heads and it was after three o’clock now. She took a deep breath, knocked twice and opened the door.
He looked up from behind the big mahogany desk that used to be her grandfather’s.
So he had settled in.
The knot of resentment in Emily’s stomach hardened. He looked perfectly at home, as if he had every right to be there, and she hated that he did.
She closed the door and he leaned back in the enormous leather chair as she crossed the office. He’d removed his suit jacket and tie—a liberty acceptable only in the privacy of the offices, given the strict formal dress code of the club—and he looked good in just a shirt, the tailored fit of the white fabric emphasising the breadth of his shoulders and a strong, well-proportioned physique that looked more suited to a rugby pitch than the office.
She stopped in front of the desk, squeezed all inappropriate thoughts of his body out of her head and placed her hand on a chair back for support. ‘Jeremy’s gone,’ she said, intending to sound matter-of-fact, but to her horror a faint quaver hijacked her voice.
Ramon’s eyes narrowed, telling her he hadn’t missed it. He studied her until heat crawled around the back of her neck. ‘Sit down,’ he said.
‘No. I only came to tell you—’
‘Sit down, Emily,’ he repeated, more firmly this time, and she closed her mouth and sat, even as she scorned herself for being so meek.
Rising, he turned to a shelf on the large bookcase behind him and picked up two crystal tumblers in one hand and a heavy vintage decanter in the other. He set the tumblers on the desk. ‘First time firing someone?’
She watched him pull the stopper from the decanter and pour a shot of her father’s whisky into each glass. ‘I didn’t fire him,’ she said. ‘He resigned.’ But she knew that was just semantics. If Jeremy hadn’t offered his resignation, she’d have been forced to terminate his employment.
Ramon slid one of the tumblers across to her.
‘Why are we drinking?’
‘Because you look as if you need it.’
She glanced at him sharply. Was he offering comfort? Or attempting to avert what he thought might be an emotional crisis?
Grabbing the tumbler, she swallowed the whisky and winced as it burned on the way down.
‘Better?’ he asked after a moment.
‘Not really.’ Although the warmth spreading through her stomach had a rather soothing effect. She met his gaze. His eyes reminded her of hot, molten caramel—rich and tempting, but dangerous if you dipped your finger in too soon. She cleared her throat. ‘I suppose you’ve fired plenty of people.’
‘Three.’ He sat, knocked back his whisky and put the glass down. ‘Trust me, it’s not something that brings me pleasure.’
So they had that in common at least. His words from this morning came back to her.
Not everyone deserves a second chance.
Did that harsh belief stem from personal experience?
‘Emily.’
With a start, she realised he had spoken. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘I said you have a good team here,’ he said. ‘Dedicated. Professional. And they respect you.’
Warmth spread through her chest, though she told herself that was from the whisky, not his unexpected praise. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘They’re all extremely dedicated. Most of them have been here since my grandfather’s time.’
And Emily had worked hard to earn their respect. She was young, but in the three years before her grandfather’s death she had worked at ground level in every department including the kitchens to prove she was serious about learning the business. No one had been able to accuse her of looking for a free ride because her surname was Royce. Even her grandfather, who had rarely given praise, had remarked on her commitment. Of course, he had gone on to say her commitment to hard work would stand her in good stead for marriage and motherhood. In his mind, her greatest obligation to the family was to provide him with at least one great-grandson who would one day inherit his precious club and his wealth. He’d even rewritten his will in a sly effort to influence that outcome.
It’d been a wasted effort, of course. Emily had no intention of being ruled by a clause in a will.
Ramon spoke again and she tried to focus. What was wrong with her? One shot of whisky and her mind was all over the place. Or was it the effect of the man sitting opposite?
‘My CFO will have one of his team pick up the slack until you’ve recruited a new accountant.’