‘Continue,’ he said, his tone back to that chilled edge with the many complex emotions weaved in.
‘As I said, it wasn’t official, but they were a great help—they taught me everything they knew about running a hotel.’ She shrugged. ‘I had a father who was indifferent to whether I was sick or healthy, fed or hungry. They…saved me from the worst parts of his neglect.’
A sound that was part-growl part-scoff rumbled from him, freezing her words. ‘The documents show you’re the rightful heir to Vayle Hotel. That your father dying without a will means you would’ve inherited it after the issues with the bank were resolved.’
She didn’t hide her glare. ‘Are you insinuating that the only reason your parents helped me was because they wanted the hotel I would eventually own?’
‘They arenotmy parents,’ he delivered acidly through his teeth. ‘And no, it’s not an insinuation, it’s a fact.’
She opened her mouth to hotly refute that. Only to startle when her car door was pulled open and she turned to find a doorman standing attention with a welcoming smile on his face.
They’d arrived.
Amongst the stylish gems littered around the impressive Recoleta neighbourhood of Buenos Aires, including the Four Seasons and other high-end hotels, the Rosa Corona was a cut above the rest.
But even it couldn’t hold a candle to the nearly finished hotel right across the street from it. Nelios XV, the soon-to-be crown jewel in Nelios Petralis’s collection, had been whispered about on the luxury hotel circuit for the better part of three years. It was rumoured that the elite suites didn’t just come with butlers and top chefs, but that the experience would include a private jet, a yacht and chefs flown across the world at a word. Put simply, to live the Nelios XV experience would be to inhabit a world where every single whim was catered for without exception—at the kind of price tag double the GDP of most small countries.
Vayle stood at her hotel room window in the suite adjoining the one Nelios had disappeared into the second they’d stepped off the lift. Looking across at the breathtaking architecture of the nearly finished hotel, she found herself once again wondering if the kind of motivation it took to birth not just one but fifteen masterpieces so far—and counting—was part of Nelios’s DNA or a characteristic formed out of the trauma he’d undergone.
If it was true.
But…why would he lie? He’d all but succeeded in his plans to destroy Vayle Hotel and force a buyout. They’d already been on the back foot for a few years, barely making the payments to the bank after the deaths of both her father and Tolis, before Nelios’s new hotel had sprung up directly next to them—all glitz and elegance, sucking the life out of the woefully-in-need-of-refurbishment Vayle Hotel. Their bookings had taken a steep dive, requiring them to take out emergency funding from the bank just to keep their heads above water.
While Vayle’s marketing ideas had seen a few surges in bookings, to her horror their rival had immediately countered their efforts, even going as far as to drastically slash their prices. She’d been puzzled as to why they would do that, until Agnes had tearfully confessed her relationship with Nelios. Things had gone steadily downhill from then on.
She shivered in recollection at his icy loathing when he’d seen Agnes at that meeting yesterday. No. That sort of reaction hadn’t been manufactured. Which meant…something had gone drastically wrong somewhere.
Her chest tightening at the implications, she turned away from the view of the hotel even she couldn’t deny was simply extraordinary. Like its namesake hotels across the world, the front edifice was sculpted in glass, grey stone and steel around the distinct Roman numerals, making it stand out, while also blending into the historical architecture. It was a soaring building that would repeatedly draw the eye with the promise of discovering a new feature with each glance. Vayle grimaced at the bite of envy of whomever would get the privilege of working within its walls when the ping from her phone refocused her attention.
She’d tried to call Agnes the second she was alone but she hadn’t picked up. Snatching up her phone now, she read the text from Agnes.
Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Text an update when you can.
Her heart warming, and roiling emotions settling, she immediately dialled again. Then frowned when it rang and went to voicemail.
The time difference was only three hours ahead in England. Vayle wondered why she hadn’t picked up. Clearing her throat,she left a message, attempting not to sound as perturbed as she felt. She decided that probing deeper about why Agnes had lost touch with her son, the man actively trying to destroy them, was a conversation she would prefer to have in person. She knew there was a measure of shying away from the possible truth but she grasped at the distraction when a knock sounded on her door.
Setting her phone on the coffee table, she went to open it, to see the head attendant from the plane, now dressed in a sharp suit with a visible bulge at his waist that confirmed his dual role as bodyguard.
‘Hello,’ she offered tentatively. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘It’s Capaldi,’ he said. ‘Mr Petralis would like you to join him for dinner in an hour.’
‘Oh…um, sure.’ She glanced past him then grimaced at the futility of it. ‘Where?’
‘In his suite. One floor up. I will come and fetch you.’
‘Thanks.’ She shut the door, then glanced down at herself. She looked and felt grimy. She’d intended to shower, but she couldn’t stomach wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing for twenty-four hours straight. Recalling the shops she’d seen downstairs, she made a quick decision and grabbed her bag.
Funds were scarce, and she’d taken a drastic income cut from the hotel when their troubles had started, but she’d barely touched the rainy day savings from the small inheritance her mother had left her. And, while she was severely on the back foot when it came to her interactions with Nelios Petralis, she could at least continue from a place of better confidence.
Vayle blew out a relieved breath when she made it downstairs without encountering either Andreas or Capaldi. She’d been half-afraid they’d appear like a nightmare and inform her she was to stay in her room until Nelios gave her express permissionto leave. Was he so confident she’d stay put—that he had her exactly where he wanted her?
Yes. Unfortunately.
Mildly grumpy at the thought, she entered the hotel boutique and just as quickly exited when the eye-watering prices and disdainful looks told her she was out of her league.
The warm sultry air, even at that time of the evening, was welcome as she hurried towards the brighter lights that, thankfully, produced shops in her price range.
