His face was implacable. ‘Why weren’t you in London to see the deal through with your father?’
Orla blanched and avoided his eye. There was something almost accusing in his tone. She wasn’t about to tell him of her resolve not to be a part of the signing of the deal because she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of facing him across that table again. Cold, remote. After everything that had happened.
She looked back. ‘Because I decided it was best to come here to get a head start on renovations for this hotel.’ Her mouth went into a bitter line. ‘There was no need for me at the London end—everything was in place to sign off our business … which I presume is now done?’
But Antonio shook his head slowly. ‘No, Orla, it’s not done. At least, not the way you think. We did sign an agreement, but now you still own the hotel in New York, and the ones in London, and Dublin.’
Orla felt the blood drain from her face. ‘But … what? How?’
Antonio’s expression became enigmatic, unreadable. ‘Because we proposed a new deal to your father. We’ve decided to become investors … and he’s agreed to sell off all his remaining assets in favour of his main flagship hotels. Thus giving the Kennedy Group a chance to regenerate.’
Orla couldn’t stay standing; she felt for the chair behind her and sat down weakly. Antonio’s eyes narrowed on her and he cursed softly. Just then a matronly woman appeared and her eyes widened to see this virile specimen of manliness in the office.
Orla could have laughed at Mary’s expression if she’d been able to breathe. Antonio rapped out, ‘Can you bring us some brandy?’
Mary blinked and glanced at Orla and then rushed off, clearly seeing the need for the drink. Orla looked at Antonio, who stayed standing.
He spoke her whirling thoughts out loud. His voice disturbingly soft. ‘It’s your plan, Orla. What you wanted to happen. A chance to save the group.’
She shook her head. Was she dreaming? She wanted to pinch herself but then Mary was bustling back with a tumbler of brandy and handing it to Orla. Mary disappeared again and pulled the door behind her. Orla took a swift sip, her hand trembling slightly. The drink burned her throat and settled in her stomach, steadying warmth radiating outwards.
Antonio didn’t disappear. She wasn’t dreaming.
‘But how? Why?’ She couldn’t seem to string a sentence together.
Antonio started to pace back and forth as if standing still too long was caging him in like an animal.
‘Our priorities have changed. We’re no
longer interested in a takeover. Investment in a viable successful business is more attractive to us right now.’
Orla stared at Antonio suspiciously. There was something off about his words … and yet he was here, in her office, in the deepest part of the west of Ireland. Why would he have come all this way? Her heart sped up but she refused to even go there mentally.
He stopped and pinned her with his black gaze. It dropped momentarily and Orla’s breath hitched. She became acutely aware of her black silk shirt and black skirt. Dammit. She must look like some kind of a widow in mourning. But when she’d left London last week she’d thrown all the clothes she’d worn in France into the back of her wardrobe and had pulled out her most severe work clothes.
‘You need to come back to London with me.’
Panic seized Orla’s innards at the thought of going anywhere with this man. She shook her head, stood up again. ‘No, I need to stay here and get the hotel ready for refurbishment.’
A familiar steeliness came over Antonio’s features and Orla’s belly quivered.
‘Did you hear anything I just said? The deal is off. We’ve got a new deal. One that keeps the Kennedy Group afloat.’ His jaw clenched. ‘But I’m not signing the final papers until you witness them.’
‘Antonio …’ Even just saying his name made Orla feel dizzy.
‘I have a plane waiting at Kerry Airport.’
She opened her mouth again but he shook his head. ‘Either you come with me now, Orla, or this deal is off and you’ll be left with nothing.’
At last, something she could cling on to when it felt as if the world had gone mad. Orla straightened her spine. ‘What is it about you Chatsfields? Do you get your kicks from playing with people as if they’re little beetles running around a chessboard?’
His eyes flashed and to Orla’s chagrin it looked as if one corner of his mouth tipped up slightly. He was laughing at her! Galvanised, Orla marched around the desk to stand in front of him, putting her hands on her hips.
‘If you think that you can just barge in here—’
The half-smile faded from his mouth. ‘Did you know that Lawrence was in hospital?’
Immediately Orla’s ire melted away, replaced with shock and concern. ‘No! What’s wrong with him? How do you know? What happened?’