So, this was it; I was coming home. I could commute to and from the Barossa Valley to any capital city in Australia to continue my modelling career. With my career back on track after my horrendous assault, I could help pay back my father’s debts, or so I thought. My life had been perfect; until I had the misfortune to meet Tate Turner. My life will never be the same again.
CHAPTER TWO
MAX
I was an asshole.
Pure and simple.
Yeah, I was a prick.
I admit it. I was a womaniser, a man-whore. I couldn’t deny it. I knew I was, so why lie? I treated women with respect but never did I keep them around for too long. The minute they got too clingy, I moved on. The minute I was done with a woman, I walked away. No woman could hold my interest longer than it took me to button up my pants.
I liked to be in control.
I needed to be. I had to be.
I looked around the crowded grand ballroom at the Annual Barossa Festival Charity Ball and forced myself to stay alert and not yawn. I detested attending these events, but as the guest speaker, I had no choice but to make an ‘appearance’.
As Australia’s most eligible bachelor, there were women all vying for my attention this evening. Married or single, it didn’t matter; they threw themselves at me. I drew the line at married women, though. As the CEO of the Brunetti Hotel and Spa Resorts in the Barossa Valley, I knew how important it was to remain detached from forming a serious relationship with a woman.
They were only after one thing anyway. I wasn’t stupid.
My father Giuseppe, better known as ‘Pep’, built the Brunetti Hotel and Spa Resorts from scratch, so there was no fucking way I’d let any woman get close to me or my family business. These women were all ruthless, money-hungry bitches; they just wanted the Brunetti name and the prestige. Every materialistic female in the room wanted to be photographed with me and ensure they made the front cover of every magazine and newspaper Australia-wide. Well, fuck them! There was no way I was going to risk what my father had built on some superficial, wannabe socialite.
No way in Hell would I let any woman reap the rewards my father had struggled to build with my mother Rosa all those years ago when he arrived from Italy without a dollar to his name. My parents had worked in the Barossa vineyards as harvesters until my father had saved enough money to buy a small hotel in town and turned it into what it is now: a conglomerate of successful hotels, spas and resorts, expanding them, not only in The Barossa Valley and Adelaide but all across Australia.
“Son, why are you hiding here? Your mother and I have been looking for you,” my father quizzed as he stood next to me.
“Dad, I’m wondering when this evening is going to end. I’ve had a shit of a day and just want to get this speech over with and go home. I want to put my feet up and relax with a bottle of cold beer,” I replied.
“Max, we own wineries and yet you still always crave that cold beer. You need to relax, boy. When I built this business, your mother and I always took time to wind down. You need to do the same, son, or you will burn yourself to the ground. I’ve seen how hard you work, Max. You need to let your brother take more control instead of sending him travelling back and forth like a yoyo. Your sister is always willing to help out when she’s on a break from university,” my father said, sounding a bit exasperated as he spoke.
The very day my father retired, I took the reins as CEO, and my brother Marco was the Chief Financial Officer of all the interstate Brunetti Hotels, Spas and Resorts. Mia, my sister, was studying in Adelaide and only had one more year to go to get her degree in Agricultural Science. As for my youngest brother, Mic - short for Miccah. God only knew when we would hear from him. Mic had been gone for over five years after joining the Army; he was always away. At the moment, he was based in some secretive part of the world where we could only contact him once every six weeks. He’d come back every now and then but never for long.
It broke my mother’s heart. My mother longed for him to come home to stay, but Mic still had a year to go so he could be ranked as a Senior Officer or something along those lines. Damn. I never got it right. I really needed to pay more attention to my little bro. I’ve never understood all that military ranking the Army entailed.
“Honestly, Dad, I’m fine. You never question how I run the business and if I need a vacation, I’ll take it. Now, what did you really want to talk to me about?’ I asked.
“Michael Sinclair is here tonight, along with his wife and eldest daughter. He’s trying to get investors; I can see he is talking to people. If you want to make your move, I suggest you do it now,” my dad instructed.