Bound by the Millionaire's Ring Read online

  Isidora’s jaw dropped behind her sealed lips, making her cheeks go hollow. Her thick lashes quickly swept down to disguise what might have been a flash of...fear? No. Fury? Why? He wasn’t being sarcastic about her delicate touch. She was very good at her job or she wouldn’t have the position she held.

  He wasn’t in the habit of giving anyone ego strokes, however, so he simply continued. “With Trella in the hot seat again, I’ll do my best to draw fire with the retirement announcement, but you’ll have to manage all of that, as well as the press releases on the restructuring.”

  “I can do that remotely.” She folded her arms, posture stiff and defensive, face turned to the window, where vertical blinds held out most of the July sun along with the building’s excellent view of the Seine. “I’ll speak to Henri—”

  “He just brought home twins, Isidora. He’s working as little as possible and mostly from home so he can enjoy his children and support his wife. Henri is not your employer, we are. We speak for each other and this is something we decided together.”

  “You decided between you to deny my transfer? Without discussing it with me?”

  “Yes.” It hadn’t even been a discussion. As often happened, Henri had voiced what Ramon had already been thinking. “It’s a matter of response time. Some of your work can be done remotely, but when a crisis arises, like today’s, we need you on the spot to defuse it.”

  Her mouth tightened. He could see her wheels turning, searching for an alternative. He knew why she was acting like this and he was losing patience with it.

  “Perhaps we could coax your father out of retirement?” he said facetiously.

  “Don’t think I’m not tempted.”

  “Stow your grudge, Isidora. You’re a professional. Act like one.”

  She lifted haughty brows. “It’s not my ability to keep things professional that I’m worried about.”

  “If I was the least bit interested in frostbite below the belt, you’d have something to worry about. I’m not.”

  He always hit back. Always. It came from never wanting to be a victim again.

  But when her nostrils pinched and she sniffed like she’d taken a hard jab to her slender middle, he felt a pang of conscience. A shadow of hurt might have flickered in her eyes, but she moved behind her desk, ducking her head and sliding a nonexistent tendril of hair behind her ear, the screen of her hand hiding her expression from him.

  When she lifted her face again, it was flushed, but her expression was one of resolve. “I’ll hand in my resignation by the end of the day.”

  The floor seemed to lurch beneath his feet. Her antipathy ran that deep?

  As he searched her gaze, unable to believe she was serious, her pupils expanded until her eyes were like black pansies, velvety. Yet disillusioned and empty.

  For one heartbeat, the world around him faded. A quiet agony that lived inside him, one he ignored so completely he barely knew it existed, seared to life, flashing such acute pain through him that his breath stalled. Fire, hot and pointed, lit behind his breastbone.

  He slammed the door on that dark, tangled, livid place, refusing to wonder how she had managed to touch it by doing nothing but trying to retreat from him.

  Why would she even suggest it? The job she held, as someone still fresh from school and not yet twenty-four, was unprecedented. Nepotism had played a part, sure, but she brought a rare and valuable quality to the position: trustworthiness.

  Ramon would not be the reason his sisters lost a precious ally.

  He wasn’t a man who begged, however. Racetracks were not conquered by being nice. She already hated him so there was no point in trying to charm her. Meanwhile, that strange split second of confused feelings left him with the scent of danger in his nostrils. It fueled his need to control. To dominate. To conquer.

  He came down on her with the same lack of mercy he showed anyone else who might threaten him or his family.

  “Cariño, let me explain what will happen if you resign.” He moved to lean on her desk again.

  She was standing now, blinking with wariness. She stiffened, but she didn’t fall back.

  He caught a light scent off her skin, something natural and spicy with an intriguingly sweet undertone. Herbs and wildflowers? The base, primitive animal inside him longed to get closer and find out.

  Perhaps he would get the chance, he thought darkly, as he continued.

  “I know you’ve signed confidentiality agreements, but given your antagonism toward me, I don’t trust you not to take what you know about us to the highest bidder. I will make your life extremely difficult if you walk out of here. There won’t be other jobs available to you. Not at this level.”

  A renewed flush of color swept across her cheekbones. “If that’s your way of trying to make me warm up to you, ‘hash-tag friendship fail.’”

  “Prove your loyalty to our family. Do what we pay you very well to do.”

  “Me.” She pointed at her sternum. “You want me to prove my loyalty to your family.”

  “Yes. And quit editorializing on mine.” He ignored a stab of compunction. “You know nothing about my capacity for loyalty or anything else.”

  “I know what I need to know,” she assured him bitterly. “But if you’re going to make threats against my career, fine. I’ll take the high road and show you what loyalty really is. I’ll stay because I care about your sisters and because my father would come out of retirement if I quit. His devotion to your family is that ingrained. I never told him that you slept with his wife or he might feel differently. And don’t say they were divorced!”

  She jabbed her finger at him.

  He narrowed his eyes, warning her she was standing on the line.

  “It would gut him to know what you did and unlike you, I’m not someone who enjoys making other people miserable.”

  “I said ‘difficult,’ hermosa. If you want me to make your life miserable, I can arrange that quite easily.”

  “Job done, hermoso,” she said with a smile that went nowhere near her eyes. “Will you excuse me? I have a press conference to arrange.”

  “Isidora,” he said gently, without moving. His eyes clashed with her gaze in a way that kept his muscles tight and his skin tingling with exaltation in the battle. “I care about my sisters and your father. That’s why I’m allowing you to continue with us, and not firing your ass for insubordination. Mind your manners, or you will discover exactly what kind of man I am.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  WITH FURY BURNING a hole in the pit of her stomach, Isidora did her job and sent out the notices that a press conference would be held in the media room of Sauveterre International’s Paris tower. The skyscraper in Madrid was its twin, built the same year on the same specifications. Until today, Ramon had worked out of that office, which was why she had not requested a transfer back to her home country, where she could be closer to her parents.

  She desperately wanted to call her father with the news that Ramon was retiring. Her father had been a fan of all types of racing long before his client’s son had begun entering grand prix races at a mere nineteen years. After showing some talent for racing while learning evasive driving, Ramon had spent an inheritance from one of his grandparents on a car and team, much to the late Monsieur Sauveterre’s dismay. Ramon had won that first year and had won or placed in nearly every race since.

  Some of Isidora’s most cherished memories involved catering to her father as he parked himself in front of the television for a twenty-four-hour endurance race, or biting her nails alongside him as cars zoomed through the narrow streets of Monaco. In the beginning, she hadn’t been so much a fan of racing as she was of her father’s passion and delight in having a companion while he watched.

  Of course, by the time she was twelve, she had definitely been a fan of one particular driver, heart pitter-patting as Ramon rocketed through turns and occasionally spun out only to straighten and take over the lead once again.

  Ramon’s winning streak, c
oupled with his Sauveterre name and the fact he represented both France and Spain, made him more than a darling in the racing world. It set him on a level beyond infamous. Demigod.

  He had certainly dazzled her young heart.

  But after That Day, which had actually been an early morning, when she had bumped in to Ramon leaving her mother’s house wearing rumpled clothes, a night’s stubble and a complete lack of remorse, she had stopped watching the races with her father. She had claimed she was too busy with university, and would go to her deathbed before she admitted she had watched alone, in dorm rooms, or plugged into her laptop, tucked away in a solitary corner of the library.

  She hated Ramon Sauveterre, but she had always needed to know he survived to race another day. How could she be disappointed on his behalf that he was giving it up? She ought to be doing a happy dance that he wasn’t getting what he wanted for a change, the arrogant, heartless tyrant.

  Her father would be even more devastated, but as the former VP of PR for Sauveterre International, he would understand. Even she had understood, before embarking on this profession, that when it came to publicity, Ramon stole the lion’s share of attention as a way to take the fall for his family, particularly his sisters.

  That behavior had continued even as she’d taken over her father’s position. Since she had come aboard earlier this year, she had watched it happen—if somewhat mysteriously. Ramon had to be the source of the leaks, but he took care of them in his own way, never involving her and never charging into her office to demand why she wasn’t preventing his scandals from going viral.

  Still, his escapades always seemed to hit the light at the right time to pull attention from his siblings. When Angelique had been called a two-timer because photos of her kissing not one, but two different princes had turned up, photos from one of Ramon’s “private” parties had surfaced. He had been half-naked and canoodling with a stripper on each knee. When Trella reentered society via the wedding of a family friend, causing a social-media riot, a tape of Ramon’s blue-streaked voice mails had taken over the talk-show circuit. The minute Cinnia’s twin pregnancy had become a target, an online feud had erupted between Ramon and a fellow driver.

  So, in a way, she wasn’t surprised he was announcing his retirement when a secret as big as Trella’s pregnancy was hitting the airwaves. It just made Isidora...sad. And sheepish, for calling him faithless.

  Not that she would admit that after he had threatened her job and future, the power-drunk bastard. Why did he have to be so hard on her? What had she ever done except like him a little too much?

  She smoothed her hair, painted her lips a demure pink and told her throat to stop feeling so raw at the injustice.

  She texted Ramon that she would wait for him at the elevator, but Etienne joined her first. He had been her father’s protégé and had taken her out a few times last year, breaking it off when their sex life hadn’t progressed as he had desired. She had gone to London to finish her degree and had been quite happy to never cross paths with him again.

  Then her father had retired and Henri had used a press-gang of euros and guilt trips to bring her aboard. Etienne had believed he was a shoe-in for her father’s position. Instead he had wound up answering to her. He was not happy.

  “So it’s true?” he said, his tone bordering on belligerence.

  “What’s that?”

  “Trella is pregnant?” His tone rang with obviously. “That’s what this press conference is about, isn’t it?”

  “I’m need-to-know, same as you.” She pretended to read something on her phone. “But today’s announcement is on another topic entirely.”

  A beat of silence, then he asked, “You’re not going to tell me what that topic is?”

  “You’ll find out in five minutes. That’s why I invited you to hear it firsthand.”

  He swore, muttering something about favoritism.

  When she made no response, he said, “So you don’t deny it?”

  “Deny what?”

  His jaw clenched, then he spat out what had clearly been chewing at him. “You were hired because of your father. You’re not even qualified. You don’t have my experience.”

  “I was given a chance because of him, yes. But if I stuff things up, I can assure you they will have no qualms about letting me go.”

  A door closed down the hall and they went silent as Ramon’s firm steps approached. She pasted on the same composed smile she would use to introduce him to the rabid hounds of the press.

  “Henri.” Etienne greeted Ramon with a deferential nod. He waved at the elevator she’d been holding, inviting Ramon to enter ahead of him.

  “Ramon,” he amended as he stepped into the car.

  “Of course,” Etienne said, visibly flustered as he came in last and pressed the button for the bottom floor. “The memo didn’t specify.” He sent a malevolent look at Isidora. “I didn’t realize you were here. I suppose your brother is still in Spain with—”

  “Bernardo never had a problem telling us apart,” Ramon interjected. “And neither does Isidora. It’s a quality we appreciate in those closest to us. Don’t ever gossip about my family again. I have no qualms about letting you go for that.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t working. After a brief ripple of flashes and murmurs over his announcement, the callouts quickly turned to Trella.

  “Can you confirm the pregnancy?”

  “When is she due?”

  “Who is the father?”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please confine your questions to today’s topic.” Isidora leaned her fragrant hair under his nose so the microphone picked up her well-modulated voice. “Ramon is retiring from racing to free up his time to restructure the company. These are details that will be of interest to your financial and market readers as well as the sports fans.”

  Such a smooth, unruffled command as she stayed on message, just like her father. As competent as she was, however, Etienne was right. She lacked experience. She didn’t have Ramon’s well-honed skill for manipulating the press—techniques he had learned from her father under the worst possible tutelage.

  “Cuánto lo siento,” Bernardo had said fifteen years ago, pleading for Angelique’s forgiveness while Ramon had held her small, sweaty palm in his equally clammy hand.

  The police thought a public plea for help would urge people to come forward with tips that could rescue their sister from her kidnappers.

  “Emotions move people, Angelique,” Bernardo had said. “I don’t mean to cause you more pain. Lo siento mucho. I know you’re frightened and hurting, but please don’t try to hide your tears. People need to see how you are feeling. This is what makes it stick in their minds and moves them to act the way we need them to. Lo lamento mucho. I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you, but I need you to reveal your heart to the camera.”

  It had been a disgusting thing to ask of a nine-year-old girl. Using her terror and anguish had bordered on exploitation. Their father hadn’t been able to watch, too filled with self-contempt at putting his shy, sensitive daughter through such an ordeal when she was already so traumatized. But they had been desperate, all of them.

  Their father had held their weeping mother in the other room while Henri stood beside the camera, so Angelique could look at him as she pleaded for Trella’s return. Henri had worn the same ravaged expression that Ramon had felt upon his own face.

  They had all developed a deep, deep hatred of the public attention that had never been invited and had turned their family into a target in the first place.

  After Trella was rescued, and they were trying to move on with their lives, they had all found different ways of coping with the continued attention. Henri stonewalled at every opportunity. Angelique accepted and ignored. Trella had retreated to seclusion, becoming an elusive unicorn who had gone several years without being photographed.

  Ramon preferred to play them at their own game. He didn’t care what was printed about him. It amused him when the fact
s were wrong, especially when those “facts” came from him. One of his fellow racers had gleefully exchanged a volley of insults with him for several weeks earlier this summer, to take the pressure off Cinnia as she floundered under the weight of two babies and more attention than anyone should have to suffer—especially if they hadn’t become inured to it the way the rest of his family had.

  Now another baby was on the way. Ramon would quietly strangle his sister at some point for getting herself into that situation, but that was a job for another day.

  Today’s task was to protect that unborn Sauveterre. And Trella. Despite the progress she had made in the last year, she was still very fragile. She had barely survived her kidnapping. The critical press that had dogged her for years after had made every effort to finish her off. Ramon was very cognizant that a renewal of that harsh focus could give her a setback.

  “Is it true that Trella watched some of your races last year, by pretending she was Angelique?”

  Yes, and that was a can of worms that needed to stay closed. Ramon had to bring the focus back to him. Leaving racing wasn’t doing the job. The dry topic of restructuring a corporation was certainly not holding anyone’s attention.

  Emotions move people. Reveal your heart to the camera...

  His mind raced to find and evaluate options, quickly discovering the line he would have to follow if he wanted to stay in front of the pack.

  “The truth is, I’ve discovered something for which I feel more passion than racing,” he announced in a firm voice. “Hard to believe, is it not? Racing has been my life for over a decade, but with my brother so happily married and starting his family, I find I can’t wait to enjoy the same. I’m deeply in love and...well—”

  He moved around Isidora so he was no longer behind the podium and sank to one knee beside her.

  A massive gasp went through the crowd.

  The bombardment of flashes and clicks increased, but the shouting of questions ceased. An eerie expectancy characterized that wordless explosion of repeated shutter clicks and flashes. The lights strobed against her skin as he looked up to Isidora’s incredulous expression.