“I do. But I’m happy to meet you in my office, if that’s better?” Her heart was pounding, and a fine bead of perspiration had broken out on her forehead.
“I’m sorry, Miss Beauchamp.” Like most people, he pronounced her surname incorrectly, ‘bow-chomp’. It always made her lips tingle with a smile. “I’ve got a dinner at nine in the hotel restaurant, and a conference call in my room scheduled for seven. I can only squeeze you in at eight tonight.”
“Of course. That’s fine. I’ll see you then. And please tell your father I wish him a speedy recovery,” she added, remembering her manners before ringing off.
He was pleasingly kind looking, with sandy coloured hair, blue eyes, and a dimple in either cheek. Carrie smiled, fully aware of the effect she was having on him, as she leaned closer, to present the figures.
“Thank you so much for meeting me, Mr Newman.”
“Please, call me Noris.”
“Noris,” she nodded. “I understand your time is limited.”
“Regrettably, yes,” he grinned, his eyes dropping to her bright red lips. Carrie Beauchamp was not at all what he’d expected. Her stuffy English accent and formality over the phone had definitely not prepared him for the veritable bombshell he discovered in the hotel bar. Her hair was short and sexily dishevelled, her eyes framed by thick black lashes. He drew his attention to the folder, already pretty sure he wanted to sign onto whatever she was hawking.
“Let me give you the Cliff’s Notes presentation, then.” She launched into her rehearsed spiel, absolutely certain she had him eating out of the palm of her hands. Only a few minutes into the well-practiced speech, she felt his attention drift to a point above her shoulder.
“Noris?” She asked, leaning forward, so that her shirt dipped to reveal a hint of cleavage.
“Gael,” Noris stood, extending a hand confidently.
Carrie cursed inwardly and looked over her shoulder. Gael’s eyes were loaded with dark emotion as he glared down at her.
“I thought our meeting was in the restaurant at nine,” The American queried.
“Indeed.”
Noris looked from Carrie to Gael. Only an idiot would miss the spark of angry heat that was travelling from one to the other.
Noris needed Gael Vivas’s business. There was no way he was going to get in the middle of whatever was going on between the Spanish tycoon and the sex-kitten Carrie Beauchamp. His father would absolutely murder him if they lost Gael Vivas on Noris’s watch. The thought made his skin pale.
“And how do you two know each other?” Gael asked, his eyes drifting insolently to Carrie’s lace bra, the details of which were visible beneath the fine silk of her shirt. Was she on a date with the American man? Possessive heat, white hot and furious, tore through Gael. Another completely unfamiliar emotion.
Noris was desperate to avoid the Spaniard’s temper. “We just met,” he promised quickly.
“I see.” He didn’t. Noris’s panic inched higher and higher. “Shall I see you in the restaurant at nine?”
“No,” Gael’s eyes didn’t leave Carrie’s face. “I’m prepared to finalise the details over email. Let’s cancel.”
“Cancel?” It was the main reason Noris had come to London. “Oh. Are you sure?”
Carrie’s expression was one of extreme frustration. She had a top degree in economics and had gained an excellent reputation in only two years. The Times had run a piece on her only three months earlier, calling her a young Richard Branson, with better hair. And yet this uniquely male pissing contest was the kind of thing that made her want to scream. “Gael, Noris and I are in the middle of something. Would you excuse us please?”
Gael’s look of amusement angered her even further. But one glance at the American and Carrie understood what was funny. Noris was all but backing away from the table. He could not have made it any plainer that he wished to be elsewhere.
“I’m sorry, Carrie,” Noris shook his head. “I’ll have my father be in touch once he’s recovered. He’s done the research on your offering; he’ll be better placed to make a decision.”
She watched him disappear, and sighed fatalistically. “Someone who needs your business more than mine, I guess?” She asked, without meeting Gael’s eyes.
He sat his broad frame into the seat opposite her, and scanned her appearance thoughtfully. “Talk to me instead.”
“No, thank you very much.” She reached over to take the paperwork back, but Gael put his hands on it, holding it firm on his side of the table.
“Tell me about your offering.”
“No. I’m in no mood to waste time, Gael. That meeting took me months to set up. And it was going brilliantly until you came along.”
“I have no doubt,” he muttered, lowering his gaze pointedly to her bright red lips, then back to her brilliant blue eyes. “Have dinner with me.”
“No,” she retorted.
To her chagrin, he lifted the pages, and began to flick through them, indolently reading the press release and detailed financials that had been intended for Mr Newman.
“Are you interested?” She asked with an annoyed roll of her eyes.
“Very,” he responded, putting the papers down. “Have dinner with me. Sell me on the investment.”
“I don’t need dinner to sell you. It’s a great start up. You’d be lucky to have the opportunity to come on-board while NewNetwork is in its infancy.”
His grin sent shivers down her spine. “You talk a good game, Carrie. I’m interested. Tell me more.”
“You’re not interested,” she said with a shake of her head. “At least, not in this.”
He leaned forward in the chair. “I did not say this,” he held the papers up in the air, “is the only thing I’m interested in. But nor would I waste your time and energies if I thought my answer was going to be a no. You need an investor. I invest in worthwhile businesses. But you will need to do a better presentation than you are currently delivering.”
Carrie leaned back further in her seat and studied his face carefully. He was certainly well placed to invest, if he had the interest to do so. His financials were commonly known to be extraordinary. He’d taken Vivas Industries and leveraged it into just one of dozens of companies under his name. At last count, his net worth had been estimated to be in the multi-billion pound bracket. Not that she’d googled him or anything; she hadn’t let herself show that kind of weakness where Gael Vivas was concerned. No, his success was very much public knowledge.
What did she have to lose?
She outlined the premise of the app, keeping the details succinct. She didn’t need the investor to know the ins and outs of the technical specifications. Only to understand the premise of what they were trying to do.
“Stop.” Gael commanded, after only ten minutes of Carrie’s hard-sell.
She hit her hand against the table. “I knew you weren’t really serious.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And you are just as wrong now as you were then. I am interested. I am also starving. I have not eaten since lunch time.”
Carrie’s laugh was genuine. “That’s not long ago.”
He frowned. “It feels an eternity. I am Spanish, remember.” As though that explained everything.
“Fine.” She shrugged distractedly, eager to push on with the sales pitch. “I can organise some bar snacks.”
“Bar Snacks? No. No need, when I have a perfectly good restaurant reservation. Come and tell me more about this project of yours, and we can eat like Kings.”
“Project of mine?” She glared at him, her humour well and truly turning bad. “You make it sound like a Girl Scout craft fair.”
“Come.” He held a hand out to her and reluctantly, Carrie put hers in it. Immediately, that sense of electricity shot through her, and when she looked up at him, everything seemed brighter. Clearer. More in focus. She blinked to clear the impression, but it did not go away.
The restaurant was a short walk from the bar, and to access it, they
had to bypass the lift they’d used only three nights earlier.
To his credit, Gael resisted the urge to remark upon the fact. But only just.
“After you,” he said, holding the door for her.
“Thank you.” Carrie slipped past him, unintentionally brushing her body against his in the narrow space of the restaurant’s opening. She shot him a mutinous glare, before turning her attention to the dining room.
Their table was in a small, rounded alcove, overlooking the London street beyond. When Carrie sat, she was careful not to touch Gael. Not his hands, as they held the chair for her. Not his body, as she eased herself into the comfortable seat.
“Are you sure you don’t want to have your meeting with Noris? He seemed rather put out.”
Gael’s laugh was sweet and spiced at the same time. “He will recover. I intend to maintain our business arrangement. He needn’t be worried.”
“I see.” She lifted her water glass and sipped it. The intimacy of their situation was making breathing difficult. “It’s just… I can see you in my office tomorrow. That might be more appropriate for a presentation.”
He frowned. “You were prepared to discuss matters over a drink with Noris.”
“Yes, that was the only time he had spare.”
“And this is the only time I have spare.” He took a gamble on her hunger for success. “If you have somewhere else to be, Carrie, you’re welcome to leave, of course.”
She lowered her gaze, to hide from him the weakness that was wreaking havoc with her legendary composure. “You can’t do tomorrow?”
“No. I fly out in the morning.”
“Oh.” Her blue eyes lifted to his face.
“Sad I’m leaving?” He queried, only half teasing. He didn’t want to admit to himself that the other half was hopeful.
“Not at all,” she said with an obvious shortness of breath. “I do however think it’s rather poor form for you to come to England and not see your father.”
Gael flicked the menu open and scanned the offerings. “I saw Diego and Alexandra today.”
“Oh,” she winced, feeling like a first-rate bitch. “How was he?”
“The same as always. Weak and pissed off with the world at large.”
Carrie laughed at the accurate representation. Six years earlier, when last she had crossed paths with Gael, she could never have predicted how she would come to love and admire Diego.
“And my mother?” Carrie probed, her gut clenching as she remembered the sight of them kissing.
“Her usual self also,” he responded coldly. Carrie scanned his face, trying to understand his feelings, but they were not clear. What had happened between them? Had they done more than kiss just that once? Surely he would never have any serious entanglement with his father’s wife? Oh, God. And then sleep with her daughter. Carrie shut her eyes at the horrible thought, angry with herself for just considering it now.
“Carrie?” Gael leaned forward curiously. “You are okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she swallowed past the lump of yuckiness in her throat. She had to know. “Gael, about my mother…”
“I do not wish to discuss our family, Carrie. This is business,” he said, a warning note in his voice.
“Are you ready to order?” A waiter, perhaps in his late fifties, appeared, smartly dressed in a suit, with a black bibbed apron across his front.
“Si,” Gael responded impatiently. “We’ll take a bottle of Le Sanani, and I’ll have the gnocchi followed by fillet steak.”
“Very good, sir. And for you, ma’am?”
Carrie opened the menu and perused it quickly. She was too distracted by her hurricane like feelings to focus on the words. She selected something at random. “Ummm … the Cos and Pear salad will be fine, thanks.”
“Stop,” Gael accosted the waiter, when he would have walked away. “She will have the salad, and the gnocchi, and we’ll share some bread too.”
Carrie almost had to wipe her jaw from the table. She waited until the waiter had left before leaning forward and whispering angrily, “You’re such a chauvinist. How dare you amend my order?”
“How dare you come somewhere like this, with one of the best Chefs in Europe at its helm, and order a salad that even I could prepare for you.”
“It’s what I feel like!” She snapped angrily.
“I did not cancel your silly salad,” he chastised. “I merely added to it. And if you do not want your pasta, and choose not to enjoy some bread, I will eat both for you.”
Carrie made a noise of annoyance and leaned back in her chair. “Fine. And I don’t drink wine, either.”
“Ever?”
“Never.”
He dipped his head. “I’m sorry. You are missing out on a truly lovely past time.”
She laughed despite her annoyance. “Wine is not a past time.”
“It is in my country. Fine wine, a beautiful woman, these should be enjoyed on a sun-warmed hill, with no business to provide distractions.
“Mmm,” she said with a shiver, for his words evoked such pleasant imagery. She lifted a hand in the air, and beckoned another waiter to their table. “A Grey Goose Martini, three olives, extra dirty.”
Gael shook his head. “This is not a dinner time drink.”
“It’s my dinner drink. Now, if you’re about done telling me how I eat and drink all wrong, would you care to hear more about NewNetwork?”
He smiled, but something was lodging in his chest. Worry. Concern. Doubt. “Tell me this, Carrie,” he said, only moments after she’d picked up where she’d left off earlier. “What do I get out of my investment?”
“I’m glad you asked. You get free PR. The best you can’t buy. This is an altruistic program, aimed at the betterment of womankind. And let’s face it, it’s far from a level playing field. In developing countries, school is considered a prerogative only of boys and the very, very wealthy. Even here, in the United Kingdom, we’re far from achieving wage parity. This app is, initially, a feel good foray into women’s networking. But beyond that, it’s going to become a platform. Jobs for women, nanny services, free legal advice. The possibilities are endless – once you have a devoted market of women.”
“Mmm,” he nodded slowly. “Why are you speaking so cynically about it, then?”
“Cynical?” She flushed, shaking her head. “I’m not.”
“You’re pretending it’s just about money, and I don’t believe that. Surely this matters to you.”
“Of course it does,” she said, lowering her eyes.
“Not as much as it should. Not as much as it would have mattered to seventeen year old you.”
“Now who’s talking about irrelevancies?” She asked, embarrassed to the core.
“You used to be someone with real passion in them. Where did that go?”
“I’ve changed,” she said honestly. “I’m not that girl anymore.”
“No kidding,” he agreed firmly, reclining while the waiter placed a martini and a bottle of wine on the table. He lifted his glass in a salute and then sipped it. “What happened? What changed?”
She ran a finger around the rim of her martini glass. “Like you don’t know?”
His frown deepened. “I haven’t seen you in a very long time, princesa. How would I?”
She thought about telling him. About throwing it in his face that his callous behaviour – his outright rejection – had ripped her teenage heart from her chest, and forever changed how she viewed the world. That seeing him with her mother cemented her understanding of how things worked. That brains and intentions were all well and good, but that looks mattered most. To everyone.
The waiter placed bread down between them, and Carrie watched as Gael spread a generous amount of salted butter over the top. He offered it to her but she shook her head in a silent refusal.
“I take it you studied economics in the end?”
Carrie, relieved to follow conversation onto safer ground, nodded. “Yes.”
“And this?” He asked, nodding towards NewNetwork.
“Initially I came on board in an advisory capacity. Once I realised the potential, I surrendered my other clients and gave this my full attention. The developer is brilliant – technically gifted. But he’s got no head for marketing, brand management or finances.”
“I see,” he said with a nod. “So you’re committed to the project?”
“Meaning?”
“That if I invest, I want to know you’ll continue in your current role for the foreseeable future.”
“Oh, right.” She nodded. “I have no plans to move on.”
“That, as you well know, is not the same thing.”
Carrie laughed. “Do you want it in blood?”
“I can think of more pleasurable ways to extract your agreement,” he said, and beneath the table, his legs brushed against hers. Carrie shifted a little, but her insides were clenching with the force of passionate memories.
“Gael,” she whispered, and lifted a hand to her throat. She had never been more relieved than when another waiter appeared with their gnocchi, and Carrie’s salad. She ignored the potato pasta and pressed a fork into her lettuce.
“The project’s success is largely on your shoulders, Carrie. If you leave, it will just be another App in a sea of many other clever ideas.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, surprising them both with her vehemence. “Pass me your phone.”
He did so without question, and watched as she tapped away at the screen furiously. “That’s just the Beta version. Most of the pieces are mock-ups. We’re still getting our networks in place. But spend some time navigating it and you’ll see where this can go.”
He looked down at the screen, then back at Carrie. “Fine. I’ll do so, later.”
He watched as she lifted a single piece of torn lettuce into her mouth.
“So?” She asked, putting her fork down and crossing her legs beneath the table. “You’ll invest?”
He let out a small laugh. “I’m seriously considering it.”
“What do you need, Gael? What will get you over the line?” Her eyes widened as she realised how he might construe her statement. “Oh! I don’t mean that.” She bit down on her lip. “I mean in terms of information. What else do you need to know?”