By Request Collection Part 2. Natalie AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
in his business empire that couldn’t be delegated, Grace couldn’t have been more relieved.
Just like everyone else, she had worked hard over that initial period to get the transition of management running smoothly, staying late at the office, sometimes going without meals—something she had often done in the past, much to her grandfather’s disapproval. But Seth was a phenomenon with reserves of energy that outstripped hers and even the most dynamic of the other executives and she was determined, if she could, to try to keep up with him. How he managed to control his business interests, keeping them all running efficiently even from a span of hundreds of miles, was beyond Grace—although it did give credit to his judgement in engaging only the best staff needed to run each and every enterprise he presided over.
Which made his decision to have her working closely with him something she might have taken a pride in, if it hadn’t been for the knowledge that he harboured a bitter desire to make her pay for her actions in the past—and in the most basic way possible. So whenever he was around, his presence alone seemed to shatter her equilibrium, stretching her nerves as taut as guitar strings, so that she began losing sleep as well.
‘You look ghastly,’ he remarked when he returned briefly late one afternoon on a flying visit to the office. ‘Simone tells me you’ve been working all hours and neglecting to look after yourself—like missing lunch on more occasions than is healthy—and we can’t have that, can we? I don’t want a weak, undernourished lover in my bed.’
‘Then you’ll just have to find yourself one with more generous proportions, won’t you?’ Grace threw back, refraining from telling him that she’d had a recent stomach upset, which was probably why she looked so pale. She was unwilling to acknowledge how fit, strong and how terrifyingly attractive he looked in comparison, with the brilliant white collar of his shirt emphasising his olive skin and his black, untameable hair and that fine-tailored dark suit he was wearing accentuating the lean, hard lines of his body. ‘I’m sure you’ll find plenty at Weight Watchers!’
He laughed, as he always did when she tried to fend off his determined remarks about making her his mistress.
‘You’ll eat,’ he ordered, catching her hand. ‘Starting now.’ A glance at the clock on the wall showed that it was already four-thirty.
‘Not with you.’ She tried to pull away but his grip only tightened in response.
‘With me. And on my expense account. This is a business dinner, and one I expect you to honour.’
He meant it; she could always tell when business came uppermost on his agenda. Which was how, twenty minutes later, she found herself being handed out of the chauffeur-driven Mercedes he often used around the city and guided into the tastefully furnished little restaurant which was glowing with seasonal warmth and which, Seth had told her on hte way there, served exquisitely cooked meals throughout the day.
‘I hadn’t realised how hungry I was,’ she accepted reluctantly as she tucked into a home-made lasagne with salad and huge chunks of crusty bread, while Seth had a gammon steak with all the trimmings.
‘I thought you might want to see this,’ he said when they had finished.
It was an email addressed to Seth, from the customers that Grace had visited in New York, agreeing to continue to trade with Culverwells now that it was under Mason’s corporate umbrella.
‘That must make you feel quite smug,’ she remarked, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.
‘Not at all.’ He wiped his mouth with his napkin, laid it down on the table. ‘The PR job you did in New York obviously paid off.’ So he was acknowledging now that she hadn’t flown off to the Big Apple just to go designer shopping, as he’d originally accused her of doing. ‘And I’m in this simply to restore Culverwells to a healthy balance sheet.’
‘And to make yourself even more millions while doing so.’
‘Well, naturally. I’m a businessman,’ he stressed, pushing his empty plate forward before sitting back on his chair. ‘That would obviously come into the equation. But one thing I’m not in this business for is to antagonise you.’
‘Really?’ She looked at him dubiously, picking up her glass of sparkling water, which reflected the festive, coloured lights adorning the bar. ‘You could have fooled me.’
‘That’s a totally separate issue,’ he stated, ignoring the jibe. ‘One thing I learned on the road to where I am now is never to let personal and business dealings overlap. Did you know your grandfather took risks in other areas that weren’t always to the good of the company?’
His question, coming out of the blue, threw her for a moment. She looked at him over her glass, a mixture of puzzlement and wounded accusation in her eyes.
‘My grandfather would never have done anything underhanded.’
‘I’m not saying he did.’ He had ordered one small glass of wine for himself—rich and ruby red—which left tears around the bowl as he finished drinking, and put the glass back down on the oak-stained table. ‘He invested unwisely—with the best intentions, I’m sure, but against the advice of more circumspect members of his board. By then his judgement was probably clouded by more…personal matters.’ Which, as he had already pointed out, he himself would never allow to happen. ‘Ones that, I believe he realised at the end, hadn’t really been worth risking his company for.’
He meant Corinne, but Grace wasn’t sure what else he was driving at.
‘What do you mean?’ she queried, her forehead pleating.
‘Did you know that your grandfather had made an appointment with his solicitor for the day after he died with the intention of changing his will?’ Grace felt the colour drain from her face. ‘You didn’t.’ Amazingly, that strong-boned face was etched with something almost close to commiseration.
She shook her head several times as though to clear it. ‘How did you find out?’
‘I have my sources.’
Of course. He would have access to everything now—letters. Files. Company diaries. Even her, if she allowed herself to succumb to that lethal attraction.
‘Perhaps he realised the mistake he was making and had decided to do something about it,’ he said.
But instead he had had that heart attack, and his real wishes had never been known. She wondered if Seth was thinking what she was—that if Lance Culverwell hadn’t died when he had things could have been so different. Grace would probably have control of the company, and Seth could never have taken it over as he had.
‘I’m afraid all your admirable efforts to save Culverwells wouldn’t have amounted to anything without the injection of cash it sorely needed for reinvestment,’ she heard Seth telling her, as if he knew the path her thoughts had taken.
Which only a man with his obvious wealth and influence could provide, she acknowledged reluctantly.
‘Be careful,’ she murmured. She was choked by her feelings for the grandfather she’d been unable to help believing had let her down, on top of a barrage of conflicting emotions towards the man sitting opposite her—although for reasons she didn’t dare to question. ‘That sounded suspiciously like a compliment.’
‘Your ability as a businesswoman, Grace, has never been in any doubt.’
She made a sceptical sound down her nostrils. ‘But other aspects of my character have?’ When an elevated eyebrow was his only response, she went on, ‘Anyway, that isn’t what you said the day you took over Culverwells.’
‘I know what I said,’ he rasped. ‘That was before I’d had a chance to study just how hard you’ve worked and how much you’ve put into the firm, given of yourself, to get the best out of your fellow directors and your staff.’ He lifted his glass again. ‘I salute you, Grace. It isn’t every day, in my experience, one comes across such single-minded dedication—particularly in a woman. And before