“Perhaps Miss Bradley and I could conduct this meeting by ourselves.”
My father laughs. It’s a real laugh, which makes it worse. “Oh, Isa loves spreadsheets. She’s always trying to show them to me. There’s a time and a place. A time and a place, but we’re here to talk about ideas. Now that chef you have at the villas, where did you—”
My brother’s still standing. He wants to storm out, but he knows we won’t follow him. “I’m next in line to be CEO. If you want to talk about the future of Bradley Hotels, I’m the one you conduct a meeting with.”
“I don’t think so,” Castille says, his voice steel beneath velvet. “My inside line on this company says that the daughter’s the one who makes the decisions around here. I’d rather deal with one person than three.” He gives a bland smile to my father. “But I’ll pass your compliments along to Chef Bautista. He’ll be happy to know he has a fan.”
Silence frosts the room, and I suck in a breath. Three years ago my mother called me to “do something” with my college degree. We were on the brink of bankruptcy. I spent every night dropping thousands of dollars in Los Angeles. Of course men would offer to buy me drinks. They’d buy me the entire club if I wanted them to, but I always turned them down. Not even a shot. Money makes people think that they own you. One drink leads to another, and then the man expects to escort you home. No, I paid for my own drinks. And when my family needed help, I dropped everything to make it work. A huge loan that we paid back ahead of schedule. Tightening of the budget across all the hotels. And the hardest part, higher standards of luxury and comfort even as we spent less.
No one has ever acknowledged what I do in the company. The average person probably remembers my stunt base jumping off the Hollywood sign. I’m the celebrity punch line.
America’s pretty little capitalist princess.
No one cared that I graduated magna cum laude from Harvard.
No one knows that I spend twelve hours a day working.
Except apparently Francisco Castille.
My brother explodes. “Your inside line? Inside line? Does that mean you have a spy here? I need a name. A goddamn name before you walk out that door.”
“It’s the way things are done,” my father says, chiding, relaxed in his chair. A nuclear bomb could go off on the conference table, and he’d take it in stride. It’s part of what’s made him so successful. It’s also what’s brought his company to the brink of collapse. He winks at Castille. “Business would be boring without a little corporate espionage. We have someone on the inside of Castille Enterprises, of course. You never know when it will come in handy.”
“We don’t,” I say to Castille.
“I’ll speak to Isabella alone.” He nods his head toward my father. “And I’ll throw in Chef Bautista. If he wants to relocate, he’ll have his choice of Bradley Hotels. It will be a condition of any arrangement that she and I conclude.”
My brother tries to protest, but my father ushers him out of the room. He gives me one last look before he closes the door—and I read the instructions plain and clear: make the deal. He wants that chef, and he’s willing to do anything to get it. Castille clearly understood that.
Quiet descends on the room. It’s different from the cold shock earlier. This is contemplative.
Castille leans back in his five-thousand-dollar corporate conference table chair.
I slant him an unamused look. “What’s that going to cost us?”
“The chef? I’ll throw him in for free.”
“Not when you paid a fortune to put his six kids through college, you’re not.”
“So you do have spies. I’m impressed.”
“If you want to be impressed, let’s discuss Bradley Hotels. My brother may like to boast, but he’s not wrong about our connections. Or our infrastructure. You know that or you wouldn’t have asked for this meeting.”
“I also know that infrastructure costs a fortune to maintain. That’s why you need me.”
“Why did you reject our proposal?”
“It’s wishful thinking.”
“Our numbers are stronger than ever. Cash flow is the problem here.”
“And I’m ready to write a check, Miss Bradley. I look forward to a long and fruitful”—he pauses as if tasting the word—“partnership between our families. It won’t look anything like what you had written down, clever though it was.”
“Clever? No. I think it was fair.”
He stands, and my heart thumps. Is he leaving? He can’t leave. Except he doesn’t head toward the door. Instead he walks leisurely around the table. “Would I see a return on my investment? Probably. If your brother and your father don’t run the hotels into the ground. There’s only so much you can do chasing after them, cleaning up their mess.”
My throat feels tight. It’s not only the words he’s saying. It’s the way he’s prowling closer to me. That’s what it feels like—as if I’m being hunted. “A return on your investment is good.”
“Not good enough. I want more.”
Then he’s standing in front of me. His body blocks the light from a wall of windows. He becomes shadow—heat and scent. He’s intimidating, but I’m not afraid. Instead excitement runs through my veins. An excitement I haven’t felt in years. “What do you want?”
Chapter Two
Francisco
The first time I ever saw Isabella Bradley was beneath the strobe lights of my club in Vegas. She looked gorgeous. No, that’s not the right word. She looked fuckable. Immensely fuckable, and I seriously contemplated taking the steps down to the floor. She had turned down every man who approached her, but I felt confident enough about getting her into bed. The problem was, I didn’t want a carbon copy of every beautiful girl. I didn’t want another bland night of vanilla sex. I wanted control, and this girl, with her high heels and fake eyelashes and glasses of Dom Perignon was in no position to give it to me.
What do you want? she asks. The same thing I wanted that night, only now I know that it’s possible. It’s within my grasp, and the anticipation makes me hard. Everything about her makes me hard. I want to own you. If I told her that she’d go running for the hills. “I have something deeper in mind than an infusion of cash.”
“You want a seat on the board?”
“God no. I want controlling interest.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s impossible. Bradley Hotels stay in the Bradley family.”
“That’s exactly what I’m proposing,” I say, drawing out the last word. Proposing. This isn’t how I imagined proposing marriage. “That I become part of the Bradley family.”
Her blue eyes are narrow. She’s suspicious. Good. She should be. “Meaning?”
“Marriage is the easiest way, I should think. And it’s about time I settled down. Produce an heir, as my aunt would say.”
Shock. Disbelief. Fury. They’re written across her face in rapid succession. “You’re an asshole.”
That makes me laugh. It’s a good laugh. A belly laugh. The kind that’s genuine. She’s perfect for me. Her brother was right when he said I liked new construction. The villas in Bali. The club in Vegas. The ice hotel in Sweden. I like to control every single aspect of a situation. I would never have considered taking on the Bradley hotels, no matter the return on investment. Not until I heard the whispers about her taking over the reins. Not until I put her together with the fuckable woman I saw in the club. The Bradley Hotel empire is a bonus. She’s my true acquisition.