It Started With A Proposition

CHAPTER SEVEN

GINO was on the top floor of his latest skyscraper construction-in-progress, making his way carefully along a not-too-wide girder, when his cellphone rang. He waited till he reached the relative safety of a corner before fishing it out of his pocket.

‘Gino Bortelli,’ he said, one arm wrapped securely around a post. The breeze was quite strong up that high.

‘What is this I hear about you breaking up with Claudia?’ came his mother’s highly accented voice.

Gino smothered a sigh. The grapevine in the Italian community was very fast and usually accurate.

‘It’s no big deal, Mum. She wasn’t right for me, and I wasn’t right for her. We agreed to go our separate ways.’

‘That is not the way I hear it, Gino. Claudia is very upset with you.’

Very upset that she wasn’t marrying into the Bortelli money would be more like it.

Gino had been astounded at how vicious Claudia had become when he’d told her it was over between them. Suddenly she’d shown her true colours, using quite obscene language which everyone in the restaurant had heard. There’d been no hint of a broken heart, just ambition thwarted. After she’d flounced out all the other patrons in the place had stared at him, making Gino wish he’d chosen to break up with her in a more discreet and private place.

That had been last Sunday—two days ago. In hindsight, he was surprised it had taken his mother this long to find out. Maybe he should have told her himself. But since returning to Melbourne on Saturday he hadn’t wanted to have anything to do with his family.

It was because of them that he’d had to leave Jordan in the first place. And he’d not been able to go back for her. They’d sucked him emotionally dry till he no longer wanted get married and have children. The last ten years had been filled with nothing but unending responsibility and pressure, with him putting his mother’s and sisters’ needs first, never his own.

But enough was enough.

‘Claudia was more in love with my money than she was with me, Mum,’ he said firmly. ‘Trust me on that. Look, I can’t stay and chat. I’m working.’

His mother sighed. ‘You work too hard, Gino. You should take some time off.’

‘Maybe I will. But not today.’

‘Before you go, did you decide what you were going to do with that derelict site in Sydney? The one Papa bought all those years ago?’

‘Everything’s underway. It’s going to be a twenty-storey tower with apartments on the top ten floors, office space on the lower ten, shops on the ground floor, and parking underneath. I signed the contract with the architect last Friday.’

‘That is good, Gino. Papa would be pleased.’

‘How can he be pleased about anything, Mum, when he’s dead?’

‘Gino! How can you say such a wicked thing? Have you no faith? Your papa is watching over us from heaven. He would be very proud of you.’

Gino shook his head. There was no arguing with his mother’s faith. So he didn’t bother.

‘He would be even prouder,’ she added, ‘if you married and carried on the Bortelli name.’

‘I am still only thirty-six, Mum. I have plenty of time for that yet. Look, I have to go.’

‘Will you be coming to dinner next Sunday?’

His mother held a big family get-together on the last Sunday of every month. Gino usually attended. He liked playing with his nieces and nephews. But he hated the thought of being bombarded by questions over why Claudia wasn’t with him.

‘I can’t, Mum. Sorry. I have to go to Sydney to meet up with this architect. He wants to show me some preliminary plans.’

Not true. But his mother wasn’t to know that. Still, he would have to go somewhere. Maybe to the snow? He liked skiing, and there was still some good snow in the ski-fields. He’d tire himself out every day and make sure he fell asleep each night the moment his head hit the pillow.

He hadn’t slept well since returning from Sydney, his mind constantly tormented with what ifs.

What if he hadn’t made that foolish promise to his father?

What if he’d been able to go back for Jordan without feeling lousy?

What if he’d told her the truth about himself before they’d gone up to his hotel room last Friday night?

This last what if was easily answered: he’d been too aroused to delay, or to risk Jordan rejecting him after his explanations.

His need for her had transcended common-sense.

Was he still in love with her? he wondered. Or did he just want to escape with her again, as he had all those years ago?

She’d claimed she’d never forgotten him.

Gino believed her.

How could either of them forget the fantasy life they’d lived together, such an erotically charged existence, full of passion and pleasure? But underneath all the sex had been true affection. He hadn’t just used Jordan, he’d truly cared for her—and she for him.

But they were different people now. She was more cynical and less trusting. And he was…well, he was trapped by his previous deceptions.

And yet he would give anything, do anything, to be with her like that again.

‘You should spend more time with your family, Gino,’ his mother chided.

Gino’s teeth clenched down hard in his jaw, the cords in his neck standing out. ‘I have to go, Mum. Ciao.’

He grimaced as he hung up, the Italian word for goodbye reminding him of the last time he’d heard it. On Jordan’s lips, as she swept out of the hotel room. And out of his life.

His life…

Gino glanced down at the city spread out below him. He was on top of the world so to speak. On top of the world financially as well as professionally. He had more money than he would ever need, a fancy penthouse and a fancy car: a Ferrari, no less.

As for Bortelli Constructions…Although it had already been a well-known building company when he’d taken it over, under his guiding hand the company had gone from strength to strength, gaining an enviable reputation for reliability and quality. His hard work and astute business decisions had made every member of the Bortelli family millionaires several times over, and he himself was close to becoming a billionaire.

But such successes counted for nothing if you weren’t happy.

Jordan’s various accusations and taunts still haunted him.

Perhaps because they were true. Technically, he had lied and cheated. But he wasn’t the coward she thought he was.

He did know what he wanted.

Her.

But what was the point in pursuing her when she would not welcome his attentions?

Gino could see no way of her getting Jordan to spend time with him—short of kidnapping her and imprisoning her in some secluded place with him.

That idea had some appeal as a male fantasy.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t see the adult Jordan being one of those female hostages who would ever feel kindly towards her captor. When she’d stood naked in front of him and told him he’d never see her like that again he’d believed her.

Gino sighed, then headed for the steel cage which would carry him down to the ground again. It was knock-off time in the building trade. Not so for the boss, however, who had to go back to his office in the city and make sure the administrative wheels of Bortelli Constructions were kept turning.

Half an hour later his hard hat had been discarded and he was sitting behind his desk, a strong mug of coffee on his right and a load of correspondence in front of him. The clock on the wall was just ticking over to five when he picked up an envelope marked ‘Personal’, which his secretary hadn’t opened.

Gino winced at the thought that it might be hate-mail from Claudia.

No, he decided as he ripped open the envelope. She wouldn’t write. She’d e-mail or text message him. Girls like Claudia never put pen to paper these days.

Gino found himself staring down at a gold-embossed sheet of paper.

It was an invitation from Stedley & Parkinson.

Mr Frank Jones, the senior partner of the Sydney branch, was inviting Mr Gino Bortelli—and partner—to a new client dinner on the following Saturday evening in their boardroom. The arrival time was seven-thirty, the dress black tie. His RSVP was required by Friday; an e-mail address was provided for his reply.

Gino stared at the invitation for a good twenty seconds without drawing a breath. Then he gulped in some much needed air before letting it out with a long, slow sigh.

Fate, it seemed, had stepped in to give him one last chance with Jordan.

For surely the star of Stedley & Parkinson’s litigation section would have recently gained a new client or two? If so, she would probably be obliged to attend this dinner.

Gino’s heart raced with the thought of seeing Jordan again—especially in a situation where she could not think he was deliberately stalking her. Their running into each other again would appear to be sheer coincidence. Which, in a way, it would be.

He wouldn’t be taking a partner, of course. He no longer had a partner. Not that he would have taken Claudia anywhere near Jordan.

Gino wondered if Adrian had received an invitation.

No, probably not. Adrian had told him he’d used Stedley and Parkinson’s for legal work before. Which meant he wouldn’t be a new client.

Still, it was likely that he’d been to such a dinner before, giving him first-hand knowledge of what kind of a do this was, and especially who attended from Stedley & Parkinson.

Reaching for his cellphone, Gino looked up the menu of numbers he kept in there, located Adrian’s number and punched it in.

‘Adrian Palmer,’ Adrian answered straight away.

Although one of Australia’s most up-and-coming young architects, Adrian didn’t use a secretary, or a proper office. He worked out of his high-rise apartment, situated in the middle of Sydney’s CBD.

‘Hi, Adrian. Gino Bortelli here.’

‘Gino! I was just working on the plans for your building. I think you’re going to be seriously pleased.’

‘That’s great, Adrian. Look, I’ve received an invitation in the mail from Stedley & Parkinson.’

‘For one of their new client dinners, I presume?’

‘Yes. Have you ever been to one?’

‘Yep—last month, actually. They have these dinners once a month. You should go, Gino. The food’s always great, and so is the wine. Of course that means you’ll have to fly up. But it’s tax-deductible.’

‘It says black tie. That’s a bit formal for a dinner in a boardroom, isn’t it?’

‘That would have come down from Mr Stedley, the American owner. He’s Ivy League and one of the country-club brigade over there in the States. He’s a strong believer in social networking. Encourages his employees to socialise together, too.’

‘You sound like you’ve met this guy. Don’t tell me he flies over from the States to attend?’

‘Nope. Met his son, though. Chad Stedley. He’s doing a stint out here in the Sydney office. They sat me next to him at this dinner. Quite a talker. Got the story of his life between courses. Had a gorgeous-looking girlfriend. Another of their lawyers—Jordan something-or-other.’

Gino’s heart screeched to a halt even whilst his head whirled. Jordan had said there was no special man in her life. Yet a month ago she’d been this Chad Stedley’s girlfriend?

There seemed only two solutions to this conundrum. She’d either broken up with Stedley since then. A possibility, given the difficult nature of relationships these days. Or she’d lied last Friday night. Which didn’t seem possible. Jordan had a real thing about lying.

‘Jordan Gray?’ Gino said.

‘Yep. That was her name. You know her, do you?’

‘I used to.’

‘No kidding? An old girlfriend?’

‘Something like that.’

‘It’s a small world, isn’t it?’

‘It seems so.’

‘In that case you should think twice before bringing your current girlfriend along. You know what women are like. And that Jordan’s a real looker.’

‘Haven’t got a current girlfriend,’ Gino admitted. ‘I was thinking of going alone.’

‘I see. Well, I wouldn’t count on your getting together again with this Jordan, if I were you,’ Adrian advised drily. ‘I gathered from the Stedley son and heir that an engagement was just around the corner.’

‘An engagement!’ Gino exclaimed, before he could think better of it.

‘Yep. If that thought upsets you, then perhaps you shouldn’t go at all.’

Upset him?

Already a tidal wave of fury was building up on his horizon. If Jordan had lied to him…

A boyfriend was bad enough. But if she’d willingly had sex with him, then gone home to her fiancé, he wasn’t sure how he’d handle it.

‘No, no,’ Gino said with pretend nonchalance. ‘No sweat. It’s been years since Jordan and I were an item. But I wouldn’t mind seeing her again, having a chat about old times.’

Plus a chat about very recent times, Gino vowed darkly. Namely last Friday night.

‘In that case be discreet. Chad Stedley came across as the controlling type. He might not like his girl’s ex showing up in her life again.’

‘He sounds delightful.’

‘He’s super-rich.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Women will put up with a lot to marry a super-rich guy.’

‘Is that the voice of experience talking?’

‘Hell, no. I’m rich, but not super-rich. Yet. Still, you must have come across a few gold-digging types. The Bortellis were listed as one the richest one hundred Australian families last year.’

‘Ahh,’ Gino said. ‘You looked us up?’

‘I always like to know who I’m doing business with, Gino. I steer well clear of the entrepreneurial type who has to borrow squillions, or relies on selling off the plan for his cashflow.’

‘Very sensible.’

‘If you do come to Sydney you could drop by and have a look at my preliminary plans.’

‘I haven’t decided whether I’ll come yet. I might go to the snow instead.’

‘That might be a wiser course of action.’

‘Yes,’ Gino said slowly ‘It might.’

But Gino wasn’t feeling wise.

If Jordan had lied to him…

There was only one way to find out in advance of Saturday night. He would put Confidential Investigations back on the job. That gave them three and a half days to find out if Jordan had broken up with this Chad Stedley or not.

More than enough time, he would imagine. He would also see if they could find out if Jordan would be attending this dinner.

At the same time he would send an e-mail to the RSVP address, accepting Mr Frank Jones’s invitation to the dinner.

CHAPTER EIGHT

JORDAN reluctantly went through the motions of getting ready: same little black dress as last time, same shoes and jewellery.

Her hair she didn’t have to do, thank goodness. She’d been to the hairdressers that morning, and had it shampooed and gently blowdried, giving her slightly wayward waves some control, but not straightening them too much. Her make-up took her less than ten minutes: just foundation, a touch of blusher, lipgloss and two coats of mascara.

Jordan rarely wore much make-up. Never had.

By half-past six she was ready—or as ready as she was ever going to be. Her taxi had been booked for seven, which left thirty minutes to do what? Watch half of an hour-long television show? Or have a glass of white wine and try to relax?

The second option won, hands down.

There was an already opened bottle of reisling in the door of her fridge—a fruity, slightly sweet wine, which Chad would have despised, but which Jordan liked. She poured herself a small glass and carried it through her living room, heading for her front balcony.

Jordan slid back the glass door, giving a small shiver as she stepped into the cool evening air. Fortunately it wasn’t too windy, the sea breeze quite gentle. Darkness had fallen some time back, the lights giving a magical quality to Sydney’s two most famous icons, which were both visible from her seventh-floor apartment. The bridge on her right looked like a huge jewelled coat-hanger, whilst across the harbour the sailed roof of the Opera House resembled the set from a sci-fi movie.

Jordan sighed as she leant against the railing and sipped her wine, her mind swiftly distracted from the lovely view to the evening ahead.

She didn’t want to go to this month’s new client dinner.

But she simply couldn’t get out of it. Not unless she had a very good reason.

When she’d told Chad during his early-morning call that she didn’t want to go, not without him, he’d been flattered but insistent.

‘You’ve taken on a new client this month, haven’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she’d admitted. An angry young man who wanted to sue his employer for unfair dismissal after the boss had discovered he was a homosexual.

‘Then you have to go, darling. Rules are rules. Just make sure you wear your engagement ring. Let all the men there know you’re taken.’

Jordan had come away from that phone call just a tad unsure of her decision to marry Chad.

During his calls this week he’d become quite bossy with her. And demanding. He really seemed to think she was going to give up working once they were married and living in the States.

As if she would!

She’d also been quite put out when he’d been less than effusive in his congratulations over her winning all that compensation money for Sharni Johnson. He hadn’t sounded as if he cared about her success at all!

Yet she was expected to rave over how his ‘wonderful’ friends had thrown him all those welcome home parties. So far he’d gone out somewhere different every night.

Somehow Jordan doubted he’d told any of the females attending these dos that he was taken. Chad liked being the centre of attention.

Jordan wasn’t jealous, but she resented double standards.

Guilt consumed her with this last thought. After all, she hadn’t exactly been Little Miss Innocent since Chad had gone away, had she?

Over a week had gone by since she’d gone to Gino’s hotel room, but the memory of her behaviour still haunted her.

She’d been putty in Gino’s hands, quickly reverting to the naïve little fool she’d been ten years ago.

He’d said, ‘Come with me’—and she had. He’d said, ‘Don’t come’—and she hadn’t.

That was Gino’s modus operandi. He commanded and she obeyed—and how she’d loved it!

Fortunately, fate had come to her rescue in the form of that plane ticket before she’d behaved even more foolishly.

Some damage had already been done, however. The damage which came when a woman experienced that level of sexual excitement, and the ecstasy which inevitably followed. Difficult to go back to the mundane after that. Difficult to forget.

That had always been her problem where Gino was concerned.

Forgetting…

Let’s face it, Jordan, the voice of cold, hard reality piped up. You’re never going to forget that man. You can marry Chad and go live in the States, put thousand of miles between you. But Gino’s always going to be there, in your head.

Jordan groaned, tipped up her glass and swallowed the rest of her wine with one gulp. Then she whirled and headed back inside, to collect her evening bag and her keys.

At the last moment she remembered what Chad had asked her to do: wear the engagement ring which he’d left with her but which she hadn’t as yet put on—even though she’d now accepted his proposal.

Did that omission say something?

It was not a ring she would have chosen, Jordan thought, as she hurried into the bedroom and retrieved it from a drawer. It was too fussy: a huge ruby, surrounded by two rows of diamonds, and on top of that the setting was yellow gold.

Jordan liked white gold. Or silver.

And she liked simplicity.

Of course Chad hadn’t actually chosen this ring, she conceded. It was a family heirloom, having once belonged to his grandmother, who’d willed it to him when she died, to be given to his bride.

Jordan had been touched by the sentiment. But she suddenly wondered, as she slipped the ring on, if she’d be able to cope with Chad’s high-powered and tradition-filled family—not to mention all his ‘wonderful’ friends. They sounded just a little overpowering.

It was one thing to live with him here, in Australia. Things were very easy-going here. But what would life be like in America? She’d never travelled there, her one and only overseas trip being to Europe, with most of her time spent in Italy.

No omission there. She’d stupidly thought she might find Gino. But she hadn’t, of course. How could she have when she’d been looking for the wrong name?

Jordan gritted her teeth. Gino again.

Thinking of Gino reaffirmed her decision to marry Chad.

Okay, so Chad wasn’t perfect. He was a touch arrogant. And obviously quite spoiled by his very wealthy, very indulgent parents.

No way was he as hard-working as she was.

But he wasn’t a conniving, conning, cheating bastard.

And he wanted to marry her.

Whereas Gino…

‘Enough of Gino,’ she muttered under her breath as she swept out of her apartment. ‘I’m going to marry Chad and that’s that!’