Chapter 4

Even the thought of changing what had happened eight years ago made her dizzy.

So what if Nick had been making out shamelessly to a gorgeous model not ten feet from her?

So what if Nick had confided in his distant relative , Karina, that Angela was, ' A bit fatter and stupid and sexless, but literally worth her weight in gold!'?

So what if he would have been continually unfaithful throughout their marriage and a total arrogant, loathsome pig to live with?

So what if he had said to her face, without scruple, con­science or decency, the morning after that dreadful night, 'You're a slut! And I, Nicolas Romero, refuse to marry an­other man's leavings!'?

Gripped by those painfully degrading recollections, Angela hovered by a café shop window.

She knew that right now Nick was sure to be over in Longford for the same reason as her grandfather was.

It had featured in the newspapers: a meeting of powerful Business tycoons with shared interests in oil business. And, unlike her grandfather, Nick had a massive office headquarters in the City of Longford, where he very likely was this very minute...

What did she have to lose? He was still single. And Paul Eric Gracia never joked about money. He would happily pay millions and millions of money to marry her off to Nick Romero.

Personalities didn't come into it: primarily it would be the linking of two enormous business empires. And with that size of a dowry still available, even a plain Jane slut ought to have the gumption to put a late offer on the table!

Was she crazy! No, she owed a huge debt to her mother. Sylvia Gracia had sacrificed so much to bring her into the world and raise her to adulthood. What had she ever given back?

Angela squinted at her reflection in the shop window. A dark-haired woman of five foot five inches, clad in a grey pants and blue coat jacket which had on it wrinkles right now.

Even on a restricted diet she was never going to be the zero figure 45 kg weight women.

Her shape was a bit lush like an imperfect hourglass . She must have inherited such gen­erous curves from her father's side, because her mother was slim and slight. And this caused her to have a weird combo like a slimmer version of the Kardashian figure which was really famous right . At her 59 kg weight which was on borderline healthy for her height always had her self conscious.

Well, she was worth her weight in gold, she reminded herself bracingly.

And if there was one thing Nick Romero reputedly excelled at, it was ruthlessly exploiting any proposition likely to enrich his already overflowing bank balance...

Nick was planning a major deal.

All calls were on hold, with only the most dire emergency excuse for an interruption of any kind. So when even the softest of knocks sounded hesitantly on the door of his office his dark head came up, well-defined black brows rising in exasperated enquiry. His PA, Garry, hurried to the door, where a whispered exchange took place.

Garry moved back to his powerful employer's side. 'I'm sorry, but there's a woman asking to see you urgently, sir.'

'No interruptions, particularly not of the female variety,' Nik cut in with harsh impatience.

'She says she's Paul Eric Gracia's granddaughter, Angela Gracia. But the receptionist isn't convinced of her identity. I gather the woman doesn't look like someone you would be acquainted with, sir.'

Angela Gracia?

Arrested into tangible stillness, Nick Romero frowned in silent disbelief.

Angela Gracia.

Rooted deep in his subconscious lurked a tender spot still raw with a rage that had yet to dim.

How dared that ***** enter his office block and have the effrontery to ask to see him? He plunged upright, startling his staff so much that everybody jumped, and one unfortunate dropped several files.

Striding over to the tall tinted windows like a leopard on the prowl for fresh meat, Nick stilled again.

Paul had sworn he would never forgive her. Paul was a man of his word.

And Nick still pitied the older man, whose deep shame over his offending granddaughter's behaviour had been painful to wit­ness.

His only son had drowned in a yacht race and his daughter had become a widowed mother. Bad blood in that family, Nick's own father had decided, implying that his head­strong son had had a narrow escape.

Yet still Nik simmered like a boiling kettle when he recalled the humiliation of being publicly confronted with the fact that his fiancée, his doe-eyed supposedly virginal bride-to-be, had gone out to his car with a drunken friend and had sex with him. It was disgusting; it was filthy. He had felt like he lost the two most important people of his twenties at that time. His fiancée had betrayed him with his best friend. Which had led to various things that happened that night.

In fact, just thinking about that degrading, utterly inexcusable episode still had the power to make Nick regret that he had never had the opportunity to punish Angela Gracia as she had so definitely deserved.

The atmosphere was so explosive that the silence was ab­solute. His staff exchanged uncertain glances. Garry Martin waited, and then slowly breathed in. 'Sir...?'

Nick wheeled back. 'Let her wait...'

His PA concealed his surprise with difficulty. 'At what time will I tell your secretary that you will see her?'

'No time.' His eyes cold enough to light the way to Hades, Nick threw back his proud dark head. 'Let her wait.'

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