His heart had already jumped back into his throat before he read:
Beth Granger has denied reports that she’s taken a majority stakeholding in the Rosbel Group and denies sacking her husband and business partner, Xavi de la Rosa, from his dual role of Chairman and CEO. In a short statement, Ms Granger said, ‘The rumours are categorically untrue. The extra shares I purchased were a wedding present for my husband. While I can confirm that we have separated, the shares remain his and he remains at the helm of our great company and will remain there until a time of his choosing.’
He’d read it so many times and couldn’t understand why he kept returning to it.
‘Nice smell of alcohol in here,’ a voice drawled from behind him.
He whipped his head round and glared at his sister. ‘You were told to wait in the living room.’
‘Don’t take your shitty mood out on me.’ Carlota flopped onto the sofa and stretched her long legs out.
‘I’m not in a shitty mood and I’m not taking anything out on you.’
‘Sure. Can I have one of those?’ She nodded at the open bottle of whisky on his desk. There was an empty bottle of the same brand in the bin beneath his desk.
‘Did you drive?’
‘Not that it’s any of your business, but no.’
‘It is my business. You’re my sister, and if you want a drink, get yourself a glass.’
‘I’ll have the bottle, and it’s nice of you to remember.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘That you have a sister and family. You forgot to tell us you’d split up with Beth. We had to read about it on social media.’ She held her hand out for the bottle.
He thrust it at her with a scowl. ‘I’ve already explained that. The news broke before I had the chance to tell you.’ The press must have got wind of the story before they’d left Gustav’s party. When Beth had left their apartment in the middle of the night, a photographer had arrived to witness her jumping into a taxi with Diego. A close-up had revealed a blotchy face with red eyes. Social media had been in raptures ever since.
She couldn’t have planned her revenge any better. The whole of Spain—and England, their English heiress a paparazzo’s wet dream—had taken Beth’s side and spent nearly two days fervently cheering on her actions of stealing his company from under his nose.
Her statement had dampened the cheers but set off a flurry of wild speculation as to why their marriage had imploded so suddenly and so quickly.
‘Any explanation for why you’ve been hiding away from your family and the world?’
‘I’m not hiding away.’
‘Then why aren’t you in the office bossing around your workforce?’
‘I’m working from home.’
She took a slug of the whisky. ‘I thought you didn’t believe in working from home?’
‘I do when the paparazzi are constantly dogging me.’
Her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Blanca says to tell you that you’re an idiot.’
‘Why would she say that?’
She took another slug of the whisky with a shrug. ‘Probably,’ she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, ‘because you’ve sabotaged your relationship with Beth again. She didn’t go into detail, so I’m just speculating.’
‘There was no sabotage,’ he said flatly. ‘Beth was actively working against me from the beginning.’
‘That’s not what her statement said.’
‘Her conscience caught up with her.’ Every share she’d bought behind his back had been transferred into his name, not just the half she’d said she would give him. He’d received the notification and felt only betrayal. He’d received her text telling him she’d seen a doctor and that all was well with the baby, and felt such conflicting emotions that he’d opened a litre bottle and buried himself in whisky and spreadsheets.
‘Has yours?’
