'Mr Venadicci has magnanimously offered to squeeze you in
between appointments,' the receptionist informed Gabby with
crisp, cool politeness. 'But he only has ten minutes
available for you.'
Gabby schooled her features into impassivity, even though
inside she was fuming and had been for the last hour, as
Vinn Venadicci took his time about whether he would respond
to her urgent request to see him. 'Thank you,' she said. 'I
will try not to take up too much of his precious time.'
No matter how galling it would be to see Vinn again, Gabby
determined she would be calm and in control at all times and
under all circumstances. Too much was at stake for her to
jeopardise things with a show of temper or a tirade of
insults, as she would have done without hesitation seven
years ago. A lot of water had flowed under the bridge since
then, but she was not going to tell him just how dirty some
of it had been. That would be conceding defeat, and in spite
of everything that had happened she wasn't quite ready to
shelve all of her pride where Vinn Venadicci was concerned.
His plush suite of offices in the heart of the financial
district in Sydney was a reflection of his meteoric rise to
fame in the property investment industry. From his humble
beginnings as the born-out-of-wedlock bad-boy son of the St
Clair family's Italian-born house-cleaner Rose, he had
surprised everyone—except Gabby's father, who had
always seen Vinn's potential and had done what he could to
give him the leg-up he needed.
Thinking of her father was just the boost to her resolve
Gabby needed right now. Henry St Clair was in frail health
after a serious heart attack, which meant a lot of the
responsibility to keep things running smoothly while he went
through the arduous process of triple bypass surgery and
rehabilitation had fallen on her shoulders, with her mother
standing stalwartly and rather stoically by her father's side.
This hiccup to do with the family business had come out of
the blue—and if her father got wind of it, it was just
the thing that could set off another heart attack. Gabby
would walk across hot coals to avoid that—even meet
face to face with Vinn Venadicci.
She raised her hand to the door marked with Vinn's name and
gave it a quick two-hit tattoo, her stomach twisting with
the prickly sensation she always felt when she was within
striking distance of him.
'Come.'
She straightened her shoulders and opened the door, her chin
at a proud height as she took the ridiculously long journey
to his desk, where he was seated. That he didn't rise to his
feet was the sort of veiled insult she more or less expected
from him. He had always had an insolent air about him, even
when he had lived on and off with his mother, in a servants'
cottage at the St Clair Point Piper mansion.
In that nanosecond before he spoke Gabby quickly drank in
his image, her heart giving a little jerk inside her chest
in spite of all of her efforts to control it. Even when he
was seated his height was intimidating, and the black
raven's wing of his hair caught the light coming in from the
windows, giving it a glossy sheen that made her fingers itch
to reach out and touch it. His nose was crooked from one too
many of the brawls he had been involved in during his youth,
but— unlike many other high-profile businessmen, who
would have sought surgical correction by now—Vinn wore
his war wounds like a medal. Just like the scar that
interrupted his left eyebrow, giving him a dangerous
don't-mess-with-me look that was disturbingly attractive.
'So how is the Merry Widow?' he said with a mocking glint in
his eyes as they ran over her lazily. 'Long time no see.
What is it now… ? One year or is it two? You look
like grief suits you, Gabriella. I have never seen you
looking more beautiful.'
Gabby felt her spine go rigid at his sardonic taunt. Tristan
Glendenning had been dead for just over two years, and yet
Vinn never failed to refer to him in that unmistakably
scathing manner whenever their paths crossed. She felt each
and every reference to her late husband like a hard slap
across the face—not that she would ever admit that to
Vinn.
She pulled her temper back into line with an effort. 'May I
sit down?'
He waved a hand in a careless manner. 'Put your cute little
bottom down on that chair. But only for ten minutes,' he
said. 'I have back-to-back commitments today.'
Gabby sat down on the edge of the chair, hating that his
words had summoned such a hot flush to her cheeks. He had
the most annoying habit of unnerving her with personal
comments that made her aware of her body in a way no one
else could.
'So,' he said, leaning back in his chair with a squeak of
very expensive leather, 'what can I do for you, Gabriella?'
She silently ground her teeth. No one else called her by her
full name. Only him. She knew he did it deliberately. He had
done it since she was fourteen, when his mother had been
hired as the resident cleaner, bringing her brooding
eighteen-year-old son with her. Although Gabby had to
grudgingly admit that the way he said her name was quite
unlike anyone else. He had been born in Australia but,
because he had been fluent in Italian from a very young age,
he made her name sound faintly foreign and exotic. The four
distinct syllables coming out of his sensually sculptured
mouth always made the hairs on the back of her neck stand to
attention like tiny soldiers.
'I am here to discuss a little problem that's come up,' she
said, hoping he couldn't see how she was tying her hands
into knots in her lap. 'With my father out of action at
present, I would appreciate your advice on how to handle it.'
He sat watching her in that musing way of his, clicking and
releasing his gold ballpoint pen with meticulously timed
precision: on, off, on, off, as if he was timing his own
slow and steady heartbeat.
'How is your father this morning?' he asked. 'I saw him last
night in Intensive Care. He was looking a little worse for
wear, but that's to be expected, I suppose.'
Gabby was well aware of Vinn's regular visits to her
father's bedside, and had deliberately avoided being there
at the same time. 'He's doing OK,' she said. 'His surgery is
scheduled for some time next week. I think they've been
waiting for him to stabilise first.'
'Yes, of course,' he said putting the pen to one side. 'But
the doctors are hopeful of a full recovery, are they not?'
Gabby tried not to look at his hands, but for some reason
her eyes drifted back to where they were now lying palm down
on the smoothly polished desk. He had broad, square-shaped
hands, with long fingers, and the dusting of masculine hair
was enough to remind her of his virility as a full-blooded
male of thirty-two.
He was no longer the youth of the past. His skin was clear
and cleanly shaven, and at six foot four he carried not a
gram of excess flesh; every toned and taut muscle spoke of
his punishing physical regime. It made Gabby's ad hoc
attempts at regular exercise with a set of free weights and
a home DVD look rather pathetic in comparison.
'Gabriella?'
Gabby gave herself a mental shake and dragged her eyes back
to his. He had such amazing eyes. And his ink-black hair and
deeply olive skin made the smoky grey colour of them all the
more striking.
She had never been told the details of his father, and she
had never really bothered to ask Vinn directly—
although she assumed his father wasn't Italian, like his
mother. Gabby had heard one or two whispers as she was
growing up, which had seemed to suggest Vinn's mother found
the subject painful and refused ever to speak of it.
'Um… I'm not really sure,' she said, in answer to his
question regarding her father's recovery. 'I haven't really
spoken with his doctors.'
As soon as she said the words she realised how disengaged
and uncaring they made her sound—as if her father's
health was not a top priority for her, when nothing could be
further from the truth. She wouldn't be here now if it
wasn't for her love and concern for both of her parents. She
would never have dreamed of asking for Vinn's help if
desperation hadn't shoved her headfirst through his door.
'I take it this unprecedented visit to my lair is about the
takeover bid for the St Clair Island Resort?' he said into
the ringing silence.
Gabby had trouble disguising her reaction. She had only just
become aware of it herself. How on earth had he found out
about it?
'Um… yes, it is actually,' she said, shifting
restlessly in her seat. 'As you probably know, my father
took out a substantial loan for the refurbishment of the
resort about a year and a half ago. But late yesterday I was
informed there's been a call. If we don't pay the loan back
the takeover bid will go through uncontested. I can't allow
that to happen.'
'Have you spoken to your accountants about it?' he asked.
Gabby felt another layer of her professional armour dissolve
without trace. 'They said there is no way that amount of
money can be raised in twenty-four hours,' she said,
lowering her gaze a fraction.
He began his on-off click with his pen once more, a little
faster now, as if in time with his sharp intelligence as he
mulled over what strategy to adopt.
'I don't suppose you've mentioned it to your father,' he
said, phrasing it as neither a question nor a statement.
'No…' she said, still not quite able to hold his
gaze. 'I didn't want to stress him. I'm frightened the news
could trigger another heart attack.'
'What about the on-site resort managers?' he asked. 'Do they
know anything about this?'
Gabby rolled her lips together as she brought her gaze back
to his. 'I spoke to Judy and Garry Foster last night. They
are concerned for their jobs, of course, but I tried to
reassure them I would sort things out this end.'
'Have you brought all the relevant documentation with you?'
he asked after a short pause.
'Um…no… I thought I would run it by you
first.' Gabby knew it was the wrong answer. She could see it
in his incisive grey-blue eyes as they quietly assessed her.
She felt so incompetent—like a child playing with
oversized clothes in a dress-up box. The shoes she had put
on were too big. She had always known it, but hadn't had the
courage to say it out loud to her parents, who had held such
high hopes for her after her older brother Blair's tragic
death. The giant hole he had left in their lives had made
her all the more determined to fill in where she could. But
she still felt as if the shoes were too big, too ungainly
for her—even though she had trudged in them with
gritted teeth for the last seven and a half years.
Vinn leaned back in his seat, his eyes still centred on
hers. 'So you have less than twenty-four hours to come up
with the funds otherwise the takeover bid goes through
unchallenged?' he summated.
Gabby ran the tip of her tongue across lips dryer than
ancient parchment. 'That's right,' she said, doing her level
best to quell her dread at the thought of such an outcome.
'If it goes through our family will be left with only a
thirty-five percent share in the resort. I'm not sure what
you can do, but I know my father. If he wasn't so unwell he
would probably have run it by you first, to see if there's
anything we can do to avoid losing the major sharehold.'
His eyes were still locked on hers, unblinking almost, which
unsettled Gabby more than she wanted it to.
'Do you know who is behind the takeover?' he asked.
She shook her head and allowed a tiny sigh to escape. 'I've
asked around, but no one seems to know anything about the
company that's behind it.'
'How much is the margin call?'
Gabby took an uneven breath, her stomach feeling as if a
nest of hungry bull ants were eating their way out. 'Two
point four million dollars.'
His dark brows lifted a fraction. 'Not exactly an amount you
would have sitting around in petty cash,' he commented wryly.
'It's not an amount that is sitting anywhere in any
of the St Clair accounts,' she said, running her tongue over
her lips again, as if to wipe away the residue of panic that
seemed to have permanently settled there. 'I'm sure my
father never expected anything like this to happen— or
at least not before we had time to recoup on the investment.
The markets have been unstable for several months now. We
wouldn't be the first to have redeveloped at the wrong time.'
'True.'
Gabby shifted in her chair again. 'So… I was
wondering what you suggest we do…' She sucked in a
tiny breath, her heart thumping so loudly she could feel a
roaring in her ears. 'I… I know it's a bit of an
imposition, but my father respects your judgment. That's
basically why I am here.'
Vinn gave a deep and utterly masculine rumble of laughter.
'Yes, well, I can't imagine you pressing for an audience
with me to share your observations on the day's weather,' he
said. And then, with a little sneering quirk of his mouth,
he added, 'You have five minutes left, by the way.'
Gabby pursed her lips as she fought her temper down. 'I
think you know what I'm asking you to do,' she said tightly.
'Don't make me spell it out just to bolster your already
monumental ego.'
A flicker of heat made his eyes look like the centre of a
flame as he leaned forward across the desk. 'You want me to
pay off the loan, is that it?' he said, searing her gaze
with his.
'My father has done a lot for you—' she launched into
the speech she had hastily prepared in the middle of the
night '—he paid bail for that stolen car charge you
were on when you were eighteen, not long after you came to
live with us. And he gave you your very first loan for
university. You wouldn't be where you are today without his
mentorship and his belief in you.'