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br /> He waved them away, as if they hadn’t just stood there in the middle of the restaurant kissing and instead had merely been a little delayed. And she realised then that what had made Bartlett awkward hadn’t been the kiss, but the fact that he had clearly witnessed the interaction between Antonio and his father.
‘I meant to ask,’ Emma said as they took their seats, reaching for a conversation that she hoped would start them on potentially neutral ground, ‘how is Anna’s grandson? He wasn’t very well the last time we spoke.’
A smile painted Bartlett’s features. ‘He’s doing well, thank you for asking.’
Bartlett turned to Antonio, who hadn’t been able to conceal his momentary confusion.
‘My PA’s grandson had appendicitis, and she had to stay home to care for him last week.’ Turning back to Emma, he continued, ‘She wanted me to pass on her congratulations. And I’d like to add mine to that,’ he said, gesturing to Emma’s hand.
The heavy weight of the beautiful green sapphire suddenly felt tight around her finger.
‘I must admit I did wonder who it would take to make this reckless playboy settle down,’ he said, but a smile took some of the sting out of his words. ‘I don’t believe he could have done any better.’
Emma forced some heat into her smile as guilt nibbled at her stomach. Lying. She was uncomfortable with lying.
‘Thank you, Mr Bartlett.’
‘Benjamin—please call me Benjamin,’ he said, taking his seat and gesturing to them both to do the same. ‘I hope you’ll forgive us for talking business over our meal?’
‘Of course. Antonio’s very passionate about your company and I can’t help but be intrigued.’
‘Oh, really?’ Bartlett asked.
‘I have a great deal of respect for what you have achieved,’ Antonio stated, finally picking up the thread of the pitch he’d worked on non-stop for almost a week.
Phrases that Emma had heard him muttering to himself over the last few days ebbed and flowed in the conversation. They ordered drinks and food, and between the starters and the end of dessert Emma marvelled at how Antonio used his carefully constructed words to weave a spell that she was sure Benjamin Bartlett was falling under.
Each line of his pitch was carefully orchestrated, bent and moulded to the positive, outlining how Arcuri Enterprises could support, aid, help the company to grow, rather than muscle in and take over. It was skilful, almost surgical in its precision.
The warmth of Bartlett’s interaction with her was very different from the careful assessment he was giving Antonio. Whilst Bartlett might be congenial, he was still a fierce businessman who was choosing his investor wisely.
‘You clearly know a lot about my business, Antonio.’
‘I use my research well.’
‘And what does your research say about me?’ Bartlett asked—and the query not one made out of vanity.
‘That you are a traditional businessman who believes in keeping things the way they are. You don’t like change, and you fight vehemently for your company, your brand and its continued success. You don’t believe that a business deal should be done until the second bottle of whisky has been opened, and as we’re in a restaurant, not a bar, and you have refused a drink with your coffee, I can tell that you haven’t yet made up your mind about who is best to support you financially through the next successful stage of your business.’
Bartlett gave a surprised chuckle. ‘And how did you know about the whisky?’
Antonio looked to Emma, who leaned in and said conspiratorially, ‘Us PAs have our secrets, Mr Bartlett. Do allow us to keep them.’
‘Ah... Of course. That is as it should be,’ he replied with another warm smile.
Emma laid her fork down, defeated after less than half of the exquisite chocolate dessert she had ordered. In truth, she had neither eaten nor tasted much of the meal they had shared. Her nerves had been wound tight for Antonio. Because of him.
‘Arcuri, it has certainly been an interesting evening. I thank you for the work you have clearly put into making this pitch, and I hope you will understand if I take this under consideration until next week. I have shareholders—many of whom see your father as a very good option.’
It was a phrase Antonio had expected, but one that was none the less unwelcome. Whether Bartlett had said it to garner a better deal from him, or whether it was the truth didn’t really matter.
Yes, he’d seen desperation in his father’s words and actions, but it was Dimitri’s phrase that ran through his mind as he left the restaurant with Emma. That desperation made people dangerous. And he knew in that moment that he would go to any length, any extreme, to bring his father to his knees.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BY THE TIME they entered the reception area of their hotel, Antonio’s thoughts were no longer on Bartlett or his father. Something which, at one point he’d thought almost unimaginable. But that had been before they’d come to Argentina—before Emma had worn the dress he’d chosen for her, and before he’d kissed her in a crowded restaurant and wanted the whole world to burn with him.
So instead of planning his next step he was still tasting her on his tongue. Instead of feeling the black plastic key card in his fingers he was feeling her skin beneath the palm of his hand. And there was nothing he could do to relieve the ache in his chest.
