A Taste of Sin. Maggie CoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
the desk of his blonde, statuesque secretary, Simone, whose cousin was an up-and-coming Parisian designer—and frankly that was why he’d given her the job...because it always paid to utilise his assets—he flashed her a warmer smile than usual and said, ‘Forget the coffee, ma chère, and book me a table for dinner at my club for eight o’clock.’
‘Will you be taking a guest with you, Mr Bonnaire?’
‘No, Simone. Not tonight.’
‘Then I will ring the maître d’ straight away and arrange for you to have your favourite table.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You are most welcome. It always makes me glad when I can do something to please you and make your life a little easier.’
The woman’s glossy pink lips curved in a smile that was definitely inviting.
Gene’s fleetingly good mood instantly vanished. Scowling, he said, ‘In that case you won’t mind doing some overtime tonight, will you? I’ve left a “to do” list on my desk for you. Goodnight, Simone. I will see you in the morning.’
He was more irritated than usual with the blonde’s obsequious manner. She hadn’t been working for him for very long, but he didn’t need to be a genius to know that she was only too aware of how to use her best assets...especially as she clearly thought it was only a matter of time before he would bed her... Just yesterday he had overheard her stating the fact, not very discreetly, to someone on her mobile.
Waiting impatiently for the elevator to arrive, he muttered savagely beneath his breath, ‘God save me from predatory women!’
LONG AFTER HER MEETING, and still stinging from her encounter with the mercurial force of nature that was Gene Bonnaire, Rose couldn’t help but be interested in what drove the man to be the way he was. He clearly hadn’t liked her decision not to sell the shop to him. Her refusal had really grated on him, because he obviously wasn’t used to being denied when he’d set his sights on something that he wanted.
Knowing that he was a restaurateur, and that he wanted the building for one of his establishments, that night she went home and did some more research.
Rose discovered that Gene was one of the richest men in Europe and had made his fortune by turning a once small French restaurant in East London called Mangez Bien into a well-known chain that had spread across the globe. The original restaurant had been owned by Gene’s parents. They were both French immigrants, who’d settled in London when they were young and had turned their love of cooking and food into owning a much loved eatery that had been patronised by a devoted local clientele.
By the time their son had turned seventeen, so the story went, he was already a fine chef whose ambitions far exceeded his parents’ own. He had progressed from being Head Chef at one of London’s finest hotels to becoming an astute entrepreneur who had started to establish restaurants of his own. But as he’d begun to build an empire of affordable French restaurants he had also acquired a reputation for being quite ruthless in his business dealings.
Rose already knew he didn’t like being denied...
Leaning back in her chair, she studied the photograph that her computer had helpfully supplied. It had been taken at a prestigious awards ceremony in LA, and even though the picture of him couldn’t help but be flattering, to her mind it didn’t depict any pleasure at his being at the event, nor at having received an award. Instead, the man’s immense dissatisfaction was clear. It emanated from Gene’s steely blue eyes in forbidding icy waves...
He doesn’t look even remotely pleased, she mused. And he was probably even less pleased since she’d turned down his offer.
The headline of the article onscreen read, The man who has everything once again strikes gold.
‘Hmph,’ Rose muttered out loud. ‘That doesn’t mean that any of what he’s got makes him happy. Something must be bugging him...something he doesn’t like to talk about.’
Was it anything to do with his father not being able to afford a real diamond and pearl ring for his mother in the early days when they were starting to establish their business? Why else had he told Rose that it was only costume jewellery? Had it made him feel insecure? She remembered the flicker of pain that had accompanied his remark. But surely he wasn’t still burdened by the memory? Was he sad that once upon a time his parents had struggled...that not everything had been as easy for them as it had for their son?
Wearily dragging her fingers through her pixie cut short hair, she sighed. Why was Gene Bonnaire at the forefront of her thoughts when she still had to face her boss and tell him that she’d turned down the Frenchman’s offer?
She would have done anything to spare him the disappointment and distress the news would undoubtedly bring him, and could only hope he would see that her motivation had been to do what was right by him. After all, he’d been there for her when her father had passed away, staying by his bedside with Rose until he breathed his last breath... The last thing he needed now, when he was so ill, was to be put under pressure to sell the antiques shop to someone who didn’t have the first idea about what it meant to him...
Switching off her computer, she stood up and stretched. Annoyed that she’d wasted even more time thinking about Gene Bonnaire, she went into her living room to collect the book she’d been reading. It was a hefty tome all about the Aztecs, with a fascinating chapter on the magnificent jewellery worn by the emperors. There had recently been a momentous find in northern Mexico, and straight away it had fuelled Rose’s interest. She’d have loved to go and see the treasure that the archaeologists had uncovered, but she’d have to wait until it finally went on display in a prestigious gallery or museum.
Going to bed, she fell asleep with the book on her chest and dreamt disturbingly of an Aztec emperor who uncannily resembled Gene Bonnaire...
* * *
Just like an addict, desperate to buy his next fix, Gene sat in the café across the street from the antiques store and couldn’t turn his mind to anything else other than fulfilling his desire to own the gracious building he was staring at... The coffee he’d ordered had long gone cold as he restlessly contemplated going in and demanding that Rose Heathcote came to her senses and accepted the offer he’d made.
It had been three days since their meeting, and no phone call had been forthcoming to tell him that she’d had second thoughts. Maybe her boss had had a better offer from someone else? The very idea made him feel nauseous. He wanted that building as much as he wanted his next breath, and he deplored the notion that he might not get it.
Glancing down at his Rolex, he saw that he’d been sitting in the café for nigh on half an hour, hoping to catch Rose unawares. Catching someone off-guard often paid dividends, he’d found. If he’d seen her then he would have asked her out to dinner, so that they could talk amicably outside of work and get to know each other a little better. If he was able to get her to trust him then he didn’t doubt he could persuade her to sell the building to him.
But she hadn’t stepped outside even once, and in truth he was taking an unnecessary risk, sitting in the café in front of the window. Any minute now the paparazzi might turn up—and that really would ruin his day, because they were frequently on a mission to expose him as ruthless and uncaring...
Even in the early days, when he’d started to have some success, he’d realised there were more people in the world who were jealous of his achievements rather than pleased. More to the point, they were jealous of his wealth... Knowing that, he knew the press was more than eager to take him down a peg or two—no doubt so that their readers could feel a bit better about their own lives.
Suddenly impatient, he glanced upwards at the now darkening skies. Any moment now it would start to rain. He shouldn’t waste any more time sitting there, waiting for inspiration to dawn about what he should do. He’d never been someone