Christmas Belles (Gillies Ridge)

Chapter 10

S HE slipped out from under the sheet and felt around for her clothes.

She found them pressed and cleaned and hanging in the wardrobe. She looked over at Richard’s sleeping form.

It was for the best.

They had their Christmas wish, now it was time to head back to the real world.

She gathered up her clothes and headed across the sitting room to the front door of the apartment. She paused at the breakfast trolley, a newspaper folded on the side of the trolley, a silver platter covered with a dome lid on the other.

She lifted the silver lid. Croissants. Had they finished they dinner last night? She didn’t think so.

She smiled as she reached for a croissant, her hand stilling halfway to the pastry. Staring up her from the newspaper was Richard Buchanan, with her tucked against his side as they entered the foyer of the club.

But it was the headline that made her crash the lid back down, all thoughts of food forgotten.

New beginnings, my ass.

She debated going back into the bedroom and demanding an explanation. But Buchanans didn’t explain themselves to anyone. Hadn’t history taught her anything?

So much for the magic of Christmas.

She slammed out of the club, not caring who saw her. She held her head high and took the cab the concierge hailed for her.

She closed her eyes and didn’t open them again till the taxi pulled up at her destination. She entered the Battle Axe Throwing Club and went straight to her locker, shoved yesterday’s things inside the locker. She tossed the newspaper in the corner with the rest of her things.

So much for discretion and no media allowed .

She looked like she was begging for sex, her lips all pouty and her gaze adoring. She grabbed her case of axes and marched out of the locker room.

The sporting complex was empty at such an early hour and Rika had her choice of alleys. She dumped her case on a bench and pulled out her axes. Strangers bearing gifts, how could she have been so stupid? He’d been using her all along.

They’d had their night. And she’d gotten her wish.

It was over.

Funny how closure didn’t feel as good as she thought it would.

She picked up an axe and balanced it on her shoulder. She tossed it at the target, not bothering to see where it landed, and turned to pick up the next axe.

Rika Belle, who’d never been late for work a day in her life, was not going to work today. In fact, she might take the whole damn week off. The Charity Auction was behind her and the long lead up to Christmas ahead.

If she wanted to stay here all day and throw axes she would.

She didn’t know how long she threw. She deliberately emptied her mind of everything except the motion the axe as it arced through the air and the satisfying thwack it made as it buried itself in the target.

Her daughters found her as she collected her axes from the target and lined them up ready to throw again.

Ali burst into the alley. “We had to turn on family tracking to find you.”

Grace was close at her sister’s heels. She picked up an axe and turned it over in her hands. “We thought you’d be...you know.”

“Too much information.” Pom was the last to enter, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. She collapsed onto a plastic chair.

Rika balanced the axe she was holding on her shoulder before letting it fly at the target. Family tracking was a damn nuisance. She should have turned it off.

Except she hadn’t thought about it.

She plucked the axe out of Grace’s hands, balanced it on her shoulder, and hurled it at the target.

Without pausing she picked up another axe.

Balance.

Hurl.

Ali put her hand over the axe as Rika reached for it. “Mama, what’s wrong? You’re throwing those things like they’re Richard Buchanan’s head.”

Rika picked up another axe and brought it to her shoulder. “Axe throwing is a great stress reliever.”

The axe hit bullseye.

“And you're stressed because...?”

Rika started towards the target to retrieve her axes. She called over her shoulder, “It's almost Christmas. You need to ask?”

Grace frowned. “It's Christmas at this time every year and you thrive on stress.”

“Not this year.” Rika returned with her axes and lined them along the bench.

She snatched up an axe, rested it on her shoulder, and hurled it. She turned to pick up the next axe.

“Mum,” Ali picked up the axe before Riki could get it. “What’s really going on? Yesterday, you and Richard were sizzling. Today you’re throwing axes like the target is his head.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she snarled. “Give me my axe.”

“Stop,” Ali ordered quietly. “Before you throw your shoulder out.”

Rika realized she must look like a crazy woman. But she felt like one, dammit. Going to Richard’s stupid club. Buying his blarney that the media wouldn’t follow. That they had all the time in the world.

New beginnings, he’d promised. And she’d fallen for it. For him. All over again.

“Give me the damn axe.”

To her surprise, Ali didn’t let go but instead guided her mother over to where Pom was sitting up straight in the chair, staring down at her phone.

She turned the phone so her sisters could see the picture of Richard and Rika. She turned it back started to read the article aloud.

––––––––

H OSTILE TAKEOVER OR merger?

Buchanan Holdings is in the bidding to take over Belle’s Distillery after Founder, Jacquline Belle, passed away earlier this month.

Or has CEO, Richard Buchanan, come up with a better way to save a few million; marry Belle’s daughter, Frederika?

As you can tell by the photos, Buchanan has chosen the latter. This way he gets the Distillery and the woman.

A corporate takeover with no bloodletting. The silver spooned billionaire gets the woman and the business and not a drop of blood to be spilled.

Her daughters stared at her, aghast.

“What did you think? That the Buchanans play by the rules? Well, think again. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy.”

Ali’s grip had tightened on her arm. “Sit, Mama. Please.”

Rika slumped into a plastic chair, the adrenalin leaving her body. She reached for her water bottle and drank.

Her daughters waited.

But she had nothing to say. She felt as dirty now as she did when Gaynor Buchanan had told her she wasn’t good enough for her son. Only this time it was worse. She’d let her daughters down.

The last twenty-four hours had drained her. Every wall she’d built to protect herself from the hurt had come tumbling down. Worst of all, she’d been the one wielding the sledgehammer.

She didn’t see the question passing silently between her daughters.

“It’s not a bad photo,” Ali said. “Well, not that bad. Maybe people won’t see it buried way back in the business pages.”

Pom tossed the phone to Grace. “Told you we should have shoved him under a bus.”

Grace shook her head at her sisters. “Mum, the Buchanans don’t matter. I’m sorry your night didn’t end well and all that. But what’s the worst that can happen? We don’t get to open a speakeasy. Other than that, the bastard can’t touch us.”

It took long moments for her daughter’s words to sink in.

Was Grace right?

Was she about to make the same mistake she made thirty years ago?

Giving up without a fight.

Again.

Rika met her daughters’ gazes one by one, a plan formulating in her mind as she spoke. “Richard Buchanan wants Belle’s Distillery. He’s made a takeover bid. As beneficiaries of your grandmother’s will you have thirty days to counter the bid.”

“Or we lose our inheritance.” Pom sat straighter in her chair.

“Before we get to enjoy it?” Ali slung an arm around her mother’s shoulder. “No way he’s getting it.”

Grace’s gaze narrowed. “Bastard. Luckily, we know how to deal with him. Do we?”

Rika looked at her daughters, her heart thawing a little. They were right. Playing the victim for the second time in her life wasn’t going to happen. She may have been alone thirty years ago, but today she had her daughters.

“We take no prisoners,” she said. “It’s just another business hurdle, like those we’ve had many times in our various projects. We work through our due diligence, and stack things in our favour.” She felt Ali’s arm tighten around her as she continued. “We work out what we want, and we go for it.”

Pom looked at her sisters, a gleam in her eyes. “We take the emotion out of it. Create a win/win business transaction where we totally get what we want and the Buchanans get what’s left over.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Grace tossed the phone back to her sister.

Pom caught the phone and shoved it into her pocket as she stood. “We stave off the takeover.”

Ali nodded. “Which will buy us time to work out what we want.”

Grace was already halfway to the door. “We need to see our inheritance. To see what we’re fighting for.”

“And what we’re up against,” Pom added. “One of you will have to drive. I need to sleep.”

Ali held out her hand. “Coming, Mum?”

Rika shook her head. She had something to do she should have done a long time ago. “I think I’ll stay here and keep an eye on the enemy. You girls go. And be careful.”

She waited till her daughters had left and pulled out her phone, tapping through her contacts.

When she found the number, she wanted she sent a brief text.

No more running. If her daughters were prepared to fight, then she would put her emotional hurt back where it belonged.

And the sexual attraction.

She closed her heart to the image of Richard, his arms flung out as he slept this morning, the early morning light tapering across his body. She and Richard had scratched their itch. From now on, it was business as usual.

She needed a clear head and a calculating mind. Rika smiled grimly. The Buchanans had no idea what they were in for.

Takeover bid or not, she had a feeling her daughters would fight for their rightful inheritance.

She gathered her axes and headed towards the locker room. For the first time in thirty years, she was ready to take her place as a Belle matriarch fighting for her family’s legacy.

Maybe she was more like her mother than she thought.

So why did she feel like she was jumping out of the pot and into the fire for the second time in as many days?