control.’
‘Is that a fact?’ he drawls as we roll to a stop at a junction.
‘Yes!’ I sigh again. ‘Maybe we should change the subject.’
‘No, come on, I’m interested.’ He glances both ways before signalling and pulling out with a low roar of the engine. ‘Not many people are so generous with their opinions.’
Crap. Rapid back-pedalling required. ‘If I’ve spoken out of turn Mr Demetrio—’
He cuts me off with a sideways look. ‘It’s Alex, remember? And you haven’t. So, are you saying money doesn’t matter at all? If you met two men, liked them both and the only difference was one was rich and one wasn’t, you wouldn’t pick the one with the money?’
There’s no right answer. Given his cynicism, I will look like either a gold-digger or a liar.
‘See,’ he mutters, ‘you can’t deny it. You’re as motivated by money as the next woman. The only difference is some admit it.’
‘That’s not fair,’ I shoot, shaking my head. ‘And I won’t admit to something that’s not true. The money would be a bonus but it wouldn’t be the deciding factor. I’m not one of those women who go out with the intention of bagging a billionaire.’ Attempting to lighten the mood, ‘Although if I were looking, a man with the ability to buy me a few more pairs of shoes wouldn’t be completely unwelcome.’
‘So it is important then.’
‘I was joking! It’s not about the money.’ But I’m a hypocrite. Part of the reason I’m here is cold hard cash. Though it’s got no link to any attraction I feel for him.
‘If you say so.’ He accelerates and I’m pressed back into the seat. ‘Let me put it another way. If you won the lottery, you’d take it?’
‘That’s not the same and you know it,’ I retort. ‘I’d be an idiot not to claim the money … and FYI I’d probably share it with my family.’ Crossing my arms. ‘Fine, you’ve got me. In the grand scheme of things, money is important, especially when you haven’t got any. Not that you’d know anything about that. But I’m talking about being able to pay the mortgage and put food on the table, not spending thousands of pounds on one item of clothing or blowing silly amounts on lavish parties.’
Alex nods as we pull up outside the hotel, yanking the handbrake on and cutting the engine. He shifts in his seat to look at me. ‘Not all of us draw huge salaries or are stupid about spending,’ he surprises me by saying, ‘but well done, very passionately delivered.’ He searches my face for something, then the shutters come down. ‘I could almost believe you.’ Climbing gracefully from the car, he leaves me frozen in my seat, mouth hanging open.
Did he just call me a liar?
I’m angry and hurt but my conscience tugs at me. I am a liar, until I find the right moment to tell him who I am and the reason I’m here.
But he doesn’t know that. So why is he assuming I’m being dishonest?
If it was anyone else who’d said it, my instinct would be to argue, but it won’t help, so I take a moment to cool down. Grabbing my mobile from my bag, I check for a signal. The little tree icon and message welcoming me to Spain show I’m linked to the local network. I send Jess a quick text.
Hi, here safely :) Got off plane in one piece! Know you think I’m wrong to do this but I need to. Speak later. C x
Dropping my phone into my bag, I hope I’ll still have a best friend by the end of the weekend.
I wiggle from the car, aided by a red-uniformed concierge who rushes over to hold the door open for me. If I’d expected Alex to wait I’d be disappointed. He’s already gone into the hotel. Charming.
Studying the grand white frontage of the building, I thank the man, receiving a nod and smile in reply, before I click up the broad stone stairs and through the gold-gilded door into the lobby. Spotting my infuriating but dishy boss at the front desk, I stride across the vast, high-ceilinged, black-marbled room. The differences between the traditional façade and the modern interior of the hotel work surprisingly well together.
Hoping Alex will acknowledge me and perhaps apologise turns out to be pointless; he’s deep in laughing conversation with the pretty brunette receptionist who’s tapping quick fingers over a computer keyboard, their gazes tangling. Not that I’m bothered.
‘Here you are, sir,’ she says with a flirtatious smile and some exotically rolled r’s, ‘the Mediterranean. I have two key passes. There are two guests staying, si?’
My eyes widen. He’s not expecting us to share a room? No way. Not appropriate, a bit sleazy, and how would it look if anyone found out, given the rumours Tony’s spread about me? It’s absolutely nothing to do with how my rebellious hormones might cope with the challenge of sleeping a few feet away from Alex.
He looks round at me. ‘Oh, there you are. Sorry I didn’t wait for you but I wanted to get started on check-in. I thought you might be wrung out after the plane journey.’
Meaning my nerves on landing. Drats. He has his faults, but he’s actually pretty thoughtful.
His gaze flickers over me, making my skin fizz, and he frowns. ‘Are there any other rooms available?’ he quizzes the receptionist.
She checks her screen. ‘No, sorry sir. We are fully booked.’
‘What about other hotels in the area?’
‘I can make some calls but it is unlikely given the time of year. It’s very busy.’
‘Right.’ He runs a hand through his dark hair. ‘Of course.’
I start to feel self-conscious. ‘What’s the situation?’
‘We were expecting Stuart to accompany me,’ he throws over a broad shoulder. ‘For a woman, different arrangements would have been made.’
He usually shares rooms with male colleagues? But he’s mega wealthy, could probably buy the whole hotel with his pocket change. He doesn’t seem gay … and he warned me off earlier. Was it all a cover?
Embarrassingly, he catches me studying him. His eyebrows fold down together, then his mouth quirks up on one side. ‘It’s a suite with two separate bedrooms.’ He shakes his head. ‘It’s for convenience. Your room would be accessible from the outside corridor as well as the lounge of the suite.’
I release a breath. Separate rooms and he’s not into men. Not that I care, about the latter, I’m just pleased he isn’t suggesting we share a room, as Tony probably would have done.
‘Charley?’
‘In that case, no problem. Take it.’ It’ll be a pain to try and find somewhere nearby and I doubt we’ll be in the suite much anyway.
‘If you’re sure? That’s helpful, thank you.’ After a moment Alex hands me a key card and I take it, careful not to let our fingers touch. I so need dinner and then bed. I’m exhausted, and annoyed with him. Some time to get my head together would be heavenly.
‘I will call someone to take your bags up,’ the receptionist says in her lovely lilt as the concierge rolls up with our luggage in a gold trolley.
‘We can manage,’ Alex replies, ‘but thank you.’
I raise an eyebrow. For a billionaire he’s oddly humble. From the bewildered expression on the receptionist’s face she thinks the same but simply nods, handing Alex a slip to sign and asking if he knows where he’s going.
‘Yes, thank you.’ Walking round me, he starts unloading