Worth The Risk. Zara Cox
MAN WAS worth it.
I slammed the phone down, and then got even more annoyed that I’d lost my cool. For three days I’d jumped through every hoop imaginable and some I’d never thought even invented.
Granted, if I succeeded, this would be the sale of a lifetime. My fifteen per cent stake in this deal would double my already-impressive bank account but, more important, put me squarely on the map in a place where arrogant billionaires with egos the size of small countries lounged on every corner.
Hell, I could even relocate to another sun-drenched locale. One that didn’t hold the ravaging memories this place did.
I glanced out of my office window and was greeted by the stunning marina a good percentage of the world’s population believed was the gateway to paradise. Most people would give a piece of their souls for this.
Not me.
To me, this would always be ground zero of the worst moment of my life. The most humiliating, too. Definitely the most heartbreaking—
I wasn’t ashamed to admit part of my reason for wanting this deal over and done with was the shattered heart bit. I’d used my work to patch myself together and lately I’d become aware that I might have missed a few vital pieces in my repair job, like a broken leg that hadn’t been set properly.
It supported you by keeping you alive, breathing, reasoning, but toss in more challenging things like trust and emotional investment and, heaven forbid, taking another chance on happiness, and it withered and shrank, its acute flaws lighting with the dire warnings of its impending malfunction.
It was too late to salvage the pieces of my heart that betrayal had rotted away, but it wasn’t too late to hit the reset button on the rest of my life.
If only this damn client would play ball.
I sighed and let my gaze drift over the horizon.
The Côte d’Azur in June was living up to its hype where the cloudless blue sky, dazzling sunlight, sparkling ocean and blinding bling were concerned, at least. In the marina, multimillion-pound yachts bobbed smugly in the midmorning heat.
With almost undeniable compulsion, my gaze shifted left beyond the marina wall to the superyacht moored a quarter of a mile away in deeper waters.
La Sirène.
My biggest and riskiest investment to date.
Larger than all of the other boats currently moored, it was a sight to behold. Every client who’d attended the boat show a week ago had rhapsodised over it.
Fresh off the tram lines of the shipping yard in Greece, it was truly breathtaking. The most innovative vessel of its kind with unimaginable luxury to please even the most jaded appetite.
The day I’d received the call that my investment had been accepted, that I was part owner of one of the most breathtaking vessels ever built, was the proudest moment of my life.
But I’d learned to detach myself from falling in love with it. I didn’t get attached to things any more, especially things I was actively attempting to sell.
One by one the stragglers had fallen away until only one remained.
Gideon Mortimer.
A potential client who could be the answer to my achieving next-level status. A client with demands so absurd—
I jumped as the phone rang. I took a beat to calm my pulse before picking up the handset.
‘Branson Sales and Leasing, Leonora Branson speak—’
‘You hung up. I wasn’t done talking, Miss Branson,’ interrupted the deeply masculine, very arrogant voice.
Despite my irritation, the sheer sexiness of his voice sent a decadent shiver over my skin. I turned my back on the view and tried to ignore the sensation.
‘I got tired of being on hold after ten minutes.’
He made a sound as if he was grinding his teeth. ‘It was for less than five minutes and I believe my assistant told you I might have to take a call I’d been waiting for all day. Maybe you need a refresher course on the basics of customer service?’
Maybe you need a refresher course on how to be a human being.
In the six years since I defiantly started my own business on the southern French coast, I’d dealt with clients with egos of all shapes and sizes and heard enough outrageous demands to last a lifetime. Gideon Mortimer’s requests came within the top five per cent.
‘The yacht has a crew of twenty-five. That’s more than adequate to provide the service you need. As for your other requests, the captain also has a helicopter licence, twenty years’ flying experience under his belt and can fly you anywhere you need to go from the vessel.’
‘I’m bringing my most important client on board to finalise a business deal I’ve been trying to close for the best part of a year. Absolutely nothing can go wrong.’
‘And nothing, within my purview and the terms and conditions I sent to your assistant, will. All your demands...within reason, will be met.’
‘“We provide a three-sixty-degree service of excellence, one hundred per cent of the time.” Isn’t that your slogan?’
‘Yes, and the crew you need are ready to be allocated to you should you wish to lease the yacht. That includes three extra staff from my Monte Carlo office. Any more and I’ll have to shut that office down for the summer.’
‘Then do it.’
‘No, I won’t. You’re a potential valued client, but you’re not my only client. As a businessman you’ll understand that I can’t place my eggs in one basket. And frankly, the staffing ratio you’re asking for is excessive so if you’re not willing to budge on that, then we’ve come full circle.’
‘As a businesswoman, you should know that sometimes success hinges on making that one bold decision that could turn a crucial tide in your favour.’
I allowed myself a small smile at the irony. Gideon Mortimer had no idea how much I’d risked to be a part of the consortium that had built the yacht. How much he himself was crucial to achieving my next goal. ‘Trust me, I do. But from where I’m standing, I’m not sure you’re that tide bringer.’ Right now, he was more like a pain in my ass, albeit a very sexy-sounding one.
Silence greeted my response.
Had I been too bold? I might not be the biggest dog in the yard but I hadn’t let that stop me from barking long and loud when I needed to.
I mentally shrugged. If Gideon Mortimer wanted to take his business elsewhere, it’d be a blow, but it wouldn’t kill my plans for the future. It’d just delay it a little.
That stony ache beneath my breastbone rubbed hard, as if reminding me of its existence. I breathed through it.
‘A bold move, insulting a potential client,’ he said, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.
‘I believe in playing a straight bat. If that’s too offensive for you, I’ve given your assistant the names of much larger firms who could cater to what you want.’ Those firms believed in landing their business no matter what it took. I didn’t.
‘It’s not my assistant’s job to sell the yacht to me. It’s yours. Shouldn’t you be bending over backwards to please me? Or are you inflexible?’
‘I’m flexible in every way that counts. I was a junior athletics gymnast before I went to university and I have three medals to show for it, two of which are gold.’
‘And how long ago was that?’ he mused. ‘Thirty? Forty years? You’ve obviously grown rusty.’
My fingers tightened around the handset as I counted to ten. I’d let a personal detail slip. My number-one rule of business was to keep my emotions out of it.