Evan sighed. ‘Nicole Thomas has already turned down every offer. She says she’s going to restore the place.’
‘It might not be worth her while,’ Gabriel pointed out. ‘She’s a banker. She’ll understand about gearing—and if the restoration costs are too high, she’ll see the sense in selling.’ He paused. ‘To us.’
‘You won’t succeed, Gabriel. It’s a waste of time.’
Maybe, Gabriel thought, this was his chance to prove his worth to his father once and for all. ‘I’ll talk to her.’
‘Charm her into it?’ Evan scoffed.
‘Give her a dose of healthy realism,’ Gabriel corrected. ‘The place has been boarded up for five years. The paintwork outside is in bad condition. There are articles in the Surrey Quays forum from years back calling it a flea-pit, so my guess is that it’s even worse inside. Add damp, mould and vermin damage—it’s not going to be cheap to fix that kind of damage.’
‘The Surrey Quays forum.’ Evan’s eyes narrowed. ‘If she gets them behind her and starts a pressure group...’
‘Dad. I’ll handle it,’ Gabriel said. ‘We haven’t had any objections to the hotel, have we?’
‘I suppose not.’
Gabriel didn’t bother waiting for his father to say he’d done a good job with the PR side. It wasn’t Evan’s style. ‘I’ll handle it,’ he said again. ‘Nicole Thomas is a hard-headed businesswoman. She’ll see the sensible course is to sell the site to us. She gets to cash in her inheritance, and we get the space. Everybody wins.’
‘Hmm.’ Evan didn’t look convinced.
So maybe this would be the tipping point. The thing that finally earned Gabriel his father’s respect.
And then maybe he’d get his freedom.
* * *
The figures worked. So did the admin. Nicole had checked online and there was a huge list of permissions and licences she needed to apply for, but it was all doable. She just needed to make a master list, do some critical path analysis, and tackle the tasks in the right order. Just as she would on a normal day at her desk.
Once she’d talked to her boss and he’d agreed to let her take a sabbatical, she sat at her desk, working out how to break the news to her team.
But then Neil, her second-in-command, came in to her office. ‘Are the rumours true?’
It looked as if the office grapevine had scooped her. ‘What rumours?’ she asked, playing for time.
‘That you’re taking six months off?’
‘Yes.’
He looked her up and down, frowning. ‘You don’t look pregnant.’
Oh, honestly. Was the guy still stuck in the Dark Ages? ‘That’s because I’m not.’
‘Then what? Have you got yourself a mail-order bridegroom on the internet—a rich Russian mafia guy who wants to be respectable?’ He cackled, clearly pleased with himself at the barb.
She rolled her eyes, not rising to the bait. Neil liked to think of himself as the office wise-guy and he invariably made comments for a cheap laugh at other people’s expense. She’d warned him about it before in his annual review, but he hadn’t taken a blind bit of notice. ‘You can tell everyone I’m not pregnant. I’m also not running off to Russia, thinking that I’ve bagged myself a millionaire bridegroom only to discover that it was all a big scam and I’m about to be sold into slavery.’ She steepled her fingers and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Are there any other rumours I need to clarify, or are we done?’
‘Wow—I’ve never heard you...’ He looked at her with something akin to respect. ‘Sorry.’
She shrugged. ‘Apology accepted.’
‘So why are you taking six months off?’
‘It’s a business opportunity,’ she said. ‘Keep your fingers crossed that it works, because if it doesn’t I’ll be claiming my desk back in six months’ time.’
From him, she meant, and clearly he recognised it because his face went dull red. ‘No offence meant.’
‘Good,’ she said, and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Little tip from me. For what’s probably the six millionth time I’ve told you, Neil, try to lose the wisecracks. They make you look less professional and that’ll stand in the way of you being promoted.’
‘All right. Sorry.’ He paused. ‘Are you really going today?’
‘Yes.’
‘Without even having a leaving do?’
‘I might be coming back if my plans don’t work out,’ she reminded him, ‘so it would be a bit fake to have a leaving do. But I’ll put some money behind the bar at the Mucky Duck—’ the nearby pub that most of her team seemed to frequent after work ‘—if you’re all that desperate to have a drink at my expense.’
‘Hang on. You’ll pay for your own sort-of leaving do and not turn up to it?’
That was the idea. She spread her hands. ‘What’s the problem?’
Neil shook his head. ‘If it wasn’t for the fact you’re actually leaving, I’d think you’d be slaving behind your desk. You never join in with anything.’
‘Because I don’t fit in,’ she said softly. ‘So I’m not going to be the spectre at the feast. You can all enjoy a drink without worrying what to say in front of me.’
‘None of us really knows you—all we know is that you work crazy hours,’ Neil said.
Which was why nobody ever asked her about how her weekend was: they knew she would’ve spent a big chunk of Saturday at her desk.
‘Do you even have a life outside the office?’ Neil asked.
And this time there was no barb in his voice; Nicole squirmed inwardly when she realised that the odd note in his voice was pity. ‘Ask me again in six months,’ she said, ‘because then I hope I might have.’ And that was the nearest she’d get to admitting her work-life balance was all wrong.
‘Well—good luck with your mysterious business opportunity,’ he said.
‘Thanks—and I’ll make sure I leave my desk tidy for you.’
Neil took it as the dismissal she meant it to be; but, before she could clear her desk at the end of the day, her entire team filed into her office, headed by her boss.
‘We thought you should have these,’ he said, and presented her with a bottle of expensive champagne, a massive card which had been signed by everyone on their floor, and a huge bouquet of roses and lilies.
‘We didn’t really know what to get you,’ Neil said, joining them at Nicole’s desk,
