Prologue

“You have to leave now, senorita.”

Cara Welsh tipped her head back, and back some more, until she stared into the face of the uniformed security guard who towered over her. I am not leaving, she told him, making no move to vacate the chair she had occupied for over 2 hours in the waiting area of this vast marble foyer.

The big man’s eyebrows beetled together. “You must go. The building is closing.”

The building was the Velga tower---- a great big steel and glass monolith that rose from the heart of Barcelona thriving business district and dwarfed everything around it. It had caused $1.2 billion to construct, had taken two years and three months from foundation to completion, and comprised of 44 floors of bustling head office activity for one of Europe’s largest and most successful multinational conglomerates. Cara was well acquainted with these facts because she had picked up the glossy hardbound book titled the Velga corporation 60 years of success off the loot table beside her and, out of sheer boredom, read the entire thing from forefront to cover do back. Twice.

“I am not leaving without an appointment to see Mr de la Velga,” she said.

This was not news to the security man. She had made the same request on her arrival, and again an hour ago when it became obvious that his call to the CEO’s assistant has garnered no result. He is not available.

Which is why I want to make an appointment,” she explained with exaggerated patience. “So that I can see him when he’s available.”

“Not possible,” the man said, and with that he clamped a giant hand around her upper arm and hold her to her feet. Cara gasped. “Wait!”

She braced her leg to resist, her flat rubber soled shoes giving her a much needed moment of purchase on the shiny marble. You are not seriously going to manhandle me out of the building? I am sorry, senorita, he said, but the sidelong glance he sent her did not look apologetic so much as… pitying. She bristled at the implication of that look. It wasn’t difficult to guess what they were thinking about her.

A man as powerful and will be as they are both must have an abundance of female admirers and hangers on, and his staff were no doubt required to act as gatekeepers on occasion. But Cara was no jilted lover or wannabe mistress. Please, she persisted, heating the disputed note that crept into her voice. “Can you just call his office one more time? Somebody must still be up there.”

Here, it was almost 6:30 PM, but didn’t work hours in Spain differ from the norm at home? And hadn’t she read an online article just yesterday in which the CEO was quoted saying that he not only worked long hours himself, but expected key members of his staff to do the same?

But the guard shook his head. “Call tomorrow,” he said.

Cara felt the sharp bite of her frustration in her belly. She had already found the day before, and the day before that. Each time she had been stonewalled by the CEOs uppity assistant. Which was why she had dragged across the city in the stifling mid August heat this afternoon and shown up in person. She planted her feet and locked her knees, but her strength was no match for the guards. He started walking and she was forced to stumble along beside him, clutching her tote bag and the shreds of our dignity as he marched her towards the automatic sliding glass doors. Her heart lurched. A few more steps and she would be out on the street, back to square one. The glass doors parted before them, letting a blast of hot air, and then she thought of the envelope in her bag, the letter that she had carried 10,000 miles across the globe, and the crushing sense of failure engulfed her. All because she couldn’t find her way to the top of this imposing corporate fortress to see one man.

Her body stiffened out in protest.” I am Mr. de la Velga’s step-sister!” and the guard pulled up short, surprise making his grip slacken just short enough so that’s he could wrench herself free.

Around them the cavernous foyer came to a standstill, the other security personnel in the desk and few office workers making their way to and from the lift having paused and fallen silent in the week of her outburst. A tidal wave of heat swept up her body and into her face. Doing her best to ignore the curious stares, she levelled her gaze at the card and said quietly, “I’m sure neither his assistant, now you, would like to inform him that you have turned me away.”

The man rubbed the back of his neck, his face grew up in a grimace of indecision. Finally, he said in a graph voice. Please wait. He returned to the desk to make a phone call and two minutes later at all, elegant woman wearing a sleek Navy shift dress and high heels emerged from the left. She looked to the guard, who steered in Cara’s direction with the tilt of his head.

The woman gave her an assessing look and then looked at her and said,” Please follow me.”

When she reached there, she looked at the man sitting there staring at her as if she was prey and said,” Thank you Camilla.”

The woman who had escorted her here left the room. My staff are concerned for my safety. It wasn't the start to the conversation that she had anticipated. She blinked confused. Why?

“They believe you might pose a threat he elaborated watching her closely. Do you miss Welsh?”

Her eyes widened. “A physical threat you mean?” The notion was so preposterous a little laugh bubbled up her throat. “Hardly.”

“Indeed. Are you a journalist?” He asked her abruptly.

“No,” she said trying to ignore the disconcerting pulse of heat that fire through her body in week of his cursory appraisal. “Why would you think that?”

His many treating as logged onto hers. “Journalists have a tendency to get creative in their attempts to access whom ever they are pursuing.”

She frowned. “I'm afraid I don't follow.”

“You claim to be in my step sister.”

“Ahhh!” She felt her cheeks growing pink. “I can explain that.”