Taking away Thorpe Industries had been the only way he could think of to make them notice him but they’d both dodged that bullet.
Damn them.
Cole picked up the menu and scanned it, frustrated. Up until his father died, he’d had a plan, a reason to work long hours, to push himself. He’d wanted to be in a position where his father and brother couldn’t ignore him, where they’d have to look at him across a conference table and know that he held all the power, their financial lives in his hands. They would’ve been forced to acknowledge him, deal with him and respect him.
But, by dying and stepping aside, they’d both robbed him of that opportunity and him of his purpose. He felt like a leaf on a river in a flood, swept away and out of control, aimless.
‘So, I’ve been looking through your South African-based assets,’ Jude told him. ‘I’ll buy all your hospitality interests, except the ski-lodge.’
‘Why don’t you want the ski-lodge?’ Cole asked. The waiter had picked up two plates from the pass and he hoped they were destined for their table. He was famished.
‘Firstly, it’s a ski-lodge in Africa, dude. Yeah, it’s in the mountains, very remote, and the area gets snow in winter, but it’s never guaranteed.’
‘Surely they have snow machines?’ Cole suggested, leaning back so that the waiter could deposit his plate in front of him.
‘They have them. Look, judging by the photographs, it’s a stunning place. Your father spent a king’s ransom renovating it. But to recoup those costs, your hospitality division had to stratospherically hike the accommodation costs. South Africans who can afford to pay those rates can afford to fly to Gstaad or Aspen, Whistler or Verbier, where there are numerous runs, guaranteed snow and world-class facilities,’ Jude explained. ‘Frankly, I don’t understand the decision-making behind the ski resort at all but I’ve heard it was your father’s pet project.’
Cole frowned. Why, when he had businesses around the world, would Grenville have cared so much about a ten-bedroom boutique hotel in a remote part of South Africa?
And why, if he didn’t care about his father, Thorpe assets or the family empire, did that puzzle arouse his interest and curiosity?
It was eleven-thirty when Cole tapped on the driver’s window of the company SUV. Lex turned her head and looked at him through the rain-splattered glass, and it took her a while to switch from whatever she’d been reading to her job as his driver. She hit the lock to open the passenger door and Cole ducked around the hood of the vehicle, clutching his fancy takeout box. It was raining harder now, and he felt icy drops hit his hair and roll down the back of his neck. Africa was supposed to be about sunshine, but all he’d experienced was wild and wet weather, and more was on the way.
Fabulous.
He climbed into the passenger seat and balanced the box on the dashboard, shoving his hands into his hair to dispel the rain drops. Without asking, Lex punched the button to start the car and warm air hit his face and chest. ‘Thanks.’
‘How was dinner?’ she asked as she closed her textbook. He looked down to see that it was a battered copy, something to do with the evolution of neuroscience. An array of sticky notes poked out from its pages and Lex slipped the book and her equally old laptop into her bag. Zipping it up, she placed the bag behind his seat. She’d pulled her long hair back into a messy bun, and he reached across and removed a pen from behind her ear and handed it to her.
‘Thanks,’ she replied, blushing. She tossed it into the console and pulled on her seatbelt.
He saw her glance at the box before looking away.
‘Back to the hotel?’ she asked.
‘In a minute,’ He reached for the box, flipped open the lid and handed it to her. Lex took it with a puzzled frown, looking down.
‘What is this?’
‘You picked me up at six, which means you probably haven’t eaten,’ Cole explained. He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a set of chopsticks, which he handed to her. ‘Peter Snell boxed it up for me—it’s a selection from his tasting menu.’
Lex’s mouth dropped open and it took all of Cole’s determination not to bend down and cover that luscious mouth with his. ‘He’s a Michelin-starred chef,’ she stated.
‘So?’
‘You asked a Michelin-starred chef for a takeaway?’ Lex asked, stupefied. ‘For me?’
What was the big deal? He’d asked, Snell had said yes, here he was.
Cole waved the chopsticks in the air. ‘Do you want these or not?’ he asked, hiding his smile when Lex snatched them out of his hand. She slid them between her fingers and lifted a piece of pastry-wrapped fish to her mouth.
‘It’s tuna, obviously. But what’s between the fish and the pastry? It tastes citrusy but I can’t identify it.’
‘Yuzu and enoki mushrooms, I think.’ He pointed to the other dishes. ‘Veal, Jerusalem artichokes, scallops and some orange-chocolate-chilli thing.’
‘Oh, yum.’ Lex took the second bite of tuna before darting a horrified look at him. ‘Sorry, I can eat this later. Let me get you back to the hotel.’
‘Eat, Lex. I’m not in a hurry. All that waits for me at the hotel is more work.’