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Had she done the right thing?
She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.
What choice had she had?
Ramon de la Vega or Carl Skinner.
In the end she’d had no choice at all. Her hand had been forced. First by her father’s irresponsible actions and then by Ramon de la Vega’s ruthless, self-serving agenda.
In less than two days from now, the Vega Corporation would own fifty-one per cent of The Royce.
I’m so sorry, Grandfather.
She exhaled a shaky breath.
At least Maxwell had finally turned up, although she couldn’t have said whether it was an attack of conscience or the four messages she’d left on his phone, ranging in tone from pleading, to furious, to coldly threatening, that had prompted his appearance.
He’d looked terrible, as if he hadn’t slept in days, and part of her had hoped he hadn’t.
Why should he get the luxury of sleep when she’d lain awake all night worrying?
And then he had agreed to sell his shares.
It had taken Emily a full minute to realise the
tightness in her chest had been not only shock, but sadness.
The Royce was the one remaining connection she had to her father. Now that connection would be irreparably severed.
She stood up suddenly and smoothed her hands down the sides of her trousers. She wasn’t going to do this. She wasn’t going to get emotional. It would only make her feel worse.
Drawing a deep breath, she headed down the plush carpeted corridor and looked into the accounting office.
It was empty.
Further along, she stopped at Marsha’s desk. ‘Do you know where Jeremy is?’
‘He called in sick this morning.’
She sighed. The news wasn’t welcome, and not only because she needed financial data from Jeremy. He was one of the few people at The Royce she felt able to confide in—and the only other person aside from Ray Carter who knew about her father’s gambling problem. It would have been nice to talk with him.
Marsha looked at her. ‘Can I help with something?’
‘Do you have access to the finance drive?’
Marsha nodded and Emily grabbed a pen and a piece of notepaper and scribbled out a list. ‘Download these files onto a flash drive and take them to our guests in the boardroom.’
‘Mr de la Vega?’
There was a gleam in Marsha’s eyes that Emily tried not to notice. ‘Yes. And please also arrange for refreshments and lunch for our visitors.’ She moved towards her office. ‘Thanks, Marsha. I’m going to keep my door closed for a while. If Mr de la Vega or his lawyer ask for anything more, let me know.’
So I can tell them to go jump.
Except she wouldn’t, because she didn’t have that luxury. But the thought was satisfying, if nothing else.
Sitting at her desk, she forced herself to focus. This morning’s outcome was not what she’d anticipated but she still owned forty-nine per cent of The Royce. She still had a job to do. The staffing budgets had to be completed and she’d promised the executive chef she’d look at his proposed changes to the seasonal menu and give her stamp of approval.
Plus there was the small matter of drafting a discreet communication to the members. Maxwell had agreed to a carefully worded announcement in his name welcoming the Vega Corporation as a shareholder. The members already believed he was the sole owner. Armed with only selective facts, they’d assume her father had retained the balance of the shares, and he and Emily and the club’s new shareholder would allow that assumption to go unchallenged.
