Page 1 of Emergency Engagement

CHAPTER ONE

AND...BREATHE... YOU’REherenow,sojust...breathe.

Unlike the brash glass towers everywhere, the Moreno HQ was housed in an anonymous grey, five-storey, brutalist slab that felt threatening in its lack of pretentiousness. Inside, however, was an eye-watering marvel of pale marble, glass and concrete. Sammy, head down and walking at speed towards the reception area, cut a slight and unimposing figure: five-foot-three, close-cropped dark hair with skin as pale as milk and huge, cut-glass green eyes. Under one arm was her portfolio: five years of hopes, dreams and ambitions were contained within, not to mention blood, sweat and tears.

Most businesses in the heart of London would have been bustling with people. At least, that was what Sammy had vaguely assumed. Here, however, it was an oasis of deathly calm—very unnerving, to say the least. She wished that she’d made a stand and insisted on Rafael Moreno travelling to Yorkshire to seeher,instead of her having to make her way to London, at great personal expense. He was the one who was in the process of ruining her life, after all.

Fat chance of that happening, though.

Phil, the assistant bank manager at the local building society, had been brilliant over the months and years with all her financial stuff. She had gone to school with him, and had been in his class right the way through, and he had suggested to Clifford that he could do her a favour and get her a meeting with Rafael. It was the way it worked in a small place where everyone knew everyone else.

So travelling to London? It was a small price to pay to see the Big Man, Sammy thought without an ounce of gratitude.

She padded her way to the ice-cold, smoothly polished concrete desk behind which two incredibly beautiful girls sat in front of a bank of wafer-thin laptops.

‘I have an appointment with Mr Moreno.’

‘Name, please?’

‘Samantha Payne.’ She waited while an impeccably groomed blonde took a rudely long time scrolling through her screen before nodding, without bothering to look at her at all.

‘You can go up—top floor. You’ll be met there. I’ve been advised to tell you that Mr Moreno works to a tight schedule. He can’t spare you more than half an hour.’

‘I’ll make sure to be grateful for small mercies,’ Sammy muttered under her breath, turning towards the small bank of discreet chrome lifts that blended seamlessly into the pale-grey walls.

Her heart was pounding as the lift purred its way up four floors. She could have taken the stairs—she would have welcomed the exercise as a little extra thinking time—but the business of asking where they were seemed more trouble than it was worth. Besides, there was such a thing as too much thinking time. Too much thinking time risked teetering into unhelpful panic.

Rafael Moreno: the self-made billionaire whose face seemed to be relentlessly plastered on the cover of every tabloid gossip magazine month after month, although he was so much more than just a sexy guy with an army of women swooning over him. He was also the golden boy who had made a fortune before he’d turned twenty-five—a tech genius who had refused to be limited to just tech and had moved some of his considerable fortune into other, equally profitable areas that included commercialdevelopments, boutique hotels across the world and, most recently, his own wine label.

He was the guy who couldn’t be stopped when it came to climbing the ladder. In fact, Sammy reckoned that, when it came to Rafael Moreno, there were no more rungs left. He’d climbed all of them and was aiming for whatever there was beyond ladders.

Crazy, when she looked back and remembered the boy he used to be. She didn’t think Rafael Moreno did much looking back, though, but who knew?

Suddenly, the lift doors opened and, sure enough, there was another stunning woman waiting to escort her through to wherever Rafael had his office.

Here, at least, there was the quiet hum of vast sums of money being made. Sammy had no idea who occupied the other floors of the building but the men and women here, all decked out in snappy clothes, were serious and focused, and barely glanced in her direction as she walked by the open space with its clever glass partitions and luscious plants. How many screens did one person need, anyway? Everyone seemed to be facing an army of them on their chrome-and-glass desks. There were more computers here than people.

‘I should advise you that Mr Moreno...’

‘Yes.’ Sammy pre-empted what was coming. ‘Is a very busy man who only has half an hour to spare for me. I was already warned by the girl downstairs. Don’t worry, I don’t plan on locking the door and keeping him prisoner until he hears what I have to say.’

This was met with stony silence that lasted until an imposing door was pushed open...and then, on the threshold of his office, nerves really kicked in. Yes, she’d seen his picture here and there in grainy print; and yes, she’d often glanced at reports ofhis meteoric progress in the financial jungle, where he took no prisoners; but was she ready to meet this guy? Maybe not...

She disapproved of him on every level. She’d disapproved of him fifteen years ago when he’d entered their small, comfortably cushioned world in the back of beyond like something from another planet, disrupting routines and flouting conventions. And she disapproved of him now because, from every report she’d ever seen, he’d become just what she’d expected—a guy who played by his own rules and didn’t give a damn about anybody else. A man who didn’t glance over his shoulder to see what havoc he might have left in his wake.

He had his back to her and was staring out of the window but then he turned round slowly, giving her plenty of time to realise that he was still as sinfully sexy as he had been as a sixteen-year-old—with his raven-black hair, dark, dark eyes with eyelashes any girl would kill for, his features chiselled to perfection.

The only difference was this was no boy. This was a man: tougher, harder, colder...the sharp contours of his face betraying experiences learned over the years in a ruthless climb to the top.

She’d wondered whether he would recognise her. Fifteen years was a long time; she’d been a kid of just twelve, invisible behind her shyness and early adolescence.

He didn’t have a clue who she was. She could see it in his cool, closed expression as he looked at her in silence for a few seconds.

‘Sit.’

Noticeably, he remained lounging by the window as she shuffled to the chair in front of his desk and rested her portfolio on the ground next to her.

‘You’re here about the hotel.’

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