Читать книгу An Unlikely Bride For The Billionaire - Michelle Douglas - Страница 9
ОглавлениеTHEY REACHED THE lily pond two minutes later. The moment Dylan clapped eyes on the enchanting glade he understood why Carla had fallen in love with it. True to its name, large green lily pads decorated a small but picturesque body of oval water. Native trees and shrubs curved around three of its sides. The fourth side opened out to a large circle of green lawn.
Mia pointed to that now. ‘This area is large enough for our medium-sized marquee, which holds sixty guests comfortably. That leaves the area behind for the caterers to set up their tents and vans for the food.’
Carla chose that moment to come rushing up—which was just as well, as Dylan had found himself suddenly in danger of getting caught up on the way Mia’s wet shirt clung to her chest.
Carla grinned at Mia—‘Surprise!’—before taking Dylan’s arm and jumping from one foot to the other. ‘Isn’t this just the most perfect spot?’
He glanced down at her—at her smile made radiant with her newfound happiness. ‘It’s lovely,’ he agreed, resolve solidifying in his gut. This wedding had come out of left field, taking him completely by surprise. But if this was what Carla truly wanted, he meant to create the perfect wedding for her. ‘Where’s Thierry?’
A cloud passed across her face. ‘Something’s come up. He can’t make it.’
That was the problem. Thierry. Dylan didn’t like the man.
His sister had suffered enough misery in her life, and Dylan had every intention of protecting her from further heartache.
Carla moved towards Mia. ‘Please tell me you’re not cross with me.’
‘So...you’re not really Carly Smith, frequent visitor and keen student of environmentalism?’
Carla shook her head.
Mia glanced down at her notepad. ‘With your background, I imagine you need to be careful with your privacy.’
Carla winced. ‘Please tell me you don’t hate me. You’ve been so kind. I love shadowing you when you’re on duty for the wildlife displays. You never talk down to me or treat me like I’m stupid. Oh!’ she added in a rush. ‘And just so you know, I really do have a keen interest in the environment and conservation.’
Mia smiled. ‘Of course I don’t hate you.’
That smile made Dylan’s skin tighten. When she smiled she wasn’t plain. And when she laughed she was beautiful.
He pushed those thoughts away. They had no bearing on anything. Her smile told him what he needed to know—Mia genuinely liked his sister. That was what mattered.
‘Right.’ Mia consulted her notepad. ‘I want to hear every tiny detail you have planned for this wedding.’
‘Hasn’t Dylan told you anything?’
Mia glanced at him. ‘We didn’t want to start without you.’
That was unexpectedly diplomatic.
He stood back while the pair started discussing wedding preparations, jumping from one topic to the next as if it made utterly logical sense to do so. He watched them and then shook his head. Had he really thought Carla needed exuberance from Mia? Thank heaven Mia had seen the wisdom in not trying to fake it. He silently blessed her tact in not asking where Mia’s maid of honour or bridesmaids or any female relative might be too.
Carla didn’t have anyone but him.
And now Thierry.
And Mia in the short term.
He crossed his fingers and prayed that Thierry would finally give Carla all that she needed...and all that she deserved.
* * *
Mia spent two hours with Carla and Dylan, though Dylan rarely spoke now Carla was there. She told herself she was glad. She told herself that she didn’t miss his teasing.
Except she did. A little.
Which told her that the way she’d chosen to live her life had a few flaws in it.
Still, even if he had wanted to speak it would have been difficult for him to get a word in, with Carla jumping from topic to topic in a fever of enthusiasm.
She was so different from Carly Smith, the wide-eyed visitor to the park that Mia had taken under her wing. She took in the heightened colour in Carla’s cheeks, the way her eyes glittered, how she could barely keep still, and nodded. Love was exactly like that and Mia wanted no part of it ever again.
Carla spoke at a hundred miles an hour. She cooed about the colour scheme she wanted—pink, of course—and the table decorations she’d seen in a magazine, as well as the cake she’d fallen in love with. She rattled off guest numbers and seating arrangements in one breath and told her about the world-class photographer she was hoping to book in the next. Oh, and then there was the string quartet that was apparently ‘divine’.
She bounced from favours and bouquets to napkins and place settings along with a million other things that Mia hastily jotted down, but the one thing she didn’t mention was the bridal party. At one point Mia opened her mouth to ask, but behind his sister’s back Dylan surreptitiously shook his head and Mia closed it again.
Maybe Carla hadn’t decided on her attendants yet. Mia suspected that the politics surrounding bridesmaid hierarchy could be fraught. Especially for a big society wedding.
Only it wasn’t going to be big. It was going to be a very select and exclusive group of fifty guests. Which might mean that Carla didn’t want a large bridal party.
Every now and again, though, Carla would falter. She’d glance at her brother and without fail Dylan would step in and smooth whatever wrinkle had brought Carla up short, and then off she would go again.
Beneath Carla’s manic excitement Mia sensed a lurking vulnerability, and she couldn’t prevent a sense of protectiveness from welling through her. She’d warmed to Carly—Carla—the moment she’d met her. For all her natural warmth and enthusiasm she had seemed a little lost, and it had soothed something inside Mia to chat to her about the programmes Plum Pines ran, to talk to her about the animals and their daily routines.
As a rule, Mia did her best not to warm towards people. She did her best not to let them warm towards her either. But to remain coolly professional and aloof with Carla—the way she’d tried to be with Dylan—somehow seemed akin to kicking a puppy.
While many of her work colleagues thought her a cold and unfeeling witch, Mia didn’t kick puppies. She didn’t kick anyone. Except herself—mentally—on a regular basis.
‘Can I come back with Thierry tomorrow and go over all this again?’
Why hadn’t the groom-to-be been here today?
‘Yes, of course.’
Hopefully tomorrow Nora would be back to take over and Mia would be safely ensconced on the reserve’s eastern boundary, communing with weeds.
Carla glanced at her watch. ‘I promised Thierry I’d meet him for lunch. I have to run.’ She turned to her brother. ‘Dylan...?’ Her voice held a note of warning.
He raised his hands, palms outwards. ‘I’ll sort everything—I promise. Mia and I will go back to the office and thrash it all out.’
Mia’s chest clenched. Thrash what out? She didn’t have the authority to thrash anything out.
She must have looked crestfallen, because Dylan laughed. ‘Buck up, Mia. It’ll be fun.’ He waggled his eyebrows.
Mia rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t crush the anticipation that flitted through her.
‘I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin.’
His grin could melt an ice queen.
Lucky, then, that she was made of sterner stuff than ice.
‘You’ll do no such thing.’ She stowed her notepad in her back pocket as they headed back towards the main concourse. ‘Gordon Coulter would be scandalised. All refreshments will be courtesy of Plum Pines.’
During the last two hours they’d moved from the lily pond back to the office, to pore over brochures, and then outside again to a vacant picnic table, where Carla had declared she wanted to drink in the serenity. Now, with many grateful thanks, Carla moved towards the car park while Mia led Dylan to the Pine Plum’s café.
He grinned at the cashier, and Mia didn’t blame the woman for blinking as if she’d been temporarily blinded.
‘We’ll have two large cappuccinos and two of those.’ He pointed at the cupcakes sitting beneath a large glass dome before Mia had a chance to speak.
‘You mean to eat two cupcakes and drink two mugs of coffee?’ She tried to keep the acerbity out of her voice.
‘No.’ He spoke slowly as if to a child. ‘One coffee and one cake are yours.’
Mia glanced at the cashier. ‘Make that one large cappuccino, one pot of tea and one cupcake, thank you. It’s to go on Nora’s events account.’
Without further ado she led him to a table with an outlook over the duck pond.
‘You’re not hungry?’ he asked.
She was ravenous, but she’d brought her lunch to work, expecting to be stranded on the eastern boundary, and she hated waste. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she said. It was easier than explaining that in Gordon Coulter’s eyes the events account didn’t extend to buying her any food. ‘Besides, I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.’
She frowned, unsure why she’d added that last bit.
For a moment he looked as if he were waging an internal battle with himself, but then he folded his arms on the table and leaned towards her, his eyes dancing. ‘Are you telling me, Mia...?’
She swallowed at the way he crooned her name, as if it were the sweetest of sweet things.
‘...that you don’t like cake?’
He said it with wide eyes, as if the very idea was scandalous. He was teasing her again. She resisted the almost alien urge to tease him back.
‘I didn’t say I didn’t like it. It’s just not something I ever find myself craving.’
His mouth kinked at one corner. Mia did her best to look away.
‘Now I have to discover what it is you do crave.’
How could he make that sound so suggestive?
‘Cheesecake? Ice cream?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to find something to use as a bribe?’
‘Chocolate?’
Oh. He had her there. ‘Chocolate is in a class of its own.’
He laughed, and something inside her shifted. No shifting! She had to remain on her guard around this man. He’d called her beautiful and something in her world had tilted. She had no intention of letting that happen again.
‘You made my sister very happy today. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.’
It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. ‘I... I was just doing my job.’
‘It was more than that, and we both know it.’
She didn’t want it to be more. This was just a job like any other. ‘Naturally Carla is excited. I enjoyed discussing her plans with her.’
To her surprise, she realised she was speaking nothing less than the truth.
Their order was set in front of them. When the waitress left Dylan broke off a piece of cupcake, generously topped with frosting, and held it out to her. ‘Would you like a taste?’
Unbidden, hunger roared through her. For the briefest of moments she was tempted to open her mouth and let him feed her the morsel. Her throat dried and her stomach churned. On the table, her hands clenched to fists.
She choked out a, ‘No, thank you,’ before busying herself with her tea.
Why now? Why should a man have such an effect on her now? In the last ten months she’d been asked out on dates...the occasional volunteer had tried to flirt with her...but nothing had pierced her armour.
None of them looked like Dylan Fairweather.
True. But was she really so shallow that someone’s looks could have such an impact?
When she glanced back up she saw Gordon Coulter, glaring at her from the café’s doorway. Had he seen Dylan offer her the bite of cake? Great. Just great.
She shuffled her mantel of professionalism back around her. ‘Now, you better tell me what it is you promised Carla you’d sort out. It sounded ominous.’
He popped the piece of cake into his mouth and closed his eyes in bliss as he chewed. ‘You have no idea what you’re missing.’
And she needed to keep it that way.
She tried to stop her gaze lingering on his mouth.
His eyes sprang open, alive with mischief. ‘I bet you love honey sandwiches made with the softest of fresh white bread.’
She had to bite her inner lip to stop herself from laughing. ‘Honey makes my teeth ache.’
The man was irrepressible, and it occurred to her that it wasn’t his startling looks that spoke to her but his childish sense of fun.
‘Ha! But I nearly succeeded in making you laugh again.’
She didn’t laugh, but she did smile. It was impossible not to.
Mia didn’t do fun. Maybe that was a mistake too. Maybe she needed to let a little fun into her life and then someone like Dylan wouldn’t rock her foundations so roundly.
He made as if to punch the air in victory. ‘You should do that more often. It’s not good for you to be so serious all the time.’
His words made her pull back. She knew he was only teasing, but he had no idea what was good for her.
She pulled her notepad from her pocket and flipped it open to a new page. ‘Will you please tell me what it is you promised Carla you’d take care of?’
He surveyed her as he took a huge bite of cake. She tried not to fidget under that oddly penetrating gaze.
‘Don’t you ever let your hair down just a little?’
‘This is my job. And this—’ she gestured around ‘—is my place of employment. I have a responsibility to my employer to not “let my hair down” on the job.’ She tapped her pen against the notepad. ‘I think it’s probably worth mentioning that you aren’t my employer’s only wedding account either.’
She spoke gently, but hoped he sensed the thread of steel beneath her words. There also were cages that needed cleaning, animals that needed feeding and logbooks to fill out. They weren’t all going to get magically done while Dylan lingered over coffee and cake.
And it didn’t matter how much he might temporarily fill her with an insane desire to kick back and take the rest of the day off—that wasn’t going to happen.
‘Ouch.’ He said it with a good-natured grin. ‘But you’re right. Carla and I have taken up enough of your time for one day. Especially as we’ll be back tomorrow.’
He was coming too? She tried to ignore the way her heart hitched.
‘Mia, do you know what line of work I’m in?’
Even she, who’d spent most of her adult life living under a rock, knew what Dylan Fairweather did for a living. ‘You created and run Fairweather Event Enterprises.’ More widely known as Fairweather Events or FWE. Dylan had made his name bringing some of the world’s most famous, not to mention notorious, rock acts to Australia.
Under his direction, Dylan’s company had produced concerts of such spectacular proportions they’d gone down in rock history. His concerts had become a yardstick for all those following.
FWE had been in charge of last year’s sensationally successful charity benefit held in Madison Square Garden in New York. He was regularly hired by royalty to oversee national anniversary celebrations, and by celebrities for their private birthday parties and gala events. Dylan Fairweather was a name with a capital N.
‘The thing is...’ He shuffled towards her, his expression intent now rather than teasing. ‘I know that Plum Pines has its own events team, but I want to be the person running this particular show.’
Very slowly, she swallowed. ‘By “this particular show”, I take it you’re referring to Carla’s wedding?’
He nodded.
Her heart thumped. Nora would be disappointed.
‘I want to do this for Carla,’ he continued, fully in earnest now. ‘The only thing I can give her that’s of any worth is my time. You have to understand it’s not that I don’t trust the Plum Pines staff, it’s that I want to give my sister something that’ll actually mean something to her—something she can cherish forever.’
Mia almost melted on the spot. To have someone who cared about you so much that they’d go to such lengths... That was—
‘Mia?’
She started. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have the kind of clout to authorise an arrangement like that. But I’ll present your case to Nora and Mr Coulter. Please be assured they’ll do everything they can to accommodate your and Carla’s wishes.’ She bit her lip. ‘They may have some additional questions that they’d like to ask you.’ Questions she lacked the expertise and foresight to ask.
He immediately slid his business card across the table to her. ‘They can contact me at any time.’
She picked it up. It was a simple card on good-quality bond, with embossed lettering in dark blue—a deeper and less interesting shade than his eyes.
He slid another card across the table to her. ‘Would you write down your number for me, Mia?’
She dutifully wrote down the Plum Pines office number, along with Nora’s work number.
He glanced at it and his lips pursed. ‘I was hoping for your number.’
Her hand shook as she reached for her tea. ‘Why?’
‘Because I think you could be an ally. You, I believe, approve of my plan to be Carla’s wedding co-ordinator.’
She hesitated. ‘I think it’s a lovely idea.’ Surely it couldn’t hurt to admit that much? ‘But I think you ought to know that I have very little influence here.’
‘I think you’re selling yourself short.’
‘If you want to speak to me directly, ring the office and ask them to page me.’ She couldn’t believe she’d told him to do that, but she couldn’t find it in herself to regret the offer either.
For a moment she thought he’d press the matter. Instead he stood and held out his hand. ‘Until tomorrow, then, Mia.’
She stood too and shook it, eager to be away from him. ‘Goodbye, Dylan.’
She didn’t tell him that in all likelihood she wouldn’t see him tomorrow. Funny how suddenly the eastern boundary didn’t seem as exciting a prospect as it had earlier in the day.
She’d barely settled down in the meeting room with the office laptop, to type up her copious notes for Nora, when the receptionist tapped on the glass door.
‘Mr Coulter wants to see you, Mia.’
To grill her about how things had gone with the Fairweathers, no doubt. She’d have rather discussed it all with Nora first, but she couldn’t very well refuse to speak to him.
Taking a deep breath, she knocked on his door, only entering when he bellowed, ‘Come in.’
She left the door ajar. She didn’t fully trust Gordon Coulter. ‘You wanted to see me?’
‘Yes.’
He didn’t invite her to sit. The smile he sent her chased ice down her spine.
‘It’s my very great pleasure to inform you, Ms Maydew, that you’re fired. Effective immediately.’
The room spun. Mia’s chest cramped. She couldn’t lose this job. It was all that she had. Her fingers went cold. She needed this job!
* * *
‘You’re terminating my contract? But...why?’
Dylan stood on the threshold of Gordon Coulter’s office, his head rocking back at the words he heard emerging from the other side of the door.
Gordon Coulter was firing Mia?
‘Your behaviour with Dylan Fairweather today was scandalous and utterly inappropriate. You’re not here to make sexual advances towards our clients. You’re here to perform your duties as efficiently and as capably as possible—a duty that’s obviously beyond you and your bitch-on-heat morals.’
Darkness threatened the edges of Dylan’s vision. Mia hadn’t made one inappropriate advance towards him—not one! His hands curled into fists. A pity the same couldn’t be said for him towards her. He hadn’t been able to resist flirting with her in the café—just a little bit. He hadn’t been able to resist making her laugh again.
This was his fault. How could he have been so careless as to put her in this position?
Gordon continued to wax lyrical on a list of Mia’s imaginary faults and Dylan’s insides coiled up, tight and lethal. Gordon Coulter was a pompous ass!
‘But even if I was prepared to overlook all that,’ Gordon continued, his tone clearly saying that he had no intention of doing so, ‘I refuse to disregard the fact that when you entered the emu enclosure you put the safety of a member of the public at risk.’
No way, buddy!
Dylan backed up two steps and then propelled himself forward with a cheery, ‘Knock-knock!’ before bursting into the office.
Two sets of eyes swung to him. Mia’s face was ashen. Guilt plunged through him like a serrated-edge knife.
You’re nothing but a trust fund baby without substance or significance.
As true as that might be, it meant that he knew how to act entitled and high-handed. He used that to his advantage now, striding into the room as if he owned it and everything inside it.
‘You moved very quickly to bring my proposal to the attention of your superiors, Mia. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.’
He took a seat across from Gordon, making himself completely at home.
‘I hope you realise what a gem you have here, Gordon.’ He pulled Mia down to the seat beside him. How dared Gordon leave her standing like some recalcitrant child deserving of punishment and castigation? ‘Have you finished telling Gordon about my proposal, Mia?’
‘Um...no, not yet.’
She swallowed and he saw how valiantly she hauled her composure back into place. Atta girl!
‘I’m afraid I haven’t had a chance.’
‘Oh, before I forget—’ Dylan turned back to Gordon ‘—my sister and I will be returning tomorrow with Thierry. If he approves our plans, and if you accept my proposal, then we’ll be booking Plum Pines as Carla and Thierry’s wedding venue.’
Dollar signs all but flashed in Gordon’s eyes. ‘That’s splendid news!’
‘Carla has requested that Mia be available for tomorrow’s meeting. I’m sure that won’t be a problem.’
‘Well, I—’
‘Now to my proposal...’ he continued, making it obvious that he took Gordon’s agreement for granted. He saw Mia bite her lip, as if to hold back a laugh. The tightness in his chest eased a fraction.
‘While I understand that Plum Pines has a talented and capable events team, I want to be completely in charge of Carla’s wedding preparations—bringing in my own people, et cetera. I understand this isn’t how Plum Pines normally operates, but if I promise to acquire all the necessary licenses and, as a show of gratitude, donate...say...a hundred thousand dollars to the Plum Pines Nature Fund, I was hoping you might make an exception.’
Gordon’s fleshy mouth dropped open. He hauled it back into place. ‘I’m sure we can find a way to accommodate such a reasonable request from such a generous benefactor.’
Dylan rubbed his hands together. ‘Excellent.’
Gordon Coulter was ridiculously transparent. Rumour had it he was planning to run for mayor next year. A donation as sizable as Dylan’s would be a real feather in his cap. Dylan just hoped the good people of Newcastle were smart enough not to elect such a small-minded bully to office.
He made a note to donate a large sum to Gordon’s opponent’s campaign.
‘If there’s any further way we can assist you, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re here to provide you with the very best service we can.’
‘Well, now that you mention it... Carla would like Mia as her official liaison between FWE and Plum Pines.’
Gordon’s face darkened. ‘Mia doesn’t have the necessary training. We can provide you with a far better level of service than that, and—’
‘It’s non-negotiable, I’m afraid.’ He spoke calmly. ‘If there’s no Mia there’ll be no Fairweather wedding at Plum Pines—and, sadly, no hundred-thousand-dollar donation.’
It was as simple as that, and Gordon could take it or leave it. If he refused to let Mia act as liaison then Dylan would whisk her away from Plum Pines and find a position for her in his own organisation. He was always on the lookout for good people.
In fact, poaching her was a damn fine plan.
Gordon wouldn’t pass on it, though. Dylan knew his type too well.
‘If you’re happy with Mia’s limited experience...’ he began, in that pompous fashion.
‘Supremely so.’
‘I’ll have to insist that she consult with Nora closely,’ he blustered, in an attempt to save face.
‘Absolutely.’
Gordon swallowed a few times, his jowls quivering. ‘In that case I’ll raise no objections.’
Dylan leant back in his chair. ‘Excellent.’
Mia leaned forward in hers, her dark gaze skewering Gordon to the spot. ‘And our earlier conversation...?’
His mouth opened and closed before he shuffled upright in his seat. ‘In the light of these...new developments, any further action will be suspended—pending your on-the-job performance from here on in.’
Very slowly she leaned back. Dylan silently took in the way her fingers opened and closed around each other. Eventually she nodded. ‘Very well.’
Dylan stood. ‘I understand you’re a busy man, Gordon, so I won’t take up any more of your valuable time. Mia...’ He turned to her and she shot to her feet. ‘I forgot to give you Carla’s mobile number. You’re going to need it. I’m afraid she’ll be leaving you messages day and night.’
‘That won’t be an issue,’ Gordon inserted. ‘Mia understands that here at Plum Pines our clients are our priority. She’ll be at your sister’s beck and call twenty-four-seven.’
Dylan barely restrained himself from reciting the ‘Maximum Ordinary Hours of Employment’ section of the New South Wales Industrial Relations Act. Instead he gestured for Mia to precede him out through the door.
‘Lead me to your trusty notepad.’
He closed the door behind them and Mia didn’t speak until they were safely ensconced in the meeting room.
She swung to him. ‘You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You overheard him trying to fire me so you jumped in and saved my job.’
His chest expanded at the way she looked at him—as if he’d ridden in and saved the day.
She pressed a hand to her chest. ‘I think I just fell a little bit in love with you.’
She was the strangest mix of seriousness and generosity he’d ever come across. And totally adorable to boot.
He leaned towards her, but she took a step backwards.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It was a stupid thing to say. I only meant I was grateful—very grateful—for you coming to my defence like you did.’
‘You’re welcome. Gordon is a pompous ass.’
‘A pompous ass who has the power to terminate my traineeship whenever he sees fit.’
‘He’d need to show good cause in the Industrial Relations Court. Don’t you forget that. In fact—’ he widened his stance ‘—why don’t you forget Gordon and Plum Pines and come and work for me?’
The beginnings of a smile touched her lips. It made his pulse beat that little bit harder.
‘I don’t believe I have enough...exuberance for your line of work, Dylan.’
‘I was wrong about that. You’re perfect.’
‘No, I’m not!’ Her voice came out tart. Too tart.
He frowned. ‘I meant that your work ethic is perfect. Your customer service skills are impeccable.’ That was all he’d meant.
She swallowed before gesturing for him to take a seat. ‘If you want me working so closely with you and Carla then there’s something you need to know about me.’
He sat in the chair at the head of the table. ‘I know all I need to know.’
She fixed him with that compelling gaze of hers, but for the life of him he couldn’t read her expression. She took the chair immediately to his left, gripping her hands together until her knuckles turned white.
‘I’d rather be the one to tell you than for you to hear it from other sources.’
He straightened. What on earth...? ‘I’m listening.’
He watched the compulsive bob of her throat as she swallowed. Her hands gripped each other so tightly he was sure she’d cut off the blood supply to her fingers if she weren’t careful.
‘Ten months ago I was released from jail after serving a three-year prison sentence for committing fraud. I think it’s only fair that you know I’m an ex-convict.’
