“Much appreciated,” Cheryl said after she couldn’t think of anything else to say. They continued walking around the building until they got to the back corner.
“Please wait in there.”
Cheryl walked into an empty boardroom, the chairs all neatly lined up along a large table. The only noise heard was the gentle rumbling of the air-conditioner. Again, she was greeted with a fantastic view, looking down the coast, more angled to the hills behind them.
The door opened with a whooshing sound and Cheryl turned. He stood still as the door slowly swung closed. “How can I help you, Miss Waters?” He wore one of those high-end suits she usually saw in magazines. Armani, probably, no doubt Italian.
“I want to know what’s going on. My neighbours seem to have gone missing.”
“Ah, yes, well, they agreed to go, and you didn’t.”
“So what does that mean?”
“Why don’t you come with me?” he said and opened the door, waiting for her to walk ahead of him. She wanted to refuse out of spite, but decided it was perhaps not the mature way to deal with this.
“Fine,” she said and marched out the door. The carpet was too plush to make a noise. The gentle clacking of computer keyboards was the only sound in an area full of cubicles. In fact, the whole office was eerily quiet compared to her salon where everyone was talking most of the time.
“This way,” he said and led her down the side of the building, where he held open another door for her. Was he one of those men who insisted on opening doors everywhere?
She walked into what was clearly a large office. A desk sat along one end, a sofa at the other, and a round glass table in between. Architectural papers were strewn over the table.
“Compromises are not in my nature, but I thought I’d try it,” he said, urging her to the table. She eyed him suspiciously as he walked over, and reluctantly followed. It took her a moment to make heads and tails of the blue lines crisscrossing the paper, but she eventually made some semblance of it, and found a little square that said ‘Salon.’
“Is that me?”
“It is.”
Bending over, she studied it some more. It looked like her little salon was being swallowed by a giant complex.
“The structural engineers weren’t pleased with the workaround, but they managed.”
Cheryl didn’t quite know what to say. “So, we’re staying?”
“Until your lease runs out.”
That would be another four and a half years. She wasn’t quite sure how to react, or how she felt about this. In a sense, it was sweet that he’d changed his plans to accommodate her refusal to leave. Or maybe it had been too much hassle to fight her, even as she doubted it would be little more than a nuisance to someone like him.
“Thank you,” she finally said. “Still, you could have told me. I’ve been worrying myself sick.”
“This whole compromise idea is quite new to me, so you’ll have to forgive such oversights.”
“Why would you do this?”
His eyebrows raised as if the question surprised him. “I suppose I appreciated how hard you were prepared to fight, even something completely unwinnable. Now, obviously, some co-operation is necessary. I have a meeting in a few minutes, but I suggest we meet up later.” He checked his watch. “I will come to you later, at the close of business.”
His decisiveness took her by surprise. Information was what she’d come for and he was offering it, but she felt put out being directed. The woman who’d brought her was smiling at her from the door. Mr. Dunbury was already gone.
Chapter 40
Miss Waters stood with her arms crossed as she waited outside the glass doors of her salon. Dominic could see a client paying inside and staff waiting to be released for the evening. He’d even had Fennie call to establish what time they were closing that night. Given the chance, he expected Miss Waters would go home if he hadn’t been here to intercept her. The suspicion in her eye was unmistakable.
Stepping out of his Aston Martin, he stood by the open door. “Do you require me to open the door for you?”
“No,” she said sharply. “We can discuss in my office,” she said, pointing behind her.
“I think I prefer somewhere with refreshments. And dinner,” he added before she offered him whatever tea they served in there.
Straightening herself, she walked down the steps towards the passenger side door and got in. Her perfume crept towards him as he seated himself, gentle with a hint of marine. She crossed her legs and clasped her hands in her lap, looking straight forward.
“Do I make you nervous?”
“I don’t know if nervous is the right word. Wary, perhaps,” she said, her voice as guarded as her expression.
He drove up the mountains to a restaurant. This was one of his ‘go to’ places and the view was spectacular as the sun descended. Handing the keys to the valet, he waited for Miss Waters to join him. The reservation had been made on short notice, but they always made sure a table was available when he needed one, even when the waiting list was typically weeks.
The chef used to have a Michelin star restaurant in Nice, but had moved further south to explore fusion Iberian cuisine. The Michelin raters had not been invited yet as the chef was still perfecting his dishes. He couldn’t be far off as the food was utterly exquisite.
They were given a table by the open window, with crisp, white linen. A candle sat inside a glass enclosure, adding a sedate bit of sparkle in a space with muted tones and clean lines.
“Mr. Dunbury, we are so pleased to have you dining with us tonight,” the young man said, taking their drink order prior to reciting the appetiser specials.
“The lobster with lime butter and julienned green mango is worthwhile,” Dominic said to his guest, who seemed slightly uncomfortable.
“I think I might have the pork and truffle baked pasta,” she said.
They were then given the leather clad menus and Dominic watched as Miss Waters studied it, turning the pages carefully.
“See anything appealing?”
She looked up briefly with a small smile and returned her gaze to the menu, a frown marring her face. Again, her makeup was on the heavy side—shiny and blended, but she had very pretty eyes.
“So tell me of your plans,” he said after growing bored watching her tackle the menu.
“Plans?”
“Will you be expanding your operations?”
“You mean open another salon?”
“Or into consumables.”
“I have planned on making the salon the best it can be.”
“Just one salon?” he said with surprise. “It appears to be successful. Why not capitalise on it and expand?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I have two terrors at home, a niece looking to get into trouble and a belligerent house-keeper. I have enough on my plate right now.”
“Sounds like excuses.”
Miss Water’s eyebrows rose in indignation. He’d only spoken the truth, though. It was people’s own fears and self-placed limitations that held them back. “Perhaps I have different objectives than you.”
The waiter returned and she ordered the cod. Dominic picked the Iberian pork. They sat in silence for a moment after the waiter had retreated. He didn’t quite know what to say and he wasn’t sure why this felt uncomfortable. There were few situations he felt uncomfortable with, least of all having dinner with a tenant.
“Obviously, the terms of our contract will have to change.”
“I don’t see why it needs to change.”
“Well, if you seek to remain connected to any utilities, it will have to.”
Miss Waters, Cheryl, pursed her mouth together. She really didn’t like being told what to do. Her reactions were exotic in his world, where people tried to please him. Suspicion and wariness were usually not what he had to deal with. That still didn’t explain why he’d chosen to accommodate her. Perhaps if he’d known she had no ambition beyond her little salon, he w
ouldn’t have.
“Your son is an interesting character,” she said. “I take it you didn’t send him in to check me out.”
“No. I think he observed some deviation and wondered why that was.”
“And what is the particular reason for this deviation?” she asked, looking him in the eyes. There was a hardness in there when she wanted there to be. Perhaps that was the reason for the deviation. He had no other explanation. And now she was expecting an answer. That boldness was ever there.
“Maybe because you fought so hard, even against impossible odds. It is rare someone can’t be bought. Some would say it’s a dangerous characteristic.”
“Not everyone is for sale.”
“Most people are.”
“A cynical way of looking at the world.”
“A realistic way.”
She pursed her lips and considered him. Plump pink lips in what he felt was a lurid shade. It sent a flair of heat down to his groin and that annoyed him. Everything about her was wrong—the manicured nails, the deliberate makeup, the frosted hair. Artifice in every possible way. It wouldn’t surprise him if her breasts were enhanced as well. They sat firm under her sleeveless brown, tiger print blouse, the top edge of the cups protruding slightly against the light, flimsy material.
His ex-wife would literally cross the street so as not to be seen with someone like Cheryl. Even her name sat uncomfortably with him.
For all this, he didn’t dislike her, but there was something in her he respected—enough to bend his plans around her.
Chapter 41
Cheyenne ran her hand through her wavy hair as she sat down in Paul’s car. Her skirt was indecently short in his book, stopping at upper to mid-thigh. There was no arguing she looked sensational, but then she always did. Her skin glowed, seemingly by some inner light.
“I would have thought you were too young for a mid-life crisis,” she said, turning her arched eyebrow to him. She meant the car, which was a red, convertible, sporty thing.
Paul chuckled. In fact, it was exactly what Rosalie had said and it amazed him that Cheyenne and Rosalie had a common thought. “I did a departing colleague a favour by purchasing it.”
She didn’t believe him. It was written in her gorgeous eyes.
“I made a reservation at the restaurant you recommended,” he said, knowing this evening was going to cost him a small fortune. He didn’t want to go, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no. Nothing in him could let her accusation stand, even though he knew she was manipulating him. He knew; she knew, but here they were.
The street lights weren’t always what they should be in Marbella. Neither were the roads. The local government here had more means than in other regions, but there were still things the Spanish didn’t spend money on.
Paul wanted to park and walk, but he knew Cheyenne would never put up with that, so he had to dole out for valet parking. Cheyenne walked like an elegant giraffe and he was still amazed he’d been intimate with her. It was all her doing, every part of it. He’d just followed along, like a stunned chump, allowing her to do as she willed.
Well, there would be no more of that. Whatever it was Cheyenne was after, it didn’t coincide with his plans, and the purpose of this evening was to ensure that was communicated.
The maître d seated them in the centre of the restaurant. This was the kind of place Paul never went unless the university was sponsoring a dinner. But this was even a little too high-end for the business school.
The waiters wore suits and the aprons were pinned to those suits. It was so old-fashioned it was considered cool again. They stared at you as if you were some cretin that dragged itself off the street.
“Would you like the wine menu?” one of them said in a heavily accented voice.
“Please,” Paul said.
One good thing with dating a model is that they ate very little and usually of the greenery variety, hence the bill wasn’t going to be an utter killer. Paul ordered sparingly as well, partially because his stomach was ill at ease with this ‘date’.
“Huh?” Cheyenne said, her eyes off to another part of the restaurant.
“Anyone interesting?”
“Dominic Dunbury is here,” she said. “With what looks like some low-rent tart.”
Paul turned in the direction, but lost interest before even observing anything.
“I would have thought better of him. People do surprise you, don’t they?”
“Do they?” Paul said, unsure he agreed with the statement. “Well, I suppose. For example, I’m not exactly sure why we’re here. Or more specifically, why you’re here with me.”
Cheyenne turned her eyes at him, a slightly pursing of her lips. He wondered what she would say; if she would insult his intelligence by pretending this was something other than what she intended it to be.
“Does it matter?” she said.
“Yes.”
“What I said was true. It is rude to sleep with me and then turn your attention to someone else with nothing more than a ‘by your leave’.”
Paul couldn’t help blushing. She was good at twisting things around, like insinuating he’d taken advantage of her, when she’d more or less coaxed him. It would be an utter lie to say deep down in his psyche that hadn’t been thrilling. What man wouldn’t want a supermodel to come to his office and seduce him? Men fantasised about this stuff, but when it was real, there was also a deep sense of unease, as if you were caught in the mouth of a predator. He wasn’t stupid enough to have any illusions about that.
“Obviously, this has something to do with Alexi,” Paul said. As he watched, she crossed her thin arms, her mouth growing tight. “I’m not entirely oblivious.”
“Alexi is nothing.”
“Except in love with my sister.”
Cheyenne snorted. “And for how long, exactly? Alexi loves and leaves.”
“So you say, but this is the second time around for them.”
“What do you mean?” A frown contracted her perfect eyebrows. She didn’t know.
“They were an item back at Oxford. They were in love then and they seem to be now. There is no reason you need to put yourself in the middle of that. Hence, there is no reason you need to mess with me.”
“So you can run off and play house with little Alice Cavandish?”
Paul angled his head. That was exactly why. Alice might be inconsequential in Cheyenne’s book, but Cheyenne didn’t get that it was real, as opposed to whatever games she played. Well, he didn’t exactly know if it was real, but he hoped.
“It doesn’t work that way,” she stated.
“Actually, it does,” Paul said. Her eyebrows rose this time. “And I would appreciate if you didn’t interfere. I am not going to be complicit in whatever objective you’re after. I, frankly, don’t care. You can toy with people as much as you want to; I’m not interested.” He decided to go that bit further. “Perhaps that’s why Alexi moved on, because you’re only interested in what people can do for you. I doubt it was different with him.”
Anger skimmed her features now. “Or maybe you’re a fool.”
“Perhaps,” he admitted. He wasn’t going to get into a sparring match with her.
Their food arrived.
“You’re a terminally boring man,” she said.
“Can’t argue with the assessment,” Paul said and picked up his fork. He might as well eat.
Cheyenne’s attention shifted away to that part of the room she’d been observing before. A dark-haired man had risen and was walking out with a lady, the one Cheyenne had referred to as a low-rent tart. She did look a little like someone who sold goods on a TV shopping network. Tart was perhaps ungenerous, but then Paul was never a good judge of character when it came to the external.
Without a word, Cheyenne rose and walked over to the couple, speaking animatedly. She was laying on the charm, apparently. Paul had to guess she had some interest in that man, expecting she did very little without an objective in mind.
Chapter 42
Running down the walkway along the beach, Terese tried to organise her thoughts. She didn’t know how she felt. Alistair had barged into her mind and refused to leave. Her regard for him had changed. Gone was the assumption he was just a nasty, uncaring person, which he probably still was, on some level, to be replaced by the knowledge that he was more jaded, suspicious and sneering than she’d thought. And he hadn’t really changed.
Mustering feeling sorry for him was all but useless. She couldn’t feel sorry for him, being that he was still an utter dick. But the upside of all this was that she didn’t take it all that personally now. She was probably one in a string of people he’d looked down on, and she wasn’t that emotionally hurt teenager anymore, the one she hadn’t been able to move away from.
So that was the upside. Alistair was an outright cock, and it wasn’t her there had been something wrong with. But then there was that insidious accusation he’d levelled, that she had been grasping, trying to use him for her own betterment.
Well, she was washing her hands once and for all. And with that, the creepiness of being here was lifting. It still wasn’t a place that fit in with her lifestyle, but this was her parent’s place and she could now appreciate it for being that. They loved their lives here—pointless as she saw it. But if it made them happy, who was she to argue?
Parmi was another issue. Alistair had been so very blunt when he’d said Parmi had sold her friendship for a ticket into his gang. As if his gang was so awesome people would to anything to get in. Really? Grow up. Unfortunately, it was true in Parmi’s case. The acceptance of it made Terese wince. Damn it, Parmi, grow a backbone.
At least Terese could pride herself that she didn’t give a fuck about Alistair’s gang. There had been a time when she’d had, like everyone else, but she’d grown beyond them. What did they do anyway? Professional lunchers, the lot of them.
Terese was proud of her career and her life. Her achievements were nothing to scoff at, and it was nice to finally let the embarrassments of the past go. So she could embrace her future, could maybe even consider seeking some new opportunities here on the coast. Granted, many of the people here had sold their interests, but some hadn’t.
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