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Aimee’s heart began to race. “You know the answer to that, Grandfather.”
“Now, just a moment, Black.” Nicolo sat forward, his eyes narrowed and fixed on the old man’s face. “We have a deal.”
“What deal?” Aimee said.
“We have a tentative agreement, Prince Barbieri. Subject, as you know, to the outcome of this meeting.”
“I do not like being hustled,” Nicolo said sharply.
“Hustled?”
“Hustled. Played for a fool. Pushed for more money.”
“This is not about money, Your Highness.”
“Dio, will you stop calling me that? Call me by my last name. My first name. Just stop with the nonsense.” Nicolo slapped his hand on the table. “Damn it, just tell me what you want.”
James took a long breath.
“I want this institution to be in the hands of someone with experience. Someone with a record of achievement that I can trust.”
“That someone is me,” Nicolo said coldly, “and we both know it.”
“I also want it to be the legacy I leave to future generations of Blacks. Call it pride, call it what you will, Barbieri, but I don’t wish to see two hundred years disappear.”
“I understand.” Nicolo took a breath, too. For a couple of minutes, he’d thought the old man was trying to tell him the sale was off. Impossible, of course. Black was not a sentimentalist. He would never leave the bank in the hands of an irresponsible female. “And that is why I’m sure what I say next will please you, signore. I’ve decided to retain the name of the bank. It will be known as Stafford-Coleridge-Black, just as it has for generations.”
Aimee snorted. Nicolo shot her a warning look.
“Do you find this amusing, signorina?”
“I find it arrogant, signore. Can you actually believe my grandfather is naïve enough to think you’ve decided to keep a name that’s worth its weight in gold in financial circles as an act of kindness?”
Nicolo gave her a long, cold look. Then he turned to James.
“With all due respect,” he said, in a tone that made it clear the words were a polite lie, “I will not continue this meeting with your granddaughter present.”
“With all due respect,” Aimee snapped, “you are the outsider here, Prince Barbieri.”
“You know nothing about this.”
“I know everything about it.”
Nicolo’s mouth thinned. “What you know,” he said slowly, “has nothing to do with boardrooms or corporations or responsibility. The only person here who does not know that is your grandfather.”
Aimee sprang to her feet. “You—you no good, insolent son of a—”
“Stop it!” James’s voice was sharp. “Aimee. You are to show the prince respect.”
“Respect? If you knew—if you only knew what this man is really like. If you knew the truth about him—”
“Tell him,” Nicolo said softly. “Go on, Miss Black. Why not explain things to your grandfather?”
Aimee stared at him, eyes glittering with angry tears, lips pouting with suppressed rage, breasts rising and falling with each breath.
It made him remember how she had looked that night, in his arms.
In his bed.
