Filthy Rich Revenge: A Filthy Rich Billionaires Book - Lynn Raye Harris Page 0,3
because his daughter hadn’t seen it coming. Because she’d been too weak and too blind to sense a threat from her former lover.
“I think I hate you,” she said softly.
“Then we are even.” The line went dead.
2
Rebecca leaned numbly against the soft leather seat of the Mercedes limo that had picked her up at the Madrid Barajas International Airport. She stared bleary-eyed at the scenery as the car carried her down the Gran Via.
He’d said he hated her. It shouldn’t surprise her, but somehow it did.
Five long years. She hadn’t seen him, other than glimpses on television or in the pages of a magazine, in all that time. For one month, he’d been everything to her. After her meeting in Barcelona had concluded, she’d returned to Madrid and spent a heady month as Alejandro’s lover. He’d been there when she woke, when she fell asleep, when she swam or shopped or ate. He’d laughed and made love to her and made her think she was the most special woman in the world.
Now? She pinched the bridge of her nose. God only knew what happened now. He was ruthless, and he’d gained control of Layton International. He owned every last share. She’d confirmed it during the endless hours of travel.
She had nothing left. If he fired her, she could only limp away in shame. Without her company, she was stone cold broke. She could pay her mortgage for the next three months and she could eat. If she hadn’t found a job by then, she’d lose her apartment and all her belongings.
Somehow, the loss didn’t compare to the loss of self-respect, the knowledge that she’d failed to protect her family legacy. She didn’t know how to do anything except run a chain of hotels. It’s what she’d been brought up to do—however reluctantly on her father’s behalf—and what she’d spent her life training for and trying to excel at. What would her father say if he could see her now? He’d wanted a son to leave the business to, but she was all he had. Would he now believe his concern about leaving a woman in charge was justified? She couldn’t bear to think of his disappointment.
The car wound through downtown, nearing the ornate grey façade of the Villa de Música, the Ramirez crown jewel in the heart of Madrid. Her heart hurt with the memories seeing it again brought.
Rebecca shoved away thoughts of Alejandro. She’d see him soon enough, and though her stomach twisted, she reminded herself firmly that she was here for business. She would not be intimidated. His mere presence wouldn’t turn her to mush like it once had.
She was only mildly surprised when the car continued past the hotel. She’d half expected to be shown to a room, allowed to freshen up, maybe sleep a little before being dragged into Alejandro’s presence. Since she had no idea where they were going, she tried to close her eyes—but rest eluded her.
After what seemed like hours in traffic, the limo pulled into a private drive somewhere in the hills of Madrid. Rebecca wasn’t sure where they were, but she vaguely remembered passing the Palacio Real, the official residence of the King and Queen of Spain. A uniformed man helped her from the vehicle while another retrieved her bags. Within moments she was whisked through a stunning marble atrium and into a masculine office overlooking a terrace with a pool.
Rebecca drifted over to the window and clasped her hands together. Oddly, they were shaking. But she’d been traveling for almost twenty-four hours straight. Her wrinkled suit clung to her body like an old rag, her hair was pulled back in a limp ponytail, and she desperately needed a hot shower. Clearly Alejandro would give her no quarter before he gloated over his triumph.
Well, fine. She’d endure it, and she’d refuse to react to his insults. When the door behind her opened again, she put on her battle face and turned to meet him.
And, oh heavens, he was still the most amazingly handsome man she’d ever met. Her knees threatened to buckle at the sight of him. She had an inexplicable urge to rush into his embrace, the way she’d used to do, but she crossed her arms and stood her ground. It took every ounce of reserve she had not to give in to the desire to touch him.
Why?
She didn’t know if she was questioning her reaction or if the word was meant for him.