A Night, A Consequence, A Vow. Angela Bissell

      He had risen to the challenge.

      First with his acquisition of the Chastain Group—a collection of luxury resorts and boutique hotels which had doubled Vega Corporation’s market share on the European continent, and then with the expansion of their portfolio of private members’ clubs into a lucrative network of sophisticated high-end establishments.

      Yes, he had made his mark.

      And yet to his brother—and most of the board—the spectacular results he’d achieved year upon year seemed to matter far less than how he chose to conduct his personal life.

      It rankled.

      He didn’t deliberately court the press but neither did he waste his time trying to dodge the attention. Evade one paparazzo and ten more would materialise from the shadows. It was easier to give them what they wanted. Flash his trademark grin at the cameras, drape his arm around the waist of a beautiful woman and the tabloids and their gossip-hungry readers would be satisfied.

      But dare to deny them and they’d stalk you like prey. Look for scandal where none existed. Or, worse, where it did exist. And the last thing he needed was someone digging into his past and shining a spotlight on his teenage transgressions. Nurturing his playboy reputation served a purpose. The tabloids saw what he wanted them to see. A successful, wealthy, aristocratic bachelor who pursued pleasure as doggedly as he pursued his next acquisition.

      He reined in his anger. ‘Why an emergency meeting?’

      Xav turned, his expression grim. ‘Hector is making a play for the chairman’s role.’

      Ramon narrowed his eyes. ‘I thought you and Papá had earmarked Sanchez for the role,’ he said, referring to their newest and most dynamic board member—an accomplished former leader of industry who Xav had persuaded the board to accept in an attempt to inject some fresh blood into the company’s governance. Aside from Xav and their father, who was about to retire as Chairman, Sanchez was the only board member for whom Ramon had any genuine respect.

      Hector, on the other hand, was a nightmare. Their father’s second cousin, he craved power and status and resented anyone who possessed more than he did. The man was self-centred. Narrow-minded. Not figurehead material.

      Ramon shook his head in disbelief. ‘He’ll never get the support he needs.’

      ‘He already has it.’ Xav dropped into his chair, nostrils flaring. ‘He’s been working behind my back, garnering support for a coup. Persuading the others that voting in Sanchez is a bad move.’

      ‘Surely Papá can pull him into line?’

      His brother threw him a look.

      ‘Papá has already taken a step back. He’s too unwell for such drama—something you would know if you made an effort to visit more often,’ Xav said, the glint in his eyes hard. Accusatory.

      A sharp jolt went through Ramon. He knew their father had high blood pressure, and had suffered from mild attacks of angina over the past two years, but he hadn’t been aware of Vittorio’s more recent decline. He tightened his jaw against the surge of guilt. He kept his distance from family gatherings for a reason. There was too much awkwardness there. Too many things left unsaid. No. Ramon would not let his brother guilt trip him. He did everyone a favour, himself included, by staying away.

      ‘The board members respect you,’ he pointed out, marshalling his thoughts back to the business at hand. ‘Win them back.’

      Xav’s jaw clenched. He shook his head. ‘Whatever diamond-studded carrot Hector is dangling to coerce their support, it’s working. Lopez, Ruben, Anders and Ramirez have all avoided my calls this week.’

      Ramon dragged a thumb over his bristled chin. ‘So what’s the purpose of the meeting?’

      ‘To confront Hector out in the open. Force him to reveal his hand and compel the others to choose a side—show where their loyalties lie so we know what we’re up against.’

      ‘“We”?’

      ‘I need your support. As does Sanchez, if we’ve any chance of seeing him voted in as Chairman. We need to provide a united front. A strong front. One that’ll challenge Hector and test his alliances.’

      A single bark of laughter escaped Ramon. ‘I cannot see how my presence will help your cause,’ he said, and yet even as he spoke he could feel the sharp, addictive surge of adrenalin he always experienced in the face of a challenge.

      Something else rose in him, too. A sense of familial duty he couldn’t deny. A compulsion to help his brother.

      He studied Xav’s face for a moment. It wasn’t only anger carving deep grooves around his brother’s mouth.

      ‘You’re worried,’ he observed. ‘Why?’

      ‘The Klein deal went belly up.’

      Without thinking, Ramon pursed his lips and let out a low whistle. Xav’s expression darkened.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Ramon said, his sympathy genuine. He too had suffered the occasional business failure. Had experienced the disappointment and utter frustration that came after investing countless hours of manpower and resources into a potential deal only to see it fall over at the eleventh hour. ‘You’re concerned that your credibility with the board is damaged,’ he surmised.

      ‘Hector’s already laid the failure squarely on my doorstep. Called my judgement into question.’ Xav’s voice grated with disgust. ‘He’ll use it to undermine the board’s confidence in me. We need a win to regain the board’s trust. Something that will make them forget about the Klein debacle and give us some leverage.’ He sat forward, his grey eyes intense. ‘Have you managed to secure a meeting with Royce yet?’

      Ramon felt his spine tighten.

      Speaking of failures.

      ‘Not yet,’ he said carefully.

      Xav leaned back, the intensity in his eyes dimming. He breathed out heavily. ‘It was always going to be a long shot.’

      His tone was dismissive enough to needle under Ramon’s skin. Setting his sights on The Royce—one of London’s oldest, most prestigious and highly exclusive private clubs—was ambitious, but his brother shouldn’t be so quick to underestimate him.

      ‘Have a little faith, brother,’ he said. ‘I’ve hit a minor roadblock, that’s all. Nothing I can’t handle.’

      ‘A roadblock?’

      ‘Royce has a gatekeeper.’ He downplayed the matter with a one-shoulder shrug. ‘Getting access to him is proving...a challenge.’

      Xav’s frown deepened. ‘Do they not know who you are?’ His voice rang with a note of hauteur. ‘Surely the de la Vega name is sufficient to grant you an audience with Royce?’

      Ramon nearly barked out another derisory laugh.

      The importance of the family name had always carried more weight in Xav’s eyes than his. Their mother and her siblings were distant cousins of the King of Spain and directly descended from a centuries-old line of dukes. Marry that blue-blood lineage to the vast wealth and success of their father’s industrialist family and the de la Vega name, since the early eighties when their parents had wedded, had been inextricably linked with affluence and status.

      ‘Are you forgetting the clientele The Royce serves?’ He watched Xav silently bristle over the fact that their family’s power and influence, while not insignificant, did not merit any special recognition in this instance. Not from an establishment that catered to some of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the world.

      ‘And yet if there is truth to the rumours you’ve heard, Maxwell Royce is not selective about the company he keeps. Surely a meeting with you is not beneath him?’

      Ramon sensed a subtle insult in that statement. He gritted his teeth for a second before speaking. ‘It’s not rumour.