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He felt something flicker across his skin, and he recognised the hot lick of shame. Later, he had questioned his intelligence and his sanity in believing what Dove had said to him as she lay in his arms. But back then, blinded, foolish, senseless with love, it hadn’t been until Oscar Cavendish turned up at the hotel with his ‘proposal’ that he’d understood how naive, not to say stupid, he had been to think she wanted anything more than a summer fling.
Now, though, it appeared thatshewas the naive one.
Swallowing the bitter taste that rose in the back of his throat, Gabriel turned towards Alistair Cox. ‘And I’m very much looking forward to Cavendish and Cox helping me achieve my goal.’
The older man gestured towards the Herman Miller chairs tucked around the large conference table. ‘Then let’s get started. Thank you, Dove—’
‘Oh, Ms Cavendish doesn’t need to go.’ He glanced over to where Dove stood, poised to leave, her body turned away from him so that he could see the silhouetted curve of her breasts against her blouse. ‘We’re all friends here.’
Something flashed in those molten silver eyes, just as they’d used to when they’d made love and he wondered if they still did. And, if so, with whom? His jaw tensed. The thought of another man holding her close at night, touching her, pressing his body against hers, made him see every shade of red.
He steadied his breathing. Once upon a time he’d thought they were friends, lovers. Soulmates, too. Not now. This was not some sort of reconciliation. He didn’t want or need to be her friend. In fact, enemies could be just as useful and committed as friends—given the right incentive.
Fortunately, he knew exactly which buttons to press to ensure Dove Cavendish’s compliance.
‘And besides, my interest in acquiring Fairlight Holdings will soon be made public,’ he said softly.
‘Fairlight Holdings?’ Alistair Cox frowned. ‘I knew old Angus Balfour. He made some good investments in the mid-nineties’ property rebound, but they made a mistake, in my opinion, when they failed to extend beyond the residential market.’
Gabriel held his gaze. There was a steeliness behind the older man’s soft grey eyes, and a first-class brain. Despite his genial demeanour, Alistair Cox was clearly not just some clueless beneficiary playing at the family firm. So how had he ended up getting in such a mess?
Not that it mattered to him. Nothing mattered to him except getting even with the two women who had so callously upended his life. His mother, Fenella Ogilvy, and the woman standing opposite him, who was doing her best to pretend she wasn’t there. Or more likely that he wasn’t. But this time he wasn’t going anywhere. This time he was the one with all the power—and most importantly the money.
Alistair Cox smiled at him pleasantly. ‘Which is why I would advise choosing a company with a broader portfolio that covers commercial units as well. I know of a couple that would be interested—’
‘Maybe another time,’ Gabriel said neutrally.
The older man lifted off his glasses and began polishing them on the cuff of his jumper. ‘Might I ask why you’re so interested in Fairlight?’
Gabriel stared at Cox impassively, the anger he had held tightly inside for so long tearing at him.
His interest in this acquisition had nothing to do with business. His empire had started just five years ago, with a stake in the social media app Trill, and it had grown, hydra-headed, into a diverse portfolio that included a cryptocurrency exchange, a slow-food restaurant chain, several media outlets, and most recently some commercial real estate in New York.
Unlike his father, Luis, he hadn’t had a vocation. His business had grown organically. But he liked picking up other people’s businesses and refining them. Acquisitions had clear goals and they were profitable.
Only that wasn’t why he wanted Fairlight Holdings.
The reason for that was simple.
Fenella Ogilvy, his birth mother—the woman who had rejected him at birth—was ‘old’ Angus Balfour’s daughter. She wasn’t actively involved in the business—she had a career as a successful TV presenter—but she had shares, as did her two children, and currently her son, the son upon whom she had bestowed her father’s name was acting as interim CEO following his grandfather’s death sixteen months ago. In short, Fairlight was an old family firm, much like Cavendish and Cox. He had worked on enough acquisitions to know how sentimental people could be about such businesses. And how much it hurt for them to lose control of them...
But Fenella Ogilvy was no businesswoman, and her son was out of his depth. She wanted out, and that made her vulnerable. And he fully intended to take advantage of that vulnerability. He was going to do to her what she had done to him. He was going to take her need and her weakness and turn it against her. Make her trade her family’s business, her family’s past and future, for cash.
And then he would shut it down. Erase it for ever as she had tried to erase him.
Glancing over at Dove’s carefully composed face, he gritted his teeth. But he wasn’t about to share the real reason with anyone.
He shrugged. ‘I’m interested in anything that can make me money, Alistair.’
Beside him, Dove flinched. Or perhaps it was a trick of the light, he thought a moment later, glancing over at her pale, composed face. Before he could make up his mind, there was a knock on the door, and he watched as Cox’s PA stepped into the room, smiling apologetically.
‘I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, Mr Silva—’ she looked over at her boss ‘—I have a call for Mr Cox.’
‘Can’t it wait, Annabel?’ Alistair Cox frowned. ‘We were just about to start—’
Gabriel held up his hands. ‘Please don’t refuse on my account,’ he said smoothly. ‘Ms Cavendish can keep me company—if that’s all right with her, of course?’
There was a small, pulsing silence, like a held breath. ‘Of course,’ she said finally.
