Rival's Challenge

He sat back and regarded her steadily. ‘I would have to disagree. And do I need to remind you why you should stop calling me Mr Chatsfield?’

Orla blanched. She looked at the man sitting behind the desk, supremely relaxed and confident, and struggled to hold in the rise of her temper. Especially when she thought about the sleepless nights she’d endured all week, because every time she closed her eyes all she could hear was her heartbeat and imagine his huge body, pressing hers down into the bed, filling her, stretching her….

‘I take it you received your belongings?’

Orla’s temper went up a notch. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said tightly, acknowledging receipt via courier of her missing belt and shoes, but not her panties. Face burning now, she refused to even ask the question.

But as if reading her mind, Antonio said, ‘There was one other item but I felt it might be the kind of thing you’d prefer was discarded rather than returned.’

Orla went puce and wanted to hit him all over again. Choking back the humiliation she’d fully expected but not thought would come from this direction, she got out, ‘A gentleman would not even bring that up.’

He smiled and it was so explicit it sent shock waves of sensation down to Orla’s pelvis.

‘Ah, but I never claimed to be a gentleman. I don’t think you were very interested in me being a gentleman that night, any more than you were interested in being a lady.’

Orla glared at him, incensed and insulted. ‘I came here, hoping to appeal to your professionalism, but it’s clear that this is just an exercise in futility.’

‘You came here,’ he pointed out silkily, ‘because you have no choice if you want to save your precious family brand name and a fraction of your fortune.’

Orla’s insides cramped at that reminder. Feeling sick, she said bitterly, ‘I am aware of that fact. I’m not here to discuss errors of judgement, so if we could just focus on the business at hand….’

Determined to maintain things on a business footing when it felt as if her grip on control was woefully shaky, Orla bent down to open her briefcase and removed a sheaf of papers.

She placed them on the table beside the tray of tea and coffee, avoiding Antonio’s black gaze.

‘Some of our terms have changed slightly. I’ve added in a requirement that you, or one of your staff, comes and sees how our business model works first-hand before anything is signed. Our name will live on and as such we want to be sure that our standards and reputation for excellence of service will be maintained.’

After a few seconds of silence Orla risked a look at Antonio. His face was hard, inscrutable.

‘That could be easily avoided by the removal of your name and replacing it with the Chatsfield one.’

Orla struggled to maintain her composure. He was just trying to unsettle her; this was one of the first things her father had stipulated before even agreeing to think about the takeover bid.

She tried to keep the panic out of her voice. ‘You know that’s one of the fundamental staples of this agreement. That our hotels keep their name. Which is why we need to ensure that excellence is maintained.’

Antonio stood up and Orla had to crane her head back he was so tall. He walked around the table and her heart thudded when she thought he was going to perch on the edge of it. Far too close for comfort. But then he went and stood at the window, hands in his pockets.

His back looked impossibly broad, tapering down to those lean hips, hard buttocks and long, powerful legs. Orla had a memory flash of the scars dotted all over his body and felt weak inside. Obv

iously they’d come from his time in the army…. She didn’t like the way she felt slightly sick to think of how they’d come about.

In a moment of weakness during the week, she’d delved further into her research of him and had discovered that he was a decorated war hero. It hadn’t made the general news because it had been as the result of a covert mission with the Legion.

He turned abruptly and Orla’s mouth dried.

‘If your father was so concerned with excellence, then how the hell did he let the business run through his fingers? Along with us and a few others, the Kennedy Group was one of the few predicted to withstand the recession. Now you’ll be lucky to keep the name.’

Orla felt sick. No way was she going to get into the sordid details of her father’s weakness for indulging his wife and her extravagant ways.

She stood up, not liking how intimidated he made her feel. Loath to blame her father, Orla said, ‘We made a series of bad decisions. And yes, we had a cushion to protect us for a while, but once the downturn hit, those decisions cost us … too much.’

Antonio was grim; he crossed his arms. ‘It was more than that. You know we’ve had your accounts to inspect as part of this deal. It was a veritable haemorrhaging of money and ludicrous decisions. How on earth could your father have ever believed it would be a good idea to expand into South-East Asia with a brand that was aimed primarily at this domestic market and America—which had very clear advantageous links due to the solid Irish/American connection?’

Orla looked away. That decision was the one that had put them over the edge. She’d begged her father to reconsider his South-East Asian plans but her mother had insisted that it was where they should be. She’d fancied the kudos of hotels in Hong Kong and Bangkok. Orla had known it was suicide.

Bravely, she lifted her chin. ‘My father … we,’ she quickly amended, ‘got the best advice at the time, projected earnings and we were assured that it was a good idea.’

Antonio shook his head. ‘I’ve been out of this game for some time, I’ll admit. But anyone with half a brain cell could have foreseen that disaster.’