Page 42 of The Last Resort
“Well then, that was a very interesting presentation. Thank you, Mister Royal. Would the Brock family like to say anything in response to the Royal Resorts proposal?”
This was her one big chance. To not only save the grand old lady, but to make things up to Dan, and do all she could to ensure that his and Kellie’s marriage survived.
Rachel glanced at her papers, then to her laptop.No, the answers don’t lie there.Her well-prepared proposal, along with its detailed and costed plan couldn’t compete with Matthew Royal’s glossy model and video. Her response had to be more direct. More personal. Like the pain he had caused her.
All those nights she’d spent in his arms had meant the world to her, they had given Rachel hope. And Matthew had torn that hope to pieces.
Did he think I was just a bit of fun, something to fill his nights before he fired up the bulldozers? Heartless bastard.
How had he stopped himself from laughing in her face, when she’d wondered who could possibly afford to buy a house in Aspen?
Picking up Matthew’s cashmere scarf, she slowly got to her feet, all the while making a determined point of not looking directly at him. Her deep breaths were ragged, but she was determined not to show how tightly wound her nerves had become.
Don’t let him think for one minute that he got the better of you.
“Good evening, ladies, and gentlemen. Committee members. My name is Rachel Little. I am the principal design representative for the Brock family, the current owners of theGreen Tree Resort. I have a background in commercial architecture with an emphasis on preserving and protecting buildings with heritage significance such as the stone and wooden structure currently standing on the proposed development site.”
Rachel moved toward the trolley on which the model sat. When she reached it, she stood to one side, a foot or two away. The distance making plain her disdain. Her arm extended, she waved her hand in the direction of the model. “This thing. This Death Star is what happens to communities like ours when greedy developers are allowed to throw their money around.”
She leisurely dropped the scarf on the very end of the trolley, where to her deep satisfaction it slid to the floor exactly how she hoped it would.
Matthew bent and picked it up.
For the first time since he’d arrived at the meeting, Rachel met Matthew’s gaze full on. If looks could kill, he would surely have been dead.
“Mister Royal. That is your name, isn’t it? Not Jones? Just making sure.”
There was a snort or two from the assembled members of the public, but she ignored them. This battle was between her and the man who was seeking to destroy a beloved relic of the past. The man who had just crushed her heart.
“Yes. Matthew Royal,” he replied, his voice flat but with a definite vein of mistrust.
“Mister Royal wants to tear down a grand old lady of Aspen and insult us with this … this.” She let her arm drop briefly to her side, then raised it again holding her hand toward heaven. “Lord forgive me. I am truly lost for words as to how to describe it.”
The low mumbles in the room, told her she had the audience’s attention. It was now or never.
Reaching over she picked up the top of the model’s glass pyramid shaped dome. Model builders never glued those sorts of pieces down just in case architects wanted to make changes.
Waving it around in one hand, she reached over and with her other hand pulled down one of the side walls of the model. She stared at it, making a great show of knitting her brows in obvious confusion. “Because if desecrating the site isn’t in your plans, then please tell us where the heritage stone building is supposed to fit. I can’t find it.”
“It’s not.”
“Oh. Why?”
She waited, silently hoping Matthew would offer up an explanation that she could tear apart. This wasn’t her first battle with a stubborn developer, but as she’d never had to face a lover in a planning committee before, she was having to make things up as she went. Anger, pain, and disappointment flowed through her veins.
Matthew righted himself from retrieving his scarf, sitting it on the empty chair next to him. Whispers of, “He’s keeping her scarf,” rippled around the room. Rachel sensed the crowd was beginning to shift its allegiance from the shiny billionaire to the small-town heroine. Good. The sooner they were on her side, the better.
He nervously cleared his throat. “You can’t see where the old building will fit, because it’s not part of the new design. We ran the numbers and couldn’t make them work.”
Bingo, we have a winner.She was hoping he would say that money had been the main concern. It would make painting him as a heartless, money grubbing developer all that much easier.
Rachel paused, holding her hands gently together for emotional effect. “So, because she couldn’t fit in with yourinvestment payback calculations you just cast an old lady aside?”
His jaw clenched so tightly that she was sure it must hurt. It was time to move in for the kill.
“And Mister Royal.” She wasn’t going to call him Matthew. Matthew was the name of the man who had brought her to a screaming orgasm in the early hours of this morning. No, he was Mister Royal. Her arch enemy. “What about the aspect to the mountains, have you taken that into account in designing the Death Star? I mean, one wouldn’t want a lone fighter flown by a plucky kid from a far-off planet to be able to make a successful bombing run and find the building’s weakness, would we?”
The aspect bit was utter bullshit, but the cries of “Use the Force, Luke,” which came from various parts of the audience, gave her heart. The Star Wars movie references were hitting home. The tide of opinion was turning her way.
