Zoa shrugged. “You should probably take this to your abogado.”
“Yes,” Cheryl said, taking the letter back. She knew the term abogado well enough. It meant lawyer. It cost a fortune, but you had to have one in Spain. Things were complicated here, and a lawyer had to check over everything or you would find yourself screwed. But she had made sure that the building contract was air-tight.
Well, that ruined her good mood. She tried to dismiss it. Difficulties were just part of life; she knew that better than anyone. She would deal with those, too—tomorrow. The Spanish had a point in that approach to life.
Turning the stove on, she waited a moment and placed the pork chops in the pan. She couldn’t help worrying, though. All she’d worked so hard for being threatened, again. No, she wasn’t going to let it happen this time. She would fight tooth and nail. Never again was she going to get screwed out of what was hers.
Chapter 10
Although they were interesting, Paul wasn’t entirely sure about these new events he got invited to now that Rosalie was dating Alexi, or rather, Rosalie insisted on dragging him to. The conversation was often inane and these people more or less demanded that their opinions were interesting.
He smiled kindly to the waiter who placed a tray of champagne in front of him. At least they had decent grog, he had to admit. He took a swig of the champagne and looked around. The view out over the hills and the dark sea beyond was stunning. The lights twinkled with the lifting heat of the day.
One actually missed a bit of cold drizzle—something he’d never thought he would admit, but a bit of grey mistiness would not go amiss. Maybe it was time for a trip back to see the parents. He could just imagine setting out from Heathrow in his rental car to hit cold, humid rain on the M40. Undoubtedly, he’d be swearing by that time. He smiled and took another swig of champagne.
Rosalie was talking to a man Paul didn’t know. Spanish archaeology. He made an attempt to seem interested, but he really wasn’t. “Oh, Paul,” Rosalie said. “Have you met Roger Cavandish?”
“Don’t think so,” Paul said, shaking his hand. “Paul Wilkes.”
“And what do you do, Paul?”
“I’m a professor at the business school.”
“Oh?” Roger said, unsure if he was impressed or not. Now waiting for Paul to ask him what he did in return.
“Stunning view,” Paul said. “How long have you lived in Marbella? I’m assuming you live here.”
“I go between here and London,” Roger said, looking slightly put off at being robbed of the opportunity to puff out his chest and brag about what fantastic and lucrative firm he’d built.
“I was just thinking of rain. One does miss it, doesn’t one?”
“Not really,” Roger said.
Rosalie looked between them and Alexi appeared. The change in Roger was noticeable. His offense fleeted away now that Alexi was there. Roger had a more important agenda now and started talking about the changing investment regulations in Russia. Alexi listened. The man hardly ever showed what was on his mind, good or bad. He rarely smiled. How Rosalie could tolerate him, Paul didn’t know, and he didn’t want to.
Paul took the opportunity to wander off, find more interesting conversation, but the dinner bell rang and it was time to take their seats. The table was laid out beautifully, the plates all Royal Daulton with silver cutlery, laid out with longest to shortest. There were at least five courses. The chef had been flown in from Paris, an up and coming Michelin hopeful.
Looking around the table, Paul saw a few people he’s spoken to, including Roger and his blond bubbling companion. They looked mismatched, a match only money could bring by. The seat next to him was spare.
“Sorry I’m late,” a woman’s voice said when everyone was seated.
Looking up, Paul saw an absolute goddess walk to the seat next to his. She was utterly golden, perfect legs up to her chin. Sitting down, putting her clutch on the table and pushing her dark golden curls away from her face.
“Flight was delayed,” she said and shrugged. “But it looks like I made it just in time.” She looked around the table, her head held high as she nodded to some people. Her eyes rested on Alexi for a moment, then Rosalie. Raising her eyebrows, she returned her gaze to the plate being placed in front of her, what looked like a scallop covered in a colourful salsa. A green-coloured substance streaked away from the centre of the plate. It actually looked like art. Paul’s attention shifted to his own plate being placed down.
Taste exploded in his mouth with the first bite. The scallop melted and note upon note came through on his tongue. It was utterly delicious. The chef was obviously gifted.
“And who are you?” the goddess said after the scallops had been devoured.
“Paul Wilkes,” he said. “Professor of Strategic Management.”
She looked at him as if he was something she wasn’t sure about. “Cheyenne,” she said. “Also known as Baronessa Vennhagen. So you’re an academic? An elusive breed in these parts.”
“There are a few of us around.”
“Like Alexi’s new flame, I believe.”
“My sister.”
“Is she?” she said with a slow smile spreading across her perfect lips. “And what is it you research?”
No, please, dilute a lifetime’s work into a soundbite, please. “In a nutshell, how to get what you want.”
She smiled and leaned a bit closer. “I am good at that.”
“I’m sure you are.”
He didn’t actually know what he thought of her. In a way, she was like a punch in the face, something he didn’t quite know how to take. Shifting her legs, she uncrossed and recrossed. He couldn’t help noticing. They really were the loveliest legs he’d ever seen. The skin was so uniform, so dusky and tanned.
A flush spread across his cheeks when he noted her watching him, seeing exactly how he responded.
“Alexi is my ex,” she said, putting her elbow casually on the chair back. “I left him. He is… emotionally underdeveloped. He is not really fit to be with someone.”
“My sister is currently dating him,” he reminded her.
Cheyenne looked concerned. “I hope she is careful. He can be very cruel.” Sadness marred her lovely features and her gaze looked distant as if remembering traumatic events. She put her hand into his. “He’s also fickle, so you should warn her. Men like Alexi take what they want and leave when they feel someone doesn’t serve them anymore. Rich men are awful. They treat women like servants.”
Something about Cheyenne led him to believe she wouldn’t put up with any man treating her as a servant. Her statements just didn’t ring true and he had to wonder what her intentions were.
Chapter 11
“Are you attached?” Cheyenne asked as everyone started leaving the table and milling around on the lawn in front of the house, where stunning views were presented as party favours. Not that she cared in the least bit. It wasn’t that she disrespected loyalty. What was the point in respecting something where it didn’t exist?
“I am divorced,” Paul said, his gin and tonic held low in both hands.
“Isn’t everyone these days?”
“You’re divorced as well?”
Not technically, she thought, but smiled instead. There was no purpose in answering that question.
Roger was giving her looks behind Paul’s back, but she gave him that ‘don’t be tiresome’ look and he walked away. He was angry, but she really didn’t care. She had no use for him after tonight anyway. He’d served his purpose. Unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to bring Dominic Dunbury to the party, but there was more than one way to catch a fish.
“Marbella was more or less a direct response to the divorce,” he said. “A change, I suppose.”
Cheyenne smiled, more at the thought of spending Christmas at Alexi’s apartment. Just him, his mousy girlfriend and his ex, snuggling up to his brother-in-law.
Obviously, she wouldn’t be sticking around for that to actually o
ccur. What she was going to do, she wasn’t exactly sure yet, but perhaps it was enough for Alexi to know she could get to him, mess up his life something shocking. And maybe it would be nice to point out clearly that he was spending time with a frump, and hotness was so close and out of reach.
She wasn’t stupid enough to not realise that Alexi being so devoted to the mouse meant it was more than just some passing fling. Alexi thought himself in love. But love was a fragile thing, so easily broken, particularly by men who were so easily distracted.
Looking over, she considered Paul. He wasn’t bad, in a reserved, British way. He had dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, bright eyes. He was actually quite cute, for a nobody.
“This way,” she said, curling her finger at him. After a moment of confusion, he walked after her. Cheyenne turned her back on him, but knew he was following. How could he not?
Walking through the house, she sought out the spare study, where she hopped up on the side of a glass table. He stood warily in the doorway. “Come in. I won’t hurt you. Close the door.”
Clearing his throat, he complied, stepping slightly into the room. His drink was still in his hand and he looked as if had no idea what to do.
“I find I need a bit of attention,” she said coyly, biting the knuckle of her finger. She leaned back on the table, arching her back ever so slightly and with her other hand drawing the hem of her skirt up. His eyes followed the movement precisely and she could see his throat moving as he swallowed. “I’m sure you’re amenable to helping out a girl in a pinch. Sitting next to you all night, it was all I could think about.”
Drawing her leg up, she parted her thighs slightly. “Mmm,” she moaned, undulating her hips. It was almost laughable how large his eyes were, but she did appreciate that he didn’t rush in like some would in his position. Instead, he stepped forwards, placing his glass on the edge of the glass table. His eyes roamed for a moment longer.
“This is the part where you unzip, darling,” she urged.
“Yes, of course,” he said and fumbled with his belt, finally releasing a rather handsome cock. Taking it in her hand, she guided him to her entrance. No point drawing this out, but he would have to do the work from there, and he did, pushing into her with a surprising sharpness she appreciated. This was better than she’d hoped. Parting her legs further, she let him work, thrusting into her, groaning with each one.
Closing her eyes, she focused her mind on the feel of a hard cock stroking inside her, feeling her insides clench with pleasure. She stroked herself until a good, strong orgasm started building. “That’s it. Harder,” she panted. “Yes.” Waves of pleasure washed over her, again and again. It might not be as rough as she preferred, but it did the job—in more ways than one.
Chapter 12
The temporary offices were well appointed, but it didn’t feel right. Perhaps because the entire office was also in upheaval. Until things settled, they were essentially ineffective. It was important to get their new building sorted as soon as possible.
Dominic sat back and looked out the window. He had no regrets, though. A shakeup would bring in some new blood, and new blood was always hungry.
A quick knock on the door told him his PA wanted his attention. Fennie popped her head in the door. “Mr. Dunbury, Arnie is here to see you. Can you see him?”
Checking his watch, Dominic conceded. “I’ve got a few minutes. Show him in.”
Arnie appeared, dressed in a blue striped shirt and red suspenders. “So there’s a problem with the land purchase.”
“I don’t want to hear problems, Arnie. I want it done.” Dominic felt annoyance sweep through him. There was always a problem. Mostly lawyers dreamed them up.
“This one might actually be a problem.”
Dominic put his pen down on his desk and sighed. “This isn’t something you can solve?”
“Well, one of the tenants has refused to acquiesce the proposal.”
“Tenant?” Dominic said disbelievingly.
“The salon owner. She is refusing to release the contract with the land-owner.”
Dominic just stared at the man. “Then offer her more.”
“I tried. She still refused. In fact, she refuses to take any calls. Technically, she doesn’t have to listen to any proposals we put to her. Her lease runs for another five years.”
“I’m not ready to wait five years.”
“Legally, there is nothing we can do.”
“Obviously, I’m not going to accept this. What do we know about this woman?”
“Her name is Cheryl Waters. British. She took the lease about eight months ago and runs a hair salon on the property.”
“Go see her and make an offer she’ll accept. I really don’t have time to deal with this, Arnie. Find a means of getting her out of the way.” Dominic knew Arnie wasn’t particularly gifted dealing with people. He might actually be making it worse. “Never mind. I will go see her.”
The salon had a concoction of smells as he walked into the glass door. This was the kind of place that gave Dominic the creeps. The design was… crass, copious of mirrors and diamante. The floor had black and white tiles, and chrome chairs stood next to overlarge, silver gilt mirrors.
“Can I help you?” A pretty receptionist said, giving him a curious once over. No doubt he was far from the usual customer in this place.
“I need to speak to the owner.”
“She’s out the back,” the girl said as if that was supposed to mean something. He stood where he was and waited, giving the receptionist a sharp look. “I’ll just go get her,” she said, looking admonished. Obviously, the woman wasn’t running her staff with any measure of competence.
Dominic’s lips drew together when it became clear that he was waiting for this woman to come tend to him. Waiting was not something he normally had to do. This woman clearly had an oversized sense of entitlement.
“Can I help you?” a woman said, finally appearing. She wore a silk blouse and a dark pencil skirt. Her blondish hair was up in a French twist. About thirty, if he had to guess.
“I am Dominic Dunbury,” he said and her slight shrug was to tell him it meant nothing to her. “I am the one who will be building on this land.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Mr. Dunbury, there are already buildings here and businesses in them. This land is clearly not vacant.”
Dominic crossed his arms and considered her. She looked slightly uncomfortable, but wasn’t backing down. “You have been offered recompense. Enough to cover the cost of moving.”
“Move where? This is the perfect location.” He had to agree with her there. It was the perfect location—the reason he wanted it. “I have spent months building up a customer base, and I’m not going to lose it because you want me to. If that is all, have a nice day.” She made to turn away. Her features were attractive enough, in a curvy way, but there wasn’t much charm in the woman.
“I can provide you with an additional twenty thousand euro.”
“Not interested, Mr. Dunbury. I suggest you find another spot.”
“I don’t think you understand the kind of resources I can leverage, Miss Waters.”
She stepped a bit close. “And you obviously don’t understand how stubborn I can be. No one is chasing me out of my business. This is my business and you can fuck off.” She poked him in the chest for good measure.
No one had ever gone so far as to poke him in the chest. Such behaviour wasn’t acceptable in the circles he travelled in. She was close enough that he could smell her perfume. Sweet and floral, but her, there was nothing sweet in her eyes. He’d seen that look before, in different guises. This was a fighter before him, dressed up in silks and perfume, but a fighter.
“Don’t fight me for the sake of it, Miss Waters. I can tie you up in court for years.” In fact, he could drown her in legal costs, council procedures and any form of trouble he wished to wreak on her. He wasn’t joking when he mentioned the resources he had at his disposal.
&nb
sp; She gave him a filthy look and turned her back on him, wisps of escaped hair caressing along her neck as she walked. Running into her wasn’t something he’d expected. “I suggest you leave my salon,” she said without turning back.
Dismissal was also something he wasn’t used to. Even when going through difficulties, he had always been treated with deference.
Returning to the car, he pulled out his phone and dialled. “Arnie, buy the land.”
“I can’t suggest we go ahead without this issue sorted.”
“I don’t care about the issue. Buy the land.”
Chapter 13
Parmi couldn’t hide her excitement when Terese walked into the restaurant. A high-pitched squeal came out of her throat as he pranced forwards into an embrace. “Oh my God, it’s so good to see you.”
“Parmi,” Terese said, hugging her friend close. “You’ve changed your perfume.”
“Of course I have. We were kids back then. I was starting to think you were never coming back.” She pulled back. “Look at you, little Miss Fashionista.”
Parmi wore the typical Marbella clothes, a fitted sundress with a flaring skirt ending mid-thigh. She looked cute and that was often the aim of the girls around here, but there was nothing cutting edge about the clothes.
“I love your shoes,” Parmi said. “So cool.”
They took their seat at the table along the edge of the balcony. Parmi looked a bit different—older and more confident, somehow. In another sense, she looked exactly the same. Her reddish-blond hair had been cut by someone who knew what they were doing, had more volume than before, gentle curves over her tanned shoulders. Terese was sure the tan was fake because Parmi’s skin did not tan. It was a good job, though, looked natural. Terese didn’t go for tanning and she looked pale in comparison.
Marbella Beauty Page 4