when she was twenty-two. Without those risks, she’d have fallen even further down the rankings and lost all her sponsorship long before now.
As much as she wanted to tell Draco to take a running jump, if she wanted to get to the bottom of her father’s actions, or have a last chance at securing the Verbier championship and laying a few ghosts to rest, she needed to retreat and regroup.
A tug on her Lycra training bottoms drew her thoughts away from her mother and her errant father. She gasped as Draco slid a business card into her waistband. The backs of his fingers brushed her skin and her muscles jumped at the contact.
Before she could form an effective comeback to his audacious action he stepped back. A moment later the frosty glass cleared and a click released the door.
‘I assume I’m free to go now?’
He lifted the phone and punched in a series of numbers. ‘Provided you’re not held by my security, then yes, you may leave. But we both know you’re guilty of something, Arabella. Make the wise choice and use my private number. I guarantee you won’t like the consequences if you don’t.’ He sat down behind his desk. The infinitesimal twitch of his chair away from her was as definitive a dismissal as any as he spoke into the phone, ‘Olivio, my apologies for keeping you waiting. I hope you’re chomping at the bit to speak to me because you’ve given further consideration to my offer?’ His voice rang with charming familiarity, not at all like the ire he’d demonstrated towards her.
Rebel could barely recall stumbling from Draco’s office and summoning the lift that raced her back down to the ground floor. She assumed she was free to leave when the Angel head of security met her on the ground floor with her belongings. Thankful that she wouldn’t be required to answer any more questions, Rebel took her bag and yoga mat and hurried out into the weak February sunshine.
The light breeze that whispered over her skin brought a little clarity, but her senses were too focused on the card burning against her skin, and the grave certainty that the money she’d used to secure her place in the Verbier tournament was indeed money stolen from a man who seemed to have the lowest, blackest opinion of her, to feel the cold.
Plucking the card out of her waistband, she stared at the black and gold inscription and the private number etched into it.
Rebel wanted to rip it into a dozen pieces and scatter them to the four winds. But deep in her heart she recognised the foolhardiness of doing so.
She might not understand why her father had chosen to help himself to money that didn’t belong to him and then pass it on to her. Their last few rows had been awful enough for her to imagine he was done with her as long as she chose to keep competing. For him to have followed her career closely enough to know when she needed help at once lifted her heart and plunged it into despair. Not in a million years would she have wanted him to help in this way.
Jerkily, she searched for her phone and dialled as she hurried away from Draco’s building. The moment the line connected, she rushed to speak. ‘Contessa, have the cheques we paid out to the tournament organisers cleared?’
Her manager snorted. ‘Well, hello to you too. And the answer to your question is yes, the cheques cleared this morning, so did the money we paid for your travel, accommodation and equipment. We only need an extra fifteen thousand for incidentals, but I’m sure your remaining sponsors will front you that. I was going to pop round to your flat tonight with a bottle of champagne to celebrate. I know you don’t like to drink during training, but I thought a sip or two wouldn’t hurt...’ Her voice trailed off for a moment. ‘Rebel? Is something wrong?’
Rebel exhaled shakily, her vision hazing as she fought panic. ‘And there’s no way we can get any of it back?’
‘Get it back? Why would we want to do that?’ her manager demanded, her voice rising.
‘I...I just...it doesn’t matter.’
‘Obviously it does. Tell me what’s happened.’
Unwilling to drag Contessa into her problems until she confirmed the depth of the trouble she was in, she forced lightness into her voice. ‘Ignore me. Just last-minute nerves. You can come over, but can we give the champagne a miss, though?’
‘Of course...are you sure you’re okay?’ the older woman pressed.
‘I’m sure. Talk to you later.’
She hung up and immediately dialled her father’s number, already suspecting it wouldn’t go through. When the mechanical voice urged her to leave a message, Rebel cleared her throat. ‘Dad, it’s me...again.’ She paused, a new fear chilling her heart. Draco Angelis wasn’t above having her father’s phone traced. Until she got answers for herself, Rebel didn’t want to lead the man who made her spine tingle with dread and other unwanted emotions straight to her father. ‘Call me. Please. I need to talk to you.’
Feeling helpless for the first time in a very long time, she hung up. Plugging her earphones in, she ramped up the volume and hurried to the Tube, all the while willing her focus away from the card she’d tucked back into her waistband, hoping against hope she wouldn’t be forced to use it.
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