equally indisputable.
She’d wanted proof. Now she had it.
‘I can think of several questions,’ she began, but only one stood out. ‘Why did you let things get this bad?’
Cameron raked fingers through his hair. ‘I kept hoping the contracts would come in and everything would improve.’
Instead, they’d gone from bad to worse.
Cassandra damned Diego del Santo to hell and back, and barely drew short of including Cameron with him.
‘Business doesn’t succeed on hope.’ It needed a hard, competent hand holding the reins, taking control, making the right decisions.
A man like Diego del Santo, a quiet voice insisted. Someone who could inject essential funds, and ensure everything ran like well-oiled clockwork.
There was sense in the amalgamation, and as Cameron rightly described, it was the only deal in town if Preston-Villers was to survive.
‘Shall I contact Diego and confirm you’ve reconsidered his dinner invitation?’
‘No.’
Disbelief and consternation were clearly evident.
‘No?’
‘My ball. My play.’ Something she intended to take care of tomorrow. She stood to her feet. ‘I need to put in an hour or two on the laptop before leaving to have dinner with Dad.’ She led the way to the door of her apartment. ‘I’ll see you there.’
‘OK.’ Cameron offered an awkward smile. ‘Thanks.’
‘For what?’ She couldn’t help herself. ‘Lunch?’
‘That, too.’
It was after five when Cassandra entered the electronic gates guarding Alexander Preston-Villers’ splendid home. Renovations accommodated wheelchair usage, and a lift had been installed for easy access between upper and lower floors. There was a resident housekeeper, as well as Sylvie, the live-in nurse.
Cassandra rang the bell, then used her key to enter the marble-tiled lobby.
It tore at Cassandra’s heart each time she visited, seeing the man who had once been strong reduced to frail health.
Tonight he appeared more frail than usual, his lack of motor-skills more pronounced than they had been a week ago, and his appetite seemed less.
She looked at him, and wanted to weep. Cameron seemed similarly affected, and attempting to maintain a normal façade took considerable effort.
There was no way she’d allow anyone to upset Alexander. Not Cameron, nor Diego del Santo.
She made the silent vow as she drove back to her apartment. The determined bid haunted her sleep, providing dreams that assumed nightmarish proportions, ensuring she woke late and had to scramble in order to get to work on time.
Confronting Diego del Santo was a priority, and given a choice she’d prefer to beard him in his office than meet socially over a shared meal.
Which meant she’d need to work through her lunch hour in order to leave an hour early.
Cassandra found it difficult to focus on the intricate attention to detail involved with the creative-design project for an influential client.
Diego del Santo’s image intruded, wreaking havoc with her concentration, and consequently it was something of a relief to pack up her work and consign it to the security safe before freshening her make-up prior to leaving for the day.
Del Santo Corporation was situated on a high floor of an inner-city office tower, and Cassandra felt a sense of angry determination as she vacated the lift and walked through automatic sliding glass doors to Reception.
‘Diego del Santo.’ Her voice was firm, clipped and, she hoped, authoritative.
‘Mr del Santo is in conference, and has no appointments available this afternoon.’
She made a point of checking her watch. ‘Put a call through and tell him Cassandra Preston-Villers is waiting to see him.’
‘I have instructions to hold all calls.’
Efficiency. She could only admire it. ‘Call his secretary.’
A minute…Cassandra counted off the seconds…a woman who could easily win secretary-of-the-year award appeared in Reception. ‘Is there a problem?’
You betcha, Cassandra accorded silently, and I’m it. ‘Please inform Diego del Santo I need to see him.’
A flicker of doubt. That’s all she needed. Yet none appeared. Was his secretary so familiar with Diego’s paramours, she knew categorically that Cassandra wasn’t one of them?
‘I have instructions to serve drinks and canapés at five,’ his secretary informed. ‘I’ll mention your presence to him then.’
It was a small victory, but a victory none the less. ‘Thank you.’
Half an hour spent leafing through a variety of glossy magazines did little to help her nervous tension.
Staff began their end-of-day exodus, and she felt her stomach execute a painful somersault as Diego’s secretary moved purposely into Reception.
‘Please come with me.’
Minutes later she was shown into a luxurious suite. ‘Take a seat. Mr del Santo will be with you soon.’
How soon was soon?
Five, ten, thirty minutes passed. Was he playing a diabolical game with her?
Nervous tension combined with anger, and she was almost on the point of walking out. The only thing that stopped her was the sure knowledge she’d only have to go through this again tomorrow.
Five more minutes, she vowed, then she’d go in search of him…conference be damned!
The door swung open and Diego walked into the room with one minute to spare.
‘Cassandra.’
She rose to her feet, unwilling to appear at a disadvantage by having him loom over her.
‘My apologies for keeping you waiting.’ He crossed to the floor-to-ceiling plate-glass window, turned his back on the magnificent harbour view, and thrust one hand into his trouser pocket.
Her expression was coolly aloof, although her eyes held the darkness of anger. ‘Really? I imagine keeping me waiting is part of the game-play.’
Sassy, he mused, and mad. It made a change from simpering companions who held a diploma in superficial artificiality.
‘If you had telephoned, my secretary could have arranged a suitable time,’ Diego inferred mildly.
‘Next week?’ she parried with deliberate facetiousness, and incurred
