this stage, there was only an advance team working on the project, so he’d expected half the offices to be empty. And it was six-thirty in the evening, so it was not surprising that all his employees had gone home.
Even the formidable Ms Robbins.
Her name was on the door of the office in front of him. Grace Robbins. After all George Hervey had told him about this woman’s efficiency, dedication to the company and amazingly wide range of skills, he thought that perhaps—just perhaps—she might have stayed behind to meet him. In fact, once he’d faxed her his flight times, he’d almost expected her to greet him at the airport.
As he’d made his way through the Townsville terminal, he had kept a weather eye out for a middle-aged woman, conservatively dressed, brandishing perhaps a clipboard or some other weapon of efficiency. That was how he pictured Grace Robbins after listening to George’s twenty-minute eulogy of her.
Clearly George’s praise had been way too enthusiastic and his claims too exaggerated. It was a regrettable oversight, Mitch decided as he moved into her office. He was going out on a financial limb with New Tomorrow. With almost all his own money invested in it, this movie had to be a resounding hit and he needed the best possible staff to support him. He expected Ms Robbins to be a key player in the project.
Shrugging aside his annoyance, Mitch tried to be reasonable. Perhaps he shouldn’t judge the woman just because she wasn’t still here when he crept into town virtually unannounced. He’d only sent the fax just before he left Sydney and she might have had an appointment—any number of reasons for rushing home.
His eyes scanned the office. He couldn’t judge much at this stage. Her computer was shut down of course. There was a pile of faxes on her desk, but he had no intention of snooping. At least she wasn’t someone who littered her desk with personal knick-knacks or family photographs. Mitch approved of that. He liked a staff who kept their business and personal lives completely separate.
His glance caught the latest copy of Movie Mag lying at the edge of her desk.
Frowning, Mitch picked it up. The frown deepened and his eyes narrowed. Someone had taken a thick black marker pen and added graffiti to the cover. His picture sported an Adolf Hitler-style moustache and enormous black-rimmed spectacles. Several of his teeth had been blackened, leaving him with a ludicrous, gap-toothed smile.
Mitch’s shoulders rose, then slumped as he drew in a long breath before expelling it slowly in a hiss through his teeth. With slow, deliberate movements, he folded the offending magazine and placed it thoughtfully in his coat pocket.
And as he prowled back through the empty building he felt more jet-lagged than ever.
When he reached the thick glass doors at the entrance to the studio, a tall, dark shape outside caught his attention. An agitated young man was gesticulating wildly—pointing to himself and then to Mitch. For a moment, Mitch experienced a surge of hope. Had one eager employee returned to greet him? But just as quickly he dismissed the fanciful notion. Anyone working for the company would be able to let himself in.
Mitch opened the door and the fellow launched forward, his hand outstretched.
‘Mr Wentworth?’
Mitch nodded as the man stepped through the doorway and he shook the proffered hand. ‘How do you do?’
‘Henry Aspinall. And I’m very well, sir. I must say this is indeed a great honour. Oh, boy, it’s such a stroke of luck meeting you here, Mr Wentworth, sir. I’ve been trying to ring Grace all afternoon to check your arrival time and…’
Mitch interrupted the enthusiastic outburst. ‘Grace? Grace Robbins? You know her?’
‘Sure.’ Henry nodded. ‘When I couldn’t reach her at her flat, I thought she must still be here.’
‘No, there’s no one here—not even Ms Robbins,’ Mitch confirmed.
‘Oh, well, not to worry.’ Henry grinned. ‘It was really you I wanted to meet. You’ve received my e-mail messages?’
Mitch rubbed his brow, cursing the tiredness that fogged his memory. ‘Aspinall, Aspinall…’ He needed to recall whether this was someone really important he should remember, or just a nuisance fan.
Henry took advantage of the hesitation. ‘Grace told me about New Tomorrow and I’ve designed some computer graphics to blend in beautifully with the North Queensland outback…’
Mitch held up his hand to halt the flow of Henry’s enthusiasm. ‘Of course. You swamped my Los Angeles office with messages. You’ve done some graphics for the battle scenes.’
Henry looked jubilant. ‘That’s it, sir! What do you think? Would you like to see them?’
Mitch shot Henry an appraising glance. ‘Do you mind if we start walking? I’d kinda like to get to my hotel.’
‘Yes, sir. No problem. Where are you staying? The Sheraton? I’d be honoured to give you a lift.’
Mitch shrugged. Why not go with the fellow? It would save hunting up another taxi. While under other circumstances he might have found Henry Aspinall’s zeal annoying, like the unwanted attentions of an over-enthusiastic puppy, this evening it appealed to his dented ego. At least someone was keen to see him and seemed eager for his film’s success. He grunted his acceptance of the offer.
As they stepped onto the street, Henry skipped along the pavement with excitement. ‘My flat’s on the way. I’ve got everything set up. We could call in and I could quickly show you—’
Mitch held up his hand and nodded. ‘Sure thing,’ he agreed as Henry opened the passenger door of a battered and rusty sedan. ‘Take me to your disk.’
To his relief, they pulled up in front of a set of low maisonettes within five minutes. The car door squeaked on its hinges as Mitch prepared to follow Henry into his flat. After sitting for even such a short time, his weariness had returned with a vengeance. He would make this call as brief as possible. All he wanted now was to crawl into crisp, clean hotel sheets and sleep for three days.
‘That’s funny,’ commented Henry as they crossed the short strip of weedy front lawn. ‘I don’t remember leaving any lights on.’ He shrugged a puzzled smile Mitch’s way before sorting through his keys for the one he needed.
But his key never reached the lock.
As their footsteps echoed on the concrete paving of the narrow entryway, the front door flew open.
‘Surprise!’
A blaze of light flooded the doorway, illuminating a beautiful creature wearing next to nothing. Her eyes were fixed on Henry.
‘It’s Tuesday! National Girlfriend Exposure Day!’
Standing back in the shadows, Mitch was vaguely aware of strangling noises coming from Henry, but he was too stunned to move or speak.
A goddess, tall and tawny-headed, posed before them, dressed in the briefest of black lacy undergarments. She was absolutely breathtaking. Her creamy skin was satin-smooth and her womanly curves perfectly shaped—delicate slenderness and lush fullness balanced in proportions designed to impel a man to reach out for them.
He
