AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Don’t I always?” Annabelle asked, with more confidence than she felt.
“Keep me posted?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, I have to return to work. I received a request for a custom-designed dress, and I need to tweak the sketch based on feedback from the client. Talk to you soon.”
After she hung up, Annabelle contemplated what she would do if Dante reached out. She already had an attorney on standby to prepare the contract for the one-year term, as well as ready to prepare a prenup, so Dante didn’t have any rights to her father’s company after the divorce. She had to be careful with him. Around Houston, people had resorted to calling himel diablo guapo—the handsome devil. They spoke about him with awe and admiration sprinkled with copious amounts of fear.
And they didn’t call him the devil for nothing. He was known to circle businesses like a hyena, waiting for the right moment to swoop in and take control. As part of his reign, he gobbled up smaller companies that competed against him and capitalized on services they provided better than Escarra Commercial Real Estate did.
Dante had moved to the United States from Venezuela and started from the bottom, purchasing his first property in a booming part of town, which allowed him to eventually grow his company to the business it was today. He was smart as hell and had accumulated his wealth at a startling rate and, at times, with questionable actions, therefore he could very well try to take Buchanan & Buchanan from her.
She hoped Hilderbrandt Plaza was enough of an enticement to convince him to agree to her proposal. If not, she had no more ideas, which meant the merger would go through because her father’s recommendations carried a lot of weight with the board.
She sighed and started the car.
Dantehadto say yes.
4
“You’re not coming in?” Stella asked.
“No,” Dante replied with a shake of his head.
Stella was one of the most beautiful women in Houston. Tall and dark-haired, she had crystal-blue eyes and a winning smile. As a real estate agent, she racked up millions in commissions every year, always landing in the top three of agents in the state.
She was one of the few people he could talk business with for hours, and tonight, he’d taken her to Chateau Bianchi, an upscale French restaurant in the heart of Houston. Regular customers had to wait months for a chance to eat there, but Dante was no regular customer, and he took full advantage of the fact.
Establishments like Chateau Bianchi always kept off-the-book tables available for people like him, and when his assistant called to make a reservation for the night, the restaurant accommodated him. He was amazed things like that happened. He, an immigrant from Caracas, Venezuela, who had arrived in this country with a dream and very little money, was able to get a table at the finest establishments—no matter what. Simply because of the zeroes in his bank account.
They sat at a well-appointed table in the dining room and ate a delicious dinner. He had fully intended to spend the night with Stella’s legs wrapped around his waist, yet the last thing he wanted to do was enter her condo.
“It has been a long week. I’m going home now so I can wake up early in the morning and get some work done.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday. You work too much,” she moaned with pouting red lips, trailing a finger down the front of his shirt.
He smiled. “I like to play, too.”
“When will you play with me?” Stella eased into his personal space, gazing up at him with her lips parted in a sensual invitation to kiss.
Dante had run through his share of women over the years—in state, out of state, in other countries—and under normal circumstances, the move would have him rock hard and ready to go. He didn’t have the urge for sex tonight, though. Not after seeing his beautiful but conniving ex-wife yesterday. The entire time he’d been on this date, all he could think about was golden-brown skin and cool gray-blue eyes framed by long lashes.
“As soon as I have some time. I promise.” He took Stella’s hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles.
“What’s going on with you tonight? You seemed rather quiet over dinner.”
“Was I?”
“Yes, you were. Last time you were more talkative.”
“Not too much, I hope.”
“More than tonight,” she said pointedly. “Is something wrong?” She tilted her head to the right, brow furrowing with concern.
He couldn’t tell her what had happened yesterday. Annabelle must be very desperate to come to him with such an outlandish idea, outright refusing to accept his answer ofNo.
“I have a lot on my mind,” Dante admitted.
