The Playboy's Proposition(3)

"So you get a day off," Bella said, excited at the prospect of her aunt getting some extra rest.

"Without pay," Charlotte grumbled.

"Can I bring something over for you? Soup, sandwich, coffee, green tea … "

"Don't you dare," Charlotte said. "I don't want you driving in this  messy weather. I have plenty of food here. Maybe I'll do something  really decadent and stay in bed and watch the morning shows."

"As long as you promise to eat something," Bella said.

"You sound just like a mom," Charlotte said.

"I want to make up for lost time."

"Oh, sweetie," her aunt said. "You gotta let go of that. I made it through."                       
       
           



       

"But you lost something important to you," Bella said, speaking of her  aunt's spa. It had been her aunt's life-long dream to open several spas  in Atlanta and Charlotte had succeeded until the disease and treatment  had sucked the energy out of her.

"True, but things could be worse." She laughed. "My hair is growing back. I'm thinking of dying it pink."

Bella smiled. "Or purple?"

"Yeah," Charlotte said. "Speaking of spas, I found out who bought the business from the bank."

"Really? How did you find out?"

"A client who came into the salon works for the bank. She said some  local big wheeler and dealer bought them. She said he's known for buying  and selling bankrupt businesses."

Bella made a face. The man she described sounded like a vulture. "Not exactly Prince Charming," she muttered.

"I don't know," her aunt said. "The client said if there were a picture  in the dictionary beside the word hot, this guy would be right there. I  haven't heard of him, but apparently he's well known among local  businesses. Michael Medici's his name."





Two



T hree weeks later, Bella walked into MM Enterprises mustering the  fragile hope that Michael Medici would show an ounce of compassion for  her Aunt Charlotte. She knew the deck was stacked against her in more  ways than one, but she had to try. In an ironic twist of fate, Michael's  company had bought her aunt's business before Bella had even met him.  Apparently, Michael was known for scooping up the skeletons of failing  companies and either breathing new life into them, or partitioning them  into smaller pieces and making a profit.

The heels of her boots clicked against the tile floor. Dressed in black  from head to toe, she could have been outfitted for a funeral. Instead,  she was dressing for success. More than anything, she needed Michael to  take her seriously. Stepping into the elevator, her nerves jumped under  her skin, and she mentally rehearsed her request for the millionth time.  The elevator dinged, signaling its arrival. She walked down the hallway  and took a breath just before she opened the door to his office.A young  woman seated behind a desk wearing a Bluetooth glanced up in inquiry.  "May I help you?"

"I'm Bella St. Clair. I have an appointment with Mr. Medici," she said.

The receptionist nodded. "Please take a seat. He'll be right with you."

Bella sat on the edge of the upholstered blue chair and unbuttoned her  coat as she glanced around the office. Business magazines were fanned  out neatly on top of the cherry sofa table. Mirrors and original artwork  graced cream-colored walls and a large aquarium filled with colorful  fish caught her attention. She wondered if any of those fish were from  the shark family. She wondered if Michael would ultimately be ruthless  or reasonable.

She resisted the urge to fidget. Barely. This was her chance to make it  up to Charlotte for not being there when her aunt had needed her most.

Her heart still wrenched at what Charlotte had suffered. Charlotte had  supported Bella while she pursued her dream of taking a year off to work  for disaster relief in Europe, and had kept her diagnosis a secret from  Bella until she'd arrived back in the States.

"You can go in now," the receptionist said, jolting Bella back from her reverie.

Stiffening her spine, she stood and smiled at the receptionist. "Thank  you," she said and hesitated a half beat before she opened the door to  Michael Medici's office.

Walking inside, she saw him standing in front of the wall of windows on  the opposite wall. The sight of him hit her like a strike to her gut.  His dark, commanding frame provided a stark contrast against the blue  sky behind him. His eyes seemed colder than the last time she'd seen  him.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Why shouldn't he be cold toward her?  She'd rejected his suggestion that they continue their affair. She was  lucky he was willing to see her at all. That had been her litmus test.  If he would talk to her, then maybe she could persuade him to agree to  her proposal.

"Bella," he said in the smooth velvety voice she remembered. "What brings you here?"

Step one. Address the past and move on. "I realize that you and I shared  a rather unusual experience a few weeks ago," she began.

"On the contrary," he said with a slight mocking glint in his eyes. "I understand it happens every day, all over the world."

Her cheeks burned at the remembered intimacy. "Not quite the way that-"  She gave up and cleared her throat. "That night aside, I would like to  discuss a business proposition with you."                       
       
           



       

He lifted an eyebrow in surprise and moved to the front of his desk,  sitting on the edge. "A business proposition? Have a seat," he said,  waving his hand to one of the leather chairs in front of him.

Moving closer to him to sit down, she caught a whiff of his cologne. A  hot visual of him naked in bed with her seared her memory. His proximity  jangled her nerves, but she was determined. "There's a lot that you and  I don't know about each other, but I did tell you that my Aunt  Charlotte had experienced some health problems and was also having a  tough time professionally."

He nodded silently.

She had wished that he would be less handsome than the last time she'd  seen him. Her wish had not come true. She took another breath, wanting  to clear her head. "What I didn't tell you was that while I was out of  the country last year, my aunt was diagnosed with cancer. She hid that  from me or I would have come back immediately. She had to undergo  treatment that weakened her. She's better now, but she wasn't able to  focus on her business during that time. She lost it."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said.

"Thank you," she said, feeling a sliver of relief at his words of  compassion. "This has been so hard on my aunt. She's sinking into a  depression over it. I did some research and found out that you bought  her business from the bank."

He tilted his head to one side, frowning. "What business?"

"The spas," she said. "Charlotte's Day Spas."

Realization crossed his face. "Right. She had three of them. I'm  planning to convert the properties and resell them. One is a perfect  location for a pizza franchise."

"Pizza," she echoed, dismayed at the thought. She cleared her throat.  "What I would like to propose is to arrange a loan with you for us to  buy back the businesses with the agreement that you would get a share of  the profit."

He looked at her for a long moment. "Which at the moment is zero," he said.

"It obviously won't stay that way. The only reason the spas crashed was because of my aunt's health problems."

"And what do you plan to use to secure the loan?" he asked.

"We don't have anything tangible, but the important thing is that my  aunt and I would be willing to work night and day to make this work."

"Do you really think, with her health, she can work night and day?" he asked.

She bit her lip. "She needs a purpose. She feels as if she's lost  everything." She sighed. "No. I wouldn't let her work night and day, but  I could work that hard. I'm young. I'm strong. I can do this."

"So, you're asking me to bank on you and your commitment," he said. "Do you have a résumé?"

He was as cool as a swim in the Arctic, only revealing his thoughts when  he wanted, Bella thought with a twinge of resentment. No wonder he was  known for his business expertise. She thought of all the menial jobs  she'd taken to help finance her education and felt a sinking sensation.  She gave him the manila folder that contained the business plan and her  résumé. "As you can see, I'm a licensed esthetician, and I have a  bachelor's degree in communication studies."

He glanced over the paper. "If you're so committed to your aunt's spas,  then why did you go to college? You had your esthetician's license."