The Perfect Cazorla Wife. Michelle Smart
was something she’d always been embarrassed about. She must have been really desperate to get in touch with him in this manner.
At the time he’d received her letter, though, he hadn’t been thinking of anything like that. Seeing her handwriting there before him had hit him low in his gut, churning up so many emotions he’d screwed the envelope into a tight ball and thrown it at the wall. A good hour had passed before he’d retrieved it and taken a look at the content of her letter. He’d barely got a third of the way through before screwing it back up again. The finance report—and he used that term loosely—had gone straight in the shredding pile.
‘I read enough to know you’re after more of my money.’ He’d transferred ten million euros into her account not long after she’d left, a reminder to her of everything she was giving up. He’d fully expected her to come crawling back. He’d still been expecting her to come crawling back a year later when the divorce papers had landed on his doorstep.
But now those millions had dried up and here she was, dressed to the nines, trying to get her greedy hands on more.
‘I’m not after your money. Did you read the bit about the Poco Rio day care centre?’
‘Yes.’ It was as far as he’d got before the words had blurred in his eyes.
Poco Rio day care centre. Those five words had been the reason his hands had fisted the letter into a ball the second time. It had been his estranged wife’s refusal to have a child with him that had killed their marriage.
He’d pumped an endless supply of money into her failed business ventures and now she had the nerve to ask him for money to fund yet another business, this one involving children, when she’d strung him along for three years with the promise of one.
He’d never thought of her as a sadist.
‘Then you know how important this is. I’ve found the ideal premises but the owner won’t hold onto them for ever. Either I complete the sale in the next month or he’s pulling out. Please, Raul, there isn’t time to find new premises. We’ve got four months left until we’re kicked out of our current home and—’
‘None of this concerns me. This is your problem.’
‘But I’m running out of time! The place I’ve found is perfect. The grounds are enormous and, once all the renovations are done, the building itself will be ten times better than the one we’re currently in and we’ll be able to double the number of children.’
‘As I said, this is your concern, not mine.’
‘But without you I can’t get the rest of the funding. I’ve tried everything...’
‘Then try harder. Maybe this time you’ll actually see something through to the end rather than giving up halfway through.’
She sucked in her cheeks at his home truth but met his gaze head-on. ‘I won’t give up this time. I can’t. But no one’s prepared to invest.’
‘Then either your business plan needs working on or you need to change your résumé. Maybe you should consider changing the truth into lies and hope no one bothers to check it.’ He backed away and nodded his head. ‘I’ve given you enough of my time—my date will be feeling neglected. I trust you can see yourself out?’
She blanched at the mention of his date.
He waited for gratification to hit him but all he felt was something akin to guilt, although why that should be the case he couldn’t begin to fathom. Charley had left him. After three years of his lavishing his money on her, helping her to improve herself, supporting her, giving her everything she desired...she’d refused him a child.
After three years of stringing him along, dangling the promise of a child over his head, she’d finally admitted the truth. She didn’t want to have his baby.
Their whole marriage had been a lie, reduced to nothing but a cauldron of recrimination and hate.
And now she had the nerve to ask for his help.
Yet, staring at her now, her skin as pure as alabaster under the moonlight, Raul had to clench his hands into fists and hold them tightly to his sides to prevent them reaching out to touch her.
The first time he’d met her, he’d just taken over the running of the Cazorla Hotel chain, the family business run by his father until he’d suffered a major stroke. Despite having his own successful, unconnected business to run, Raul had stepped up to the plate and taken over. The stroke had left his father physically disabled and unable to speak but he’d perfectly conveyed the disgust he felt at this occurrence. Raul had known it was the thought of him taking over rather than his new physical situation his father had hated the most. He knew his father despised the roaring success he’d made of the business since.
Back then, he’d been in Majorca to inspect the Cazorla hotel there, as he’d done in turn with the whole chain, refamiliarising himself with the business. This hotel had been markedly different from the others, having turned into a family hotel over the years rather than a luxury resort as the others in the chain were famous for. Charley had been employed by an outside Spanish company as one of the entertainers there.
He’d first seen her late in the evening, leaving the complex, dressed in shorts, a shimmering top and flip-flops, long honey-blonde hair flowing around her shoulders. She’d been laughing at something a friend had said, a deep, throaty laugh without inhibition that had made him smile to hear it. He’d spotted her again the next evening. She’d been on the stage running a game show that involved audience participation. She’d been funny and energetic and had the guests, young and old alike, eating out of her hand. He’d sought her out when the show finished, about to head out with her colleagues to party the rest of the night away. It hadn’t taken much persuasion to get her to change her plans and join him instead.
Appearancewise, she couldn’t have been more different from how she looked now in her expensive tight red dress with the plunging neckline that showcased her creamy cleavage and matching red heels. As soon as she’d been given access to his bank account, her style had changed dramatically, her wardrobe suddenly full of impeccable designer items.
Tonight, her long, thick hair had been dyed a warm blonde but he had no doubt it would be a different colour in a few weeks. Her hair changed more frequently than her ever-shifting career choices.
Her perfectly made up green eyes blinked rapidly as she pulled her generous lips into a tight white line. She reached out an imploring hand before quickly letting it drop. ‘You’re the only one who can help me. I’ve finally found a bank prepared to invest in the project but they’ll only give me the rest of the funds if you act as guarantor.’
‘What the...?’ He bit away the oath that jumped on his tongue and glared at her, ignoring the plea ringing from her eyes. ‘That’s even worse than asking me for money outright. You must be mad if you think I would guarantee money on any business venture you embarked on. After all, I threw away millions of euros during our marriage on your failed ventures—’
A thought occurred to him. ‘Why would the bank manager request I act as your guarantor? We’ve been separated for two years. Our divorce, which I remind you has come at your instigation, will be finalised in a few weeks.’
Her teeth sank sharply into her bottom lip and she cast her eyes down in a decidedly shamefaced manner. ‘I...’
‘What did you do?’ His wife was nothing if not impulsive. She could have done anything.
‘I...I told him we’d got back together.’
‘You did what?’
She met his gaze with a cringe. ‘I didn’t know what else to do...’
‘Let me get this straight—you told a bank manager we were back together so you could get investment on your latest hare-brained project?’
‘It is not hare-brained,’ she protested hotly, displaying the first real hint