Read the book: «One Night With Gael»

For Romy, for your invaluable help

with all things South Africa.

Any mistakes are mine!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Rival Brothers

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

POR EL AMOR de todo lo que es santo! For the love of everything that’s holy!

Gael Aguilar gritted his teeth and stopped short of invoking actual martyred saints as he listened to excuse after excuse roll off the tongue of the man he was talking to on the phone.

At the end of his very short tether, he cut across yet another effusive apology. ‘Let me get this straight. You’re supposed to be here, in New York, holding auditions, but instead you chose to go skiing, in Switzerland, and are now laid up in hospital?’

‘It was just supposed to be a weekend thing for my wife’s birthday, but... Look, believe me, no one’s more sorry than I am, okay?’

Not okay. Gael jerked his head back against the car’s headrest none-too-gently. ‘What’s the medical verdict?’

‘Leg’s broken in two places. It’s going in a cast tomorrow. Provided there are no further complications I’ll be back in New York on Thursday, to pick things up, but we can’t miss the Othello Arts Institute slot today. It’s been arranged for months.’

Ethan Ryland, his director, was almost pleading. Gael barely stopped himself from pointing out that he should have known better then than to indulge himself with a continental trip. He also barely stopped himself from uttering the pithy words that would have brought him immense satisfaction right then and there. But temporary relief wouldn’t alter the facts facing him.

He couldn’t fire the director. Somewhere in the small print of his multipage contract was the perfect excuse for what was happening now, Gael was sure. Had he not had bigger matters demanding his attention, he would have taken the time to seek out other small print, words that swung in his favour, and used them. Hell, he wouldn’t even need to lift a finger himself. That was, after all, why his company had a whole firm of lawyers on retainer.

But he couldn’t do that. For one thing, embroiling the Atlas Group, the staggeringly successful but still infant global conglomerate he’d birthed with his half-brother in litigation right now would be bad for business. Not only would his half-brother Alejandro take satisfaction in demanding his head on a platter, their Japanese partners the Ishikawa brothers would also have a thing or two to say about the matter.

The merger between their three companies was barely six months old—as was his personal relationship with Alejandro, following decades of their actively and conspicuously avoiding each other.

While the business side of their relationship had flourished after a few initial setbacks, personal interaction between him and his brother had taken a two-steps-forward-one-step-back approach. Their once-a-month business meetings had grown decidedly stilted in the past three months and, frankly, Gael was on the verge of deciding it was time to take a permanent step back and run his side of the business from his Silicon Valley base.

It didn’t matter that he knew the reason why.

The past. Always the past. And not just his. His mother’s. His father’s—the father who’d been woefully lacking in being worthy of the name. Alejandro himself.

He pushed the recent confrontation with his mother aside, stepped back from the thoughts of torrid retribution he harboured towards his director, and forced himself to speak. ‘What exactly do you wish me to do?’ he snarled.

‘Just sit in on a cast call. You know my work—that’s why you hired me. You also know what you want. It will be filmed, of course, so I’ll see it when I get back. But nothing beats experiencing the raw, visceral performance in person. Tapping in to the emotions of acting is only potent on camera if it’s saturating in real life.’

Gael exhaled and curbed the urge to roll his eyes at the melodrama of the director’s speech. ‘Send me the details. I will attend this meeting you’ve set up,’ he snapped into the silence thickening in the back of his limo.

A breath of relief shot from the sleek phone console at Gael’s elbow. ‘Thanks, Gael. I owe you one.’

‘You owe me more than one. You owe me a first-class Atlas Studios maiden movie, to be unveiled—hiccup-free—as part of my digital streaming relaunch in six months’ time. Make no mistake: you only get this one free pass. Let me down again and you’ll be out. Is that clear?’

‘Crystal.’

Gael hung up before more useless platitudes reached his ears and instructed his driver to alter their destination. It looked as if he was staying in New York for one more night.

Activating the phone again, he dialled a familiar number in Chicago. As he waited for his brother to pick up Gael admitted to himself that he felt the tiniest sliver of relief to have avoided the Chicago trip for one more day. Because, contrary to the challenge he’d thrown down to Alejandro a year ago, about his brother acknowledging him as his blood, Gael himself had never been inclined to claim the Aguilar name. No matter that there wasn’t any doubt as to his parentage, the name had never sat well on his shoulders.

After all, he was a bastard whose mother had tried to cloak his name in imagined respectability by naming him after the father who hadn’t wanted him. Had his mother not pleaded with him, Gael would’ve changed his surname to Vega years ago. But she’d beseeched him—out of the same bewildering devotion to the man she’d chosen to reproduce with, he was sure. And he’d relented. He’d withstood both the blatant and the silent mockery from strangers and gossipmongers from childhood into adulthood for as long as he could. Then, like his half-brother, he’d retreated to the other side of the world.

The news that their father was once again indulging in the extramarital affairs that had brought Gael into the world had turned his stomach. Alejandro, for his part, after a series of conversations with his parents, seemed a lot less bitter about the whole thing. Not so much Gael.

And, on top of that stomach-turning news, his last conversation with his mother hadn’t ended well when he’d found out she was entertaining his father’s advances again. Nor had the exchange he’d had with Alejandro lent any insight into why their respective biological parents were hell-bent on perpetuating chaos.

‘Do I want to know what you’re thinking?’

Alejandro’s question, posed after one too many whiskies in his brother’s office a few short weeks ago, slashed into Gael’s brain.

‘No.’

His brother’s brooding gaze settled on him. ‘Tell me anyway.’

‘I’m wondering why polygamy was ever banned,’ Gael had responded.

Low, bitter laughter had spilled from his half-brother. ‘Trust me, I’m a one-woman man, but the same thought has crossed my mind many times about our parents.’

‘You know what? I don’t think they’d be happy with polygamy, even were it an option. They’d still find a way to make their lives—and ours—a living hell.’

Sour amusement had disappeared under the cloud that always accompanied thoughts of his father and mother.

He didn’t like to lump them together as his parents because they’d never been that to him. Sure, Tomas Aguilar had attempted to make a mockery of a family with his mother when Gael was a child, but that had been more to do with his twisted game to hurt the wife who had worn his ring and borne his firstborn than with love for Gael or his mother.

His father, his mother...his past...had nothing to do with the issue that confronted him now. And he’d never been one to expend energy on fruitless ventures.

* * *

Gael arrived on the doorstep of the Othello Arts Institute late—courtesy of an accident on the Queensborough Bridge—and alighted from the back of the limo in a fouler mood than he’d been in two hours before.

Not because of the call with his director, or even the chaotic traffic. No, his teeth-grinding could be laid firmly at his brother’s feet.

Alejandro had been nauseatingly understanding of Gael’s excuses, even going as far as to put Elise, his fiancée, on the line, to reassure Gael that all was well and they would welcome him to Chicago any time he pleased.

Wondering whether his brother’s brooding tone had been meant to reassure him, or to deliver a subtle message that Alejandro still maintained an arm’s-length approach to their relationship, despite Gael himself wishing it so, was what had thrown him into a worse mood.

He pushed open the glass doors to the sharp-angled building and entered the world-renowned institution, clearly aware he was spoiling for a fight. He didn’t bother taking a steadying breath because it would be of no use. Only two methods restored his control when he felt like this—losing himself in computer code or losing himself between the thighs of a woman. One had made him richer than his wildest dreams. The other never failed to restore equilibrium to his very male aggression.

The urge to pull out his phone and arrange his next assignation with his flavour of the month was only curbed by the reminder that this inconvenient detour was still business. And business always—without exception—came before pleasure.

He sought directions to the room he needed and entered to find two casting directors ready and waiting.

An hour later Gael’s mood had taken a sharp dip further south. The auditions had gone worse than abysmally—and he’d arrived from the viewpoint of an outsider. Tense handshakes with the directors and a swift exit preceded his urge to go back on his word and fire his director immediately. If this was what he had in store then he was better off parting company with Ethan Ryland before the process advanced beyond salvaging.

Sí, someone most definitely needed to atone for his mood. He pulled the phone from his pocket.

And stopped.

The door to his left was only partially ajar, but he heard her clearly. Her voice, filled with pure, unadulterated emotion, carried even without being raised high.

Removing his hovering thumb from the call button, he pushed the door with his forefinger. When it started to creak he stopped and stepped back. Glancing up and down the quiet hallway, Gael saw another door farther away at the end of the auditorium. Quick strides granted him silent entry into the shadowed rear of the cavernous room in time to catch her impassioned speech.

‘You won’t leave me. I won’t let you. You think you love her, but you don’t. And, yes, I know you enough to tell you what is in your heart. I love you that much, Simon. Enough to forgive. Enough to take another chance on us. But for us to happen you need to stay. Please...take the chance.’

Gael realised he was holding his breath as he watched tears stream down her face. She raged for another minute, then collapsed onto the stage. Genuine sobs convulsed her petite body.

Against his will, he was riveted, the breath he’d scoffed at needing moments ago locked in his throat. He watched her struggle to her feet, saw a hiccup shake through her as the last of her emotion rippled free. She swiped at the tears with her wrists and walked to the edge of the stage, chest rising and falling, her gaze expectantly on the audition director—who stared at her for uncomfortably tense seconds without speaking.

A fizzle of irritation wove through Gael’s body and his already black mood darkened further at the director’s deliberate silence.

‘Your performance was...commendable, Miss Beckett. I can tell you poured your heart into it.’

A tiny hopeful smile from the performer. ‘Thank you. I did.’ The response was firm, but husky, probably owing to her emotional expenditure.

The director regretfully shook his head. ‘But sadly I need more than that. Heart is great, but what I need is soul.’

The actress frowned. ‘I don’t understand. That was my heart—and my soul.’

‘In your opinion. But not in mine.’

Gael felt her acute disappointment from across the room. She gave a slight shake of her head, as if to refute the director’s words. Then she gathered herself with admirable pride. ‘I’m sorry you think so. But thank you for your time.’

She started across the stage towards a shabby-looking rucksack near the door.

‘That’s it?’

The smirking taunt from the director tightened the knot of anger in Gael’s gut.

She paused. ‘Excuse me?’

‘According to your opening speech, you want this part more than you want your next meal. And yet you’re walking away without so much as a fight?’ the director sneered.

Her eyes widened. ‘I thought you said... You mean I have a chance?’

‘Everyone has a chance, Miss Beckett. What stands between you and the opportunities you receive, however, is how much you want it. Are you prepared to do whatever it takes?’

She nodded immediately. ‘Yes, I am.’

The director crooked his finger. She retraced her steps to the middle of the stage. Impatiently he beckoned her further forward. She approached without hesitation.

The beginnings of distaste filled Gael’s mouth as he watched naked hunger fill her face.

Somewhere in the middle of her performance she’d lost her shoes. Her bare toes breached the edge of the hardwood stage as she looked down at the director. He extracted a silver card from his pocket, traced it over the top of one foot down to her toes before laying it between her slightly parted feet.

‘This is what it’ll take, Miss Beckett. Pick it up and the part is yours.’

Gael had been on the receiving end of propositions for long enough to know what was going on. Dios mio, hadn’t he had the row of all rows with his mother only two weeks ago over just such an issue?

He expelled his breath in a quietly seething rush as he watched her slowly sink down and retrieve what looked unmistakably like a hotel room key card.

The disappointment that lanced through him was strong enough to make him question why the scene unfolding in front of him was affecting him so deeply. Perhaps today of all days, when the past seemed to be dogging him with its bitter memories, he’d wanted to be pleasantly surprised by the elusive integrity of the human spirit. To experience a pure character to go along with the pure performance that had stopped him in his tracks, touched him in ways he was still grappling with.

More fool him.

As the director’s hands moved to touch her feet Gael retreated as silently as he’d entered, his rigid gaze firmly averted from the sleazy scene unfolding on the stage.

He was looking for a fairy tale where none existed. Just as he’d once—futilely and childishly—prayed for a family that included a father who didn’t wish him out of existence.

He should know better. No. He had known better—for a very long time.

Even before he exited the building he knew those dredged-up feelings would be crushed beneath the immovable titanium power of his ambition and success. Emotional needs and futile dreams were far behind him. What he’d done with his life since that time in Spain was what mattered.

Everything else came a very pale second.

CHAPTER TWO

SO WHY WAS he back here mere hours later, pulling up in front of Othello? And at a time of night when there was guaranteed to be no one around?

Gael had resisted admitting it all day. But, despite the stomach-turning denouement, something about the woman’s performance itself had stayed with him. Enough to make him pass a few precious hours re-reading the carefully selected script he’d searched through thousands for before settling on two years ago. Enough to convince him to put aside his personal feelings and revisit the actress’s flawless performance.

And it had been flawless. With a true visionary’s direction she would be able to pull off the project he had in mind for his movie launch without a hitch. Help him achieve the best possible premiere for what would be the world’s largest independent streaming entity.

The project wasn’t by any means the only thing sustaining the launch, but if done right the results and the benefit to the whole conglomerate would be incomparable. His partners were counting on him to get this right. He was counting on himself to make this vision come true.

That was why he was here, approaching the front desk with little more than a surname and a firm grip on his distaste.

The receptionist looked up, did a double take that would have amused him had his mood been anything but grim.

‘Uh...may I help you, sir?’ she asked eagerly.

‘You have a student—a Miss Beckett. She was performing in room 307 this afternoon. I’d like to speak to her, por favor.’

The enthusiasm dimmed a touch. ‘Do you have her first name?’

Gael frowned. ‘No.’

The receptionist grimaced. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I can’t locate her without a first name.’

‘You have a lot of students named Beckett?’ he enquired.

‘I can’t give out that information, or even tell you if she’s a student here or not. The thing is, she may not be. We hold outside auditions here from time to time. She may have come in with a director...’ She stopped and cast a slightly uncomfortable glance at him, probably due to his increasing irritation with her babbling. ‘Sorry, sir, but if you want to leave a card...or your contact details... I’ll see what I can do?’

The smile was re-emerging, and the flick of her hair was transmitting signals he didn’t want to acknowledge.

With reluctance, Gael extracted his card and handed it over. She glanced at it, her eyes going wider still as she gave a soft gasp. He watched, his cynicism growing, as realisation and an accompanying degree of avarice entered her eyes.

His former company, Toredo Inc., had been a serious player on the streaming media platform—a hit with students and young professionals long before he’d teamed up with Alejandro and the Ishikawa brothers to form Atlas. Since then, he and his partners had rarely left the media’s attention.

He and Alejandro had only finished their world tour scouting to find satellite partners to enter into a joint venture with Atlas a few short months ago. During that time they’d conducted numerous media interviews, which meant his face had been plastered all over the news for weeks on end. Anyone with a decent search engine knew what the Aguilar brothers looked like, and how much they were worth—and, if their search had been thorough enough, their relationship status.

From her expression, the receptionist was no exception. He watched her cast an amusingly exaggerated look round the deserted reception area before clicking on the keyboard in front of her.

‘I think you’re looking for Goldie Beckett?’ she stage-whispered.

The name brought to mind corkscrew golden curls and honey-toned skin. Surprisingly fitting. ‘Sí,’ he confirmed. The chances of the name being wrong were minimal. If it was, he could always resume the search.

The receptionist nodded. ‘I really shouldn’t be doing this...but she was practising in the music room until five minutes ago. You just missed her.’

Gael stifled a curse. ‘Did you see which way she went?’

‘No, but I know she lives in Jersey, so she may be headed for the subway?’

‘Thank you,’ he bit out.

‘Uh...you’re welcome...’

She looked as if she wanted to continue the conversation. But Gael turned away, cutting short the familiar look that preceded a gentle but firm demand for something. A phone number. A favour for a friend. A personal favour. At any other time he would have been inclined to grant the mousy receptionist another minute of his time, even reward her for her help. He’d long accepted how things worked between him and the opposite sex. He gave when the mood took him. They took all the time—until he called a halt to their schemes and often naked greed.

But not tonight.

Not when an alien urgency rubbed under his skin, demanding he find the elusive Miss Goldie Beckett.

He rushed out into the street, already condemning the futility of his actions. This was New York City. Finding a single person in a throng of people on the sidewalk, even after nine at night, was insane. And yet his feet moved inexorably in the direction of the subway station. Behind him his chauffeur kept pace in the limo. Probably he was wondering what had possessed his employer, Gael mused.

He knew her name. All he had to do was pass it to his security people and let them find her. He’d witnessed her naked ambition for himself. All he needed to do to entice her was offer his name and the once-in-a-lifetime project he had in mind and she would come running. There was absolutely no need for him to pound the pavement.

He’d slowed his footsteps, thinking how idiotic he looked when he heard a scuffle in the alleyway.

Gael almost walked past. Unsavoury characters lurking in dark places were commonplace in cities such as this.

A husky cry and the flash of golden curls caught the corner of his eye. He stopped in his tracks, wondering if he was conjuring her up in his irritated desperation.

The alley was poorly lit, but not deep. His eyes narrowed as he tried to peer through the wisps of smoke pouring out of a nearby restaurant vent.

‘No, damn you, let go!’

The distinctive voice coupled with the decisive sound of clothing being ripped firmly altered his course, hurrying him towards the night-shrouded scene.

‘Lady, I won’t say it again. Give me the bag.’ A low, menacing voice sounded through the gloom.

A bold, mocking laugh. ‘At least you have the good manners to call me lady as you attempt to steal my property.’

‘It’ll be more than an attempt in a second if you don’t let go of the damn bag!’

The warning was followed by more sounds of a tussle. Then a muted scream, the distinctive thud of a body landing heavily and a hiss of pain.

Gael arrived at the scene in time to see a dark shadow loom at him, then rush past. The blocking move he threw out missed by a whisker, and the assailant was already rushing out of the alley. He had a split second to debate whether to go after the mugger or aid the victim. Gael chose the latter.

The vision before him scrambled upright from the grimy concrete. ‘God, no! Stop him! He’s got my purse!’

This time he caught the bundle that attempted to launch past him. Arms flailed in his hold. A firm, sinewy body twisted in his arms as he held her tight.

‘Dammit, let me go. He’s got my belongings.’

‘Calm yourself. You won’t catch him. He’s long gone by now,’ he replied, attempting to keep hold of the wriggling creature.

‘Only because you’re letting him get away. For God’s sake, let me go.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Hell, you’re his accomplice, aren’t you?’ she accused.

Gael reeled back in amused shock. ‘Perdón? You think I’m a thief?’

‘I don’t know what the heck you are. All I know is you’re stopping me from going after that piece of scum who’s just stolen my purse. What am I supposed to think?’

She pulled at his hold. Gael thought it was probably wise to let her go, but his hands wouldn’t co-operate.

‘You’re supposed to thank a person who has just come to your aid,’ he suggested.

Eyes of an indeterminate colour widened in disbelief. ‘He got my stuff before you arrived. You let him get away—and you think I should be grateful?’ she spat with quiet fury.

She had fire—he granted her that. But it was the shaking in her voice that drew his attention.

Gael gripped her arms in a firmer hold, careful not to spook her further. Although he was still mildly amused she thought him a thief, her agitation meant she might take flight if he let her go. ‘I’m not a thief, Miss Beckett. I assure you.’

She froze. And in the darkness he was beginning to become acclimatised to her gaze searched his with growing suspicion.

‘How do you know my name?’ she demanded, her voice husky with a different kind of emotion.

Fear.

That didn’t sit well with him. He let her go and stepped back, although he made sure to keep himself between her and the exit. Now he had her before him he wasn’t in the mood to go searching for her again should she bolt.

‘You have nothing to fear from me.’

She laughed mockingly, but her trepidation didn’t abate. ‘Says the man who’s keeping from leaving. Don’t think I didn’t notice the body-block. I’m warning you—I know Krav Maga.’

Again a tendril of amusement twitched at a corner of his lips. ‘So do I, pequeña. Perhaps we can spar some other time, when we’re both in the mood.’

‘I don’t spar just for the fun of it. I fight to defend myself. Now, either tell me why you’re here wasting my time, and how you know my name, or get out of my way.’

‘Your assailant is long gone. If you wish to report the incident I’m willing to lend you my phone.’

‘No, thanks. If you want to do something useful will yourself into getting out of my way instead, why don’t you?’

Gael shook his head. ‘Not until we’ve talked.’

‘I don’t know who you are or what you could possibly have to talk to me about that involves us standing in a dark, smelly alley.’

She started to skirt him. He let her go until she faced the exit and her perceived freedom.

‘I’m here because you’re of interest to me.’