set out to prove herself on her own merits--and, as far as she was concerned, she had succeeded.
Rafael shrugged. “Mason always knew that I planned on being my own man, someday. Much though I respect him, I would not work for him indefinitely. But even knowing that, he spent the time with me, supported me and helped me whenever he could.” Rafael shook his head, his eyes glittering as he watched her. She could almost feel the coiled tension in him as he continued, “I will never be able to repay all your father has done for me. But that will not stop me from trying.”
Why did that sound almost like a threat?
Ali shoved the impression aside and nodded. “Fine. I’m glad to hear it. So, let’s talk about this fund of yours.”
Though she hated to admit it, Ali had followed the progress of Rafael’s career over the years, as he split off from her father to pursue the area that most interested him in investment: venture capital. With the connections he had made through Mason, Rafael had been perfectly poised to woo a range of wealthy investors into putting out money for him.
Insiders who knew about the comings and goings of Rafael’s meticulous but inspired management style couldn’t deny that his methods were highly effective, even if they did ruffle a few feathers along the way. Rafe seemed to have an instinct for choosing just the right ventures and nurturing them to a successful initial public offering with exactly the right tools for continued success. As a result, he had become one of the most closely-watched figures in North American finance. And any investment funds he offered were regarded as better than gold--especially given that gold had been prone to fluctuation in the last several decades.
Rafael watched her a few moments in silence, then sat back once more, smiling. “Of course. The fund. It will contain a portion of completely new ventures that I am overseeing and think have a great deal of promise. Another small portion will be publicly-traded investments in several businesses I have worked with in the past and which are faring well. My assistant has prepared documentation for you to take with you, as I know Mason is big on due diligence. But, I think you will see that there is a diverse range of sectors covered.”
Ali nodded. “And the rest?”
“You may not know this, but in recent years, I have been further diversifying my personal holdings by pursuing various ventures in real estate--with some considerable success. I have included a small portion of real estate developments in my more recent funds. But, this is the first time that a real estate development will be featured as a major portion of the fund.”
“A little risky, isn’t it? Your reputation is in working with promising startups. Many of our clients have come to think of you as the man who knows how to take the uncertainty out of a high-risk field.”
He shrugged, his expression disinterested. “Then more the fool they. I have worked hard, but venture capital is always a high-risk undertaking. S
till, I have always done whatever was necessary to ensure the success of the companies I choose because I do not consider failure an option. I have done the same with real estate. To win big, you must risk much. Your clients should know that.”
He stood and walked over to the door of his office. He moved with the tight grace of a dancer and Ali watched him with fascination, even as she did her best to focus on what he was saying. “But, it is your responsibility to manage their portfolios, not mine. You will have to judge their risk tolerance for yourself. Coffee?”
“Sorry?” Ali shook her head. “Oh, yes please.”
“Latte, cappuccino or espresso?”
“Latte, no sugar.”
He opened the door slightly. “Shana, would you please grab us one latte and one espresso? Gracias.” Then, leaving it ajar, he returned to his seat and looked at her expectantly. “So? What do you think?”
“Well, I’ll have to look at the documentation you mentioned. And as for the real estate venture…”
“You do know, of course, that I am offering this to your clients as a special favour to your father? I could easily sell out the fund with no intermediary, take the full commissions for myself, and make a far bigger profit.”
“Of course.” Ali frowned. He wasn’t exaggerating, much though his confidence grated. Even on Saturday, as she had mingled with a number of her father’s wealthier clients--both new and old--every one of them had asked whether Ali would be able to plump out their portfolios with another Alvarez fund. She had glossed over her response at the time, but even through the caffeine buzz, she had recognized the subtle imperative in their friendly questions. They wanted whatever they could get of Rafael’s investments, and if Ali couldn’t acquire it for them, they might well start looking elsewhere. She was all too aware that with her father no longer handling the portfolios, her position was particularly precarious.
“Let me guess.” Rafael cut into her thoughts with another one of his blinding grins. “Due diligence. You want to see the place for yourself.”
“That’s a given, Rafael.” Her father had always emphasized the importance of assessing investments personally rather than going on hearsay--regardless of how reliable the source. Thorsten had reinforced that as part of his own long-term investment strategy.
“Fair enough. You might not have learned much from your father but at least that one lesson sank in, hey?”
“That’s out of line.”
His grin widened, and he raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “Okay, okay,” he conceded easily. “Forget I said it. Tell you what. I want this whole thing tied up as soon as possible. I’m heading over to Vancouver Island to have another look at the Ucluelet site on Friday. It will mean a working weekend, but you can come if you wish. You can have a look at the plans for yourself and I’ll show you around. Then, you can get back to me by, say, next Wednesday.”
She thought about it. Rafael Alvarez was a busy man these days. She knew full well that few people were given this kind of opportunity to investigate a site, in his personal company. After all, he had investors crawling out of the woodwork. No real need, then, to provide that kind of face time with any potential financier.
But, he had nonetheless made the suggestion, and it would be the perfect opportunity to judge for herself the viability of this new venture before deciding whether or not to invest her clients’ funds.
On the other hand, it would also mean a weekend alone with Rafael Alvarez--and what made perfect sense from a business perspective spelled disaster on a personal level. He still had an effect on her--even the short periods she had spent in his company made that abundantly clear. So, spending a whole weekend with him--in one of the most beautiful, romantic spots on the West Coast, no less--was surely complete folly.
Yet what choice did she have? Her clients wanted to invest in Rafael’s ventures--but this fund was different, because it involved real estate rather than an area where he had proven his strength. And, while she might have acquitted herself nicely in Europe under Thorsten Wolff’s tutelage, she had yet to build up a local track record.
If she committed to the venture and the real estate portion of the investment proved disastrous, she could badly sully her reputation even as she was working on building it. But at the same time, turning down an Alvarez fund would not impress any of her clients unless she could prove that Rafael had lost his touch--or was out of his depth in real estate.
And the only way she could find that out would be through meticulous investigation.
Ali nodded, only now noticing that he had been watching her with an amused expression. “All right. I’ll come with you.”
He inclined his head. “Wasn’t that difficult, was it?”
She was saved from having to respond by the arrival of the coffees. After Shana had closed the door behind her, Ali raised an ironic eyebrow. “Is it just me, or… shouldn’t she be in school or something?”
Rafael, who had already downed his espresso, let out a bark of laughter. “It’s August, Ali. School’s out for the summer.”
“A little young for you, isn’t she, Rafael?”
“I never mix business with pleasure. But in fact, she is also a temp--filling in for my regular assistant, who is on holiday for a few weeks.”
“I see.” Idiotic as it was, the ambiguity of his statement provoked a brief stab of jealousy as Ali wondered whether Rafael was only waiting until his own assistant was back before asking the sumptuous Shana out for dinner followed by dancing. Given his reputation as a man who worked hard and played hard, she had little doubt they’d be ending off the evening with the horizontal mambo.
Ali shoved aside the sudden, vivid recollection of Saturday night--and the feel of his muscled body pressing against her. Setting down her cup, she stood. “I’d best be off.”
He rose to his feet and held out his hand. “See you Friday, then. You’re staying with your father, yes?” At her nod, he continued. “Fine. I’ll stop by at eight ten so we can catch the eight-thirty ferry. Shana can take care of the accommodation arrangements.”
“Great.” She shook his hand and turned to leave.
“Oh and Ali?” She glanced back to see him grinning at her once more.
“Yes?” It came out sounding more abrupt than she intended, but he looked good--better than good, in fact--and she didn’t want him to guess that her indifference was a façade.
“Don’t forget to bring a bathing suit,” he said, giving her an insolently slow once-over that flared her indignation--and a treacherous hint of excitement. “Something suitably demure, mind. This is a business trip, after all--I wouldn’t want to be completely distracted by that perfect body of yours.”
He winked as he said it, but Ali already felt herself stiffening with an altogether different emotion: burning mortification.
Swinging around, she stalked out of the room, not caring if her behaviour seemed rude. Nor did she look behind her or even slow her pace until she reached the elevator.
CHAPTER THREE
She arrived at the house in a foul mood.
Her father had converted parts of the West Coast-style mansion into a home office, complete with a trading floor and several workstations for him and his staff in the walkout basement, which had a separate, secured entry so that the staff could come and go freely. In addition, there were two sumptuous front rooms done up to look like a library and a study, where he could meet with his clients in privacy and discuss their investments.
Slamming the front door behind her, Ali kicked off her shoes with more force than care.
“Ali?”
She pulled in a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. “Yes, Dad?” She walked through the front hall to the high-ceilinged living room--one of the private portions of the house--where he was reclining on one of the couches.
“Rafael called. He says you forgot the documentation when you left today?”
Ali closed her eyes, berating herself for the oversight.
“No wor
ries, sweetheart,” her father continued. “He says he’ll just stop by on his way home and drop it off.”
“Great,” she muttered, heading for the kitchen, whose free-standing counter tops were the only thing that separated it from the vast living room. “I’m just grabbing some juice. Did you want some, Dad?”
“Sure. An o.j. for me, sweetie. So what’s this about you heading off to the Island with Rafael for the weekend?”
Ali felt herself tense, but again, she took a deep breath. Holding a juice bottle in each hand, she bumped the fridge closed with her hip and headed for the living room.
When she flopped down on the couch beside her father, she did her best to shrug indifferently. “He’s got this real estate venture that he’s packaging up as part of the new fund.” She passed her dad one of the bottles.
“Ah, I see.” Mason nodded wisely, then slanted her a rueful grin. “And here I was, starting to hope--“
“Well don’t,” she snapped abruptly before forcing herself to smile. “Sorry, Dad. But this is just business. There’s nothing between us.”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
She tried not to squirm under his scrutiny. “Look Dad, just--“
“I’m just concerned for you, sweetheart. If there’s some kind of tension between you and Rafael…” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable with him.”
“I’ll survive,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “Besides, I want to make sure this venture looks sound before committing to it. And the only way to do that…”
“… is in person,” he finished for her. “True enough. But you know, honey, if you’re going to be uncomfortable, then I could always go instead.”
Ali glared at him, her eyes narrowed. “So that’s what this is all about. Very sneaky, Dad.”
Leaving Rafe Page 3