The Surprise De Angelis Baby. Cathy WilliamsЧитать онлайн книгу.
and one which would have the benefit of his very personal input—which was something of a rarity. He was relishing this break from the norm.
Then there was his successful ditching of the last woman he had been dating, who had become a little too clingy for comfort.
And, last but not least on the feel-good spectrum, a sexy little blonde thing would be waiting for him when his time was up on that floating liner so far from paradise...
All in all this was going to be something of a holiday and, bearing in mind the fact that he hadn’t had one of those in the longest while, Daniel was in high spirits.
‘Sir? Maybe we should head down so that you can board the ship? It’s due to leave soon...’
‘Shame... I’ve only been here for a few hours.’ Daniel turned to his driver, whom he had brought with him from the other side of the world on an all-expenses-paid, fun in the sun holiday, with only a spot of driving to do here and there. ‘I feel Santorini could be just the place for me... Nice exclusive hotel somewhere... Kick back and relax...’
‘I didn’t think you knew how to do that, sir.’
Daniel laughed. Along with his brother and his father, Antonio Delgado was one of only a few people in whom he had absolute trust, and in fairness his driver probably knew more about his private life than both his brother and his father, considering he drove him to his numerous assignations with numerous women and had been doing so for the past decade.
‘You’re right.’ He briskly pulled open the car door and slid inside, appreciating the immediate drop in temperature. ‘Nice thought, though...’
In truth, kicking back by the side of a pool with a margarita in one hand and a book in the other wasn’t his thing.
He kicked back in the gym occasionally, on the slopes occasionally and far more frequently in bed—and his women all ran to type. Small, blonde, sexy and very, very obliging.
Granted, none of them stayed the course for very long, but he saw that as just an occupational hazard for a man whose primary focus—like his brother’s—had always been on work. He thrived on the pressure of a high-octane, fast-paced work-life filled with risk.
He had benefited from the privileges of a wealthy background, but at the age of eighteen, just as he had done with Theo, his father, Stefano De Angelis, had told him that his fortune was his to build or not to build as the case might be. Family money would kick-start his career up to a certain point, but that would be it. He would fly or fall.
And, like Theo, he had flown.
Literally. To the other side of the world, where he had taken the leisure industry by storm, starting small and getting bigger and bigger so that now, at not yet thirty, he owned hotels, casinos and restaurants across Australia and the Far East.
He had acquired so much money that he could spend the remainder of his life taking time out—next to that pool with a book in one hand and a margarita in the other—and still live in the sort of style that most people could only ever dream of. But work was his passion and he liked it that way.
And this particular acquisition was going to be novel and interesting.
‘Don’t forget,’ he reminded Antonio, ‘you’re to drop me off fifteen minutes away from the port.’
‘It’s boiling out there, sir. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather enjoy the air-conditioning in the car for as long as possible?’
‘A little discomfort won’t kill me, Antonio, but I’m deeply touched by your concern.’ He caught his driver’s eye in the rearview mirror and grinned. ‘No, it’s essential that I hit the cruise ship like any other passenger. Arriving in the back seat of a chauffeur-driven Merc isn’t part of the plan.’
The plan was to check out the small cruise liner incognito. The thing hadn’t made a buck in years, and he wanted to see for himself exactly where the myriad problems lay. Mismanagement, he was thinking. Lazy staff, incompetence on every level...
He would spend a few days checking out the situation and making a note of who he would sack and who he would consider taking on as part of his team when the liner was up and running in its new format.
Judging from the list of airy-fairy scheduled activities, he was thinking that the entire lot would be destined for unemployment.
Five days. That was the time scale he had in mind, at the end of which he would stage his takeover. He didn’t anticipate any problems, and he had big plans for the liner. Forget about woolly lectures and cultural visits while on board substandard food was served to passengers who frankly wouldn’t expect much more, considering the pittance they were paying for their trips.
He intended to turn the liner into one of unparalleled luxury, for a wealthy elite whose every whim would be indulged as they were ferried from golf course to golf course in some of the most desirable locations in the world. He would decide on the destinations once the purchase was signed, sealed and delivered.
As with every other deal he had successfully completed, Daniel had utter confidence that he would succeed with this one and that the ship would prove to be a valuable asset. He had never failed and he had no reason to assume that this would prove the exception.
At the port, with the shiny black Merc behind him and a battered backpack bought especially for the purpose slung over his shoulder, he cast a jaundiced eye over the motley crew heading onto the liner.
Already he could see that the thing was in a deplorable state. How could Gerry Ockley, who had inherited this potential goldmine from his extremely wealthy father, have managed so thoroughly to turn it into something that no self-respecting pirate would have even considered jumping aboard to plunder? How the hell could he ever have imagined that some wacky cultural cruise would actually turn a profit?
True, it had taken over eight years to run it into the ground, but he would have thought that someone—bank manager...good friend...concerned acquaintance...wife—would have pointed him in the right direction at some point.
The liner was equipped to hold two hundred and fifty passengers comfortably, in addition to all the crew needed. Daniel figured that at present it was half full—if that.
He would be joining it halfway through its trip and, ticket at the ready, he joined the chattering groups of people, mostly in their mid-fifties and early sixties, who were gathering in preparation for boarding.
Did he blend in? No. When it came to anyone under the age of thirty-five, as far as he could tell he was in the minority. And at six foot two he was taller than nearly everyone else there.
But he was in no doubt that he would be able to fend off any curious questions, and he was tickled pink that he would be travelling incognito for the next few days. Was that really necessary? Possibly not. He could always have stayed where he was, in his plush offices in Australia, and formulated a hostile takeover. But this, he thought, would afford him the opportunity of removing at least some of the hostility from his takeover.
He would be able to tell Ockley and his wife exactly why he was taking over and exactly why they couldn’t refuse him. He would be able to point out all the significant shortcomings of their business and he would be able to do that from the advantageous perspective of someone who had been on board their liner. He was being kind, and in the process would enjoy the experience. The fact that the experience would be reflected in his offer would be a nice bonus.
He could feel inquisitive eyes on him as the crowd of people narrowed into something resembling an orderly queue. With the ease born of habit he ignored them all.
His appearance matched his battered backpack. He was just a broke traveller on a cut-price cultural tour of the Greek islands and possibly Italy. His hair, a few shades lighter than his brother’s, was slightly longer than he normally wore it, curling at the nape of his neck, and as he hadn’t shaved that morning his face was shadowed with bristle. His eyes, however, the same unusual shade of green as his brother’s, were shrewd as they skimmed the crowds. He had tucked his sunglasses into his pocket.