Page 121 of Guilty Pleasures

There was a long silence before Ricardo spoke again.

‘How does my hotel sound to you?’

‘It sounds wonderful,’ laughed Roger. ‘I’ll be checking in as soon as it opens. My wife loves luxury. She’s always wanting to jet off to an Aman hotel.’

‘I think you could bring something much more to the project than mere patronage, Roger,’ said Ricardo coolly.

Roger raised an eyebrow.

‘What did you have in mind? I didn’t think eco-resorts would be big on leather goods.’

Ricardo laughed.

‘Perhaps not leather, you are correct. However, you understand the premium luxury goods market and the people who can afford those goods. Whether it’s a Milford handbag or a $2,000-a-night hotel, we are talking to the same demographic. They want the latest thing of good taste that mirrors their status.’

Adrenaline began to course round Roger’s veins. This was the reason he had switched his focus away from the Milford boardroom and out into the real world where real deals were being done. Emma could keep her silly little bags – here was an opportunity to make some serious money.

‘I’ll be frank with you Roger. I’m looking for investors,’ said Ricardo flatly. ‘Partners, if you’d like. People with vision and flair in tune with my own and of course a little money,’ he laughed.

‘You were thinking of me?’ queried Roger.

‘I think we could talk about it. I read about you, I hear about you from friends in London. I know you don’t control Milford but you want to. I hear you are ambitious and creative. Just like me.’

Roger felt his chest puff out.

‘What level of investment were you thinking?’ he asked. ‘And for what return?’

‘Ten million dollars for a 20 per cent stake. My business plan outlines an investor’s exit strategy after five years for a 35 per cent return. That’s on conservative estimates. However I think eco-tourism is about to go through the roof. You could be buying into a slice of the world’s most successful hotel chain at ground level.’

Roger had no idea if this was a sound investment or not but ten million dollars was certainly more money than he could get his hands on. He made the quick conversion from dollars to sterling and decided the only possible way to do it, should he wish to do it, was to sell his Milford shareholding.

‘With your corporate experience, a board position would of course be open to you,’ added Ricardo. ‘You would enjoy that, yes? Why don’t you bring your wife out to Sao Paulo? Stay at my home.’

‘I’m sure she would enjoy that,’ said Roger thoughtfully.

Ricardo reached over and thumped Roger’s shoulder.

‘To make money you have to take risks, my friend. And you have to be able to grasp the opportunities when they come along.’

For the first time in a long time Roger began to feel the heady excitement of business and it was intoxicating. Having spent the last year feeling emasculated and powerless as Emma transformed the company around him, paying casual disregard to his talents, he was enjoying the way Ricardo’s proposal made him feel: back in charge of his destiny. Being a board director of the most luxurious eco-hotel chain in the world would give him even greater perks than the ones he had at Milford. It would be a bigger challenge and bring greater rewards. Plus Ricardo was such a compelling character. He saw much of himself in the Brazilian and felt pleased and flattered that Ricardo wanted to bring him into his venture.

‘Who else is investing?’

‘Maybe you won’t know them,’ shrugged Ricardo. ‘Friends. People like me.’ He rattled off a few names. Roger recognized most of them.

‘Why me?’

‘Because I have a good feeling about you, Roger. I think you can do big things. I think you believe that too, eh?’

They arrived at a set of large wrought-iron gates which opened after Ricardo had muttered quick-fire Portuguese into an intercom. It was a large plantation-style house.

‘Here we are,’ he said.

‘And where is here?’ asked Roger, a little apprehensively.

‘A friend’s, where we can have fun,’ said Ricardo, slapping him on his back which felt sore from the sun. They climbed out of the Rolls and were admitted by a doorman in a black polo neck. Inside was a large parlour-type room with velvet sofas and a mahogany bar in one corner behind which a beautiful raven-haired girl was mixing a couple of caiprihanas. Roger instantly knew what sort of ‘friend’ Ricardo had. This was a high-class whorehouse, a pleasure palace where deals were sealed and not just in the bedroom. He had friends with high-powered corporate jobs in London and New York who had encountered places like this when doing business in certain parts of the world, but he had never been to one himself. Ricardo looked over at him with a small knowing smile.

‘Fernandez is a great girl,’ he said, tipping his glass towards the barmaid.