Jake snorted. “Forgotten Mia, have you?”
“Everyone else has. But hey, if you’re happy dragging that baggage around with you—”
“I don’t have baggage.”
“Right.” Quinn’s frustration crackled down the line. “Lucy. Your stepdad. All those shitty little towns you grew up in. You’ve got a whole bloody wardrobe, mate.”
“Yeah, thanks for that.” Jake screwed up his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “While I have you here, is there any way of tracking down that missing Blackstone diamond?”
“I’ll get onto it straight after I finish building my time machine.”
“Smart-ass.”
“Laser identification wasn’t invented until the early eighties. You’d have a better chance finding Eldorado. And anyway, Matt Hammond…already…me…it.”
Jake frowned. “You’re breaking up.”
The line went dead and with a soft curse, Jake hung up.
Suddenly restless, he rose to his feet and walked the few metres down the plane to where Holly was now studiously scribbling on a spreadsheet.
When he approached she glanced up and quickly shoved a folder across the papers, but not before he caught the heading on the top. Finances.
“A bit early for your tax return,” he said mildly, and leaned against the back of seat, crossing his arms.
“I like to get on top of things.” She met his eyes almost defiantly and changed the subject. “I’ve been organising your schedule,” she said without preamble. “You’ve got a four-o’clock meeting with Kimberley, and I’ve asked our department heads for their last quarterly reports.” She offered some papers to him. “I printed out the corporate structure, along with the contact numbers of key Blackstone personnel. After five I’ll give you a proper tour of the building.”
He stood there, filling the space too well, looking far too comfortable, Holly thought with chagrin. When he leaned in to take the documents, awareness suddenly hit. He smelled warm, musky and expensive. He smelled wonderful.
She surreptitiously glanced at her watch, trying to hide her nervousness, but he caught her look.
“Would you like to join me for lunch?”
His mild question hung in the air but she swore she could see a faint flicker of challenge in his eyes. Ruthlessly she ground out a stab of desire. “No, thank you.”
He raised one brow. “Why not?”
“Because I brought my own.”
“You’d rather brown bag it than have a proper meal with me?”
She paused, weighing her answer. “Yes.”
His short chuckle surprised her. “It’s just food, Holly. We’ll use a Blackstone’s restaurant. And talk business.”
She tipped her head, considering him. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you no?”
“Not if they wanted to keep their job.”
She bristled. “You’d sack me for refusing to eat with you?”
“No.” His answering grin did nothing to ease her tension. “Anyway, I can’t sack you. You work for Blackstone’s.”
“And you want to eat with me…why?”
“Maybe I just want your company.”
Holly gave an inward groan at the seductive smile stretching his sinful mouth. He might be gorgeous, but she forced herself to remember who he was. Her boss. At least for now.
Regardless of how she felt, she had to see this through. It’d do no good to stuff this up, not when she’d been backed into a corner.
She gave a curt, imperious nod, not wanting to appear too willing. “Let me make a call.”
An hour later they were guided to a private table at the back of Si Ristorante, one of Blackstone’s first-floor eateries.
“I’m surprised you have time for lunch, given your schedule,” Holly said as the waiter brought them menus.
“I always make time to eat. Good food and a bottle of wine predispose people to generosity. And I also have a weakness for—” his gaze skimmed over her face, settling on a spot a little left to her mouth “—gnocchi.”
Flustered, she busied herself with pouring a glass of water from the carafe. “And do you always treat your employees?”
“Who said I’m paying?”
Holly snapped up her eyes to meet his amused ones, and for one incredible second it felt like the world had stopped spinning.
Silly girl, Holly thought dazedly as she looked into those emerald eyes, the edges creased with uncharacteristic humour. The man had a billion reasons to smile, yet not one press clipping showed him happy. Dark, brooding or scowling, yes. Smiling? No.
I wonder why.
“Did you always want to work at Blackstone’s?” he asked casually, changing the heated direction of her thoughts.
“No.” She took his lead and studied the menu too. “But jobs are hard to come by out west so I moved.”
“Where are you from?”
She hesitated, contemplating the wisdom of giving too much information. “You won’t know it.”
“Try me.”
“Kissy Oak.” She flushed as his eyes focused on her lips for a second. “It’s a small farming community a few miles west of Dubbo.”
“A small-town girl,” he said softly. “Did you leave any small-town boys behind?”
“Why do you need to know?”
“Just making small talk. Getting to know my assistant.”
When he smiled with deliberate charm, Holly’s suspicion deepened. The man obviously knew the effect he had on women. Just not this woman.
“Don’t you know already, thanks to your crack research team?”
His expression turned shrewd. “Reports don’t tell me everything.”
She noted the pointed absence of an outright denial and crossed her arms, trying to keep a firm hold on her mounting irritation. “So you tell me.”
To his credit, he looked her straight in the eye and said calmly, “You were born on the thirtieth of April, 1982 in Dubbo Hospital to Martin and Maureen McLeod. Your twin brother, Daniel, died two days later. Your parents owned McLeod Crop Dusting, serving the farming communities around Dubbo. When you were seventeen,
