Maurice had sent him on was one he wanted over. He wasn’t looking forward to this meeting, let alone the other business his grandfather had asked him to carry out.
There would be fireworks, but with so many people coming in and out of the building, he planned to convince Ms. Tate to talk to him away from everyone. If this woman was as bitter and unforgiving as her mother, then he had his work cut out.
He looked in the direction of the bank of elevators, braced for a confrontation. Every time he heard the ding, he watched another group of well-dressed people step out. Though he didn’t have a picture of Ms. Tate, he knew she was a midlevel executive, twenty-seven years old and had been born with blond hair. Not a great deal to go on. At this point all he could do was wait until she approached him.
When he decided something must have detained her, he suddenly noticed an ash-blond woman with silky hair to the shoulders of her chic navy suit walking in his direction from the stairway door on long, shapely legs.
Out of nowhere Nic felt an unbidden rush of physical attraction. Not in years had that kind of powerful reaction to a woman happened to him.
This was the woman he’d flown all these miles to talk to?
Maybe he was wrong and she was meeting someone else, but no one else was standing by him. On closer inspection he noticed that her coloring and five-foot-seven-inch height could have been the way her grandmother Irene Holden would have looked at the same age. Irene had been an exceptionally beautiful woman.
Nic stood there stunned by the strong family resemblance. That had to explain why he’d been so taken with the woman’s looks. She had a certain elegance, like her grandmother, and wore white pearls around her neck as he’d seen Irene do many times. Their sheen was reflected in her hair.
The similarity of the two women’s classic features was uncanny, though the granddaughter’s mouth was a little fuller. Her mouth...and her eyes... They were a lighter blue than her grandmother’s.
But instead of the hint of wistfulness that was Irene’s trademark, he saw guarded hostility as her granddaughter’s gaze swept over him with patent disdain.
“I’m Laura Tate. Which of the Valfort men are you?”
Nothing like coming straight to the point with such an acerbic question, but he was prepared.
“Nicholas. My grandfather Maurice married your grandmother Irene.”
He heard her take a quick extra breath. Much to his chagrin, it drew his attention to the voluptuous figure no expensive, classy business suit could hide. She was Irene’s granddaughter, all right.
“Paul told me your business was urgent. It must be a life-and-death situation for you to make the long flight into the enemy camp.”
Nic changed his mind. This woman wasn’t anything like her delightful grandmother, which made him more irritated with himself than ever over his unexpected physical reaction to her.
“I’d rather talk to you outside in the limo, where we won’t have an audience.” He sensed her hesitation. “I’m not here to abduct you,” he asserted. “That isn’t the Valfort way, despite the rumors in your family.”
He noticed how her jaw hardened, but ignored the grimace and got down to the business of why he’d come. “I’m here to inform you that your grandmother passed away day before yesterday, at St. Luc’s Hospital in Nice.”
The second the news left his lips, Laura’s facade crumbled for a moment. In that instant her whole demeanor changed, like a flower that had lost its moisture. He knew he’d delivered a message that had rocked her world. For no reason he could understand, he felt a trace of compassion for her. Tears sprang to those crystalline eyes, bringing out his protective instincts despite his initial resentment of her lack of feeling for her own grandmother.
“My grandfather wanted you and your mother to hear the news in person. Since he knew he wouldn’t be welcome here, he asked me to come in his place. If you’ll walk out to the limo—the most convenient meeting place I could devise—I’ll tell you everything.”
Irene Holden had been his grandfather’s raison d’être. Nic was still trying to deal with the recent loss himself. He’d loved Irene, who’d been a big part of his life. Her death had left a huge void, one this unfeeling granddaughter couldn’t possibly comprehend.
* * *
Was it true? The grandmother she’d hardly known was dead?
If Laura were the type, she would have fainted. This tall, striking Frenchman dressed in an expensive charcoal-colored silk suit and tie had just delivered unexpected news that shook her to the very foundation.
He had to be in his early thirties and wore a wedding ring. She’d noticed something else—Nicholas Valfort spoke excellent English with a seductive French accent, no doubt just like the rogue grandfather who’d beguiled her grandmother. A man like this had no right to be so...appealing.
Is that what had happened to Irene—she’d felt an overwhelming attraction to Maurice the moment she’d met him? Like granddaughter, like grandmother?
The surreal moment made it difficult for Laura to function, let alone breathe, but she had to.
Without further urging on Nicholas’s part, she followed him to the front of the building. Once he’d helped her into the back of the limousine, he sat across from her.
She had an impression of vibrant black hair and hard-boned features, but all she could focus on were the moody gray eyes beneath black brows, studying her as if she were an unpleasant riddle he couldn’t solve and frankly didn’t want to.
“I brought these pictures of her with me. Please feel free to keep them. They were taken in the last year before she became so ill with pneumonia.”
Laura groaned. Pneumonia?
He opened an envelope on the seat and handed her half a dozen five-by-seven color photos. Five of them showed her grandmother alone in different outdoor settings. The last one had caught her standing in a garden with a man who had to be her second husband, Maurice.
The same Valfort characteristics of height and musculature in the photo had been bequeathed to the arresting male seated across from Laura. But unlike him, the man’s hair in the picture had turned silver.
She studied the photos for a long time. Her grandmother had still been beautiful at eighty. Pain caused her throat to constrict.
“I brought her body on the Valfort corporate jet. Maurice called the Sunset Mortuary here in San Francisco to meet the plane. Here’s their business card.” She took it from him, cognizant of their fingers touching. Something was wrong with her to be this aware of him when she was in so much turmoil.
“They’re awaiting your family’s instructions. When your mother broke all ties with Irene, she told her that neither she nor my grandfather would ever be welcome at her home in this life.”
Searing pain shot through Laura. Her mother had said those exact words to Laura’s grandmother? Laura didn’t believe it. This man was biased and had colored the situation with his own judgmental version of the scandal. Still, it was so horrifying, the tragedy of it all overwhelmed her.
“My
