as ours. If you’re refusing to assist the administrative team in their hour of need then perhaps this isn’t the right organisation for you.’
She wanted to know where Nora was. She wanted to know why Simon hadn’t been given this job instead of her.
‘The Fairweathers will be here at any moment, so if you are refusing to assist...’
‘Of course I’m not refusing.’ She tried to keep her voice level. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. ‘I’m surprised you’d trust me with such an important assignment, that’s all.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘If you screw this up, Maydew, you’ll be out on your ear.’
She didn’t doubt that for a moment.
‘Naturally Nora will take over once she returns.’ His lips tightened. ‘She assures me you’re the only one who can possibly deputise in her stead.’
She bit back a sigh. Nora wanted her on the events team, claiming she was wasted as a field officer. Mia had plans, though, and they didn’t involve being part of the events team.
Where was Nora?
She didn’t ask. She refused to give Gordon the satisfaction of telling her it was none of her business. She’d ring Nora later and make sure she was okay.
The receptionist knocked on the office door. It was Nora’s office, but Gordon co-opted it whenever he decided to work from Plum Pines rather than his office at Council Chambers.
‘Mr Coulter? Mr Fairweather is here.’
‘Send him in.’
Mia moved to the side of the desk—she hadn’t been invited to sit—fighting the urge to move to the back of the room, where she’d be able to remain as unobtrusive as possible.
‘Mr Fairweather, it’s delightful to meet you!’ Gordon moved forward, arm outstretched, greasy smile in place.
Mia repressed a shudder.
And then she glanced at Dylan Fairweather—and had to blink, momentarily dazzled by so much golden...goldenness. Dear Lord, the papers did Dylan Fairweather no justice whatsoever. Not that Mia spent much time reading the society pages, but even she—hermit that she was—knew that Dylan Fairweather was considered one of Australia’s bright young things. Earlier in the year he’d been named one of Australia’s Top Twenty Eligible Bachelors.
If steal-your-breath sex appeal was one of the criteria then Dylan Fairweather had that in spades! Too-long dark gold hair and sexy designer stubble coupled with a golden tan had Mia’s fingers curling into her palms. At six feet two he towered over Gordon, his pale blue business shirt and sand-coloured chinos achieving a casual elegance Gordon had no hope of matching.
Nor did his clothes hide the breadth of his shoulders or the latent strength of powerful thighs. All that power and flaxen golden brilliance should have made him look terrifying—like a prowling lion. But it didn’t. He looked...he looked like a prince out of a fairytale.
Mia tried to tear her gaze away, but couldn’t. Never, in all of her twenty-five years, had she been in the presence of someone so physically perfect.. She remembered one of the women in prison describing how she’d felt when she’d first laid eyes on Vincent van Gogh’s painting The Starry Night. That was how Mia felt now.
Swallowing, she shook herself, appalled at the way her heart raced, at the craving that clawed at her belly. Pulling in a breath, she reminded herself that she wasn’t some primitive savage, controlled by greed and impetuous impulses. Not any more.
When Gordon had said she’d be taking care of the Fairweathers today, she’d been expecting a blushing bride and her aunt, maybe an attendant or two. She hadn’t been expecting the bride’s brother.
His pleasantries with Gordon exchanged, he turned to her and offered his hand with an easy, ‘Dylan Fairweather.’
She took it automatically, appreciating the just-firm-enough grip and almost melting under the unexpected warmth of his smile.
You’re not the melting type.
‘Mia Maydew. It’s nice to meet you. Carla is taking a call. She should only be a moment.’
‘That’s no problem at all.’ Gordon ushered Dylan to a chair, frowning at Mia over his head.
Dear God! Had her paralysing preoccupation been evident for all to see? Heat climbed into her face. Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Gordon took his chair. He still didn’t invite Mia to sit. ‘Unfortunately Nora can’t join us today. She sends her apologies. She was involved in a car accident on her way to work this morning.’
Mia couldn’t prevent her involuntary intake of breath, or the way her hand flew to her abdomen, just below her breasts, to counter the way her stomach jumped. Startlingly brilliant blue eyes surveyed her for a moment, and while the brilliant colour might have the ability to distract a mere mortal, Mia sensed the shrewdness behind them.
Dylan Fairweather shifted ever so slightly on his chair. ‘I hope she’s okay.’
‘Yes, yes, she’s fine, but her car is apparently a write-off. I insisted she go to the hospital for a thorough examination, though.’
Mia closed her eyes briefly and let out a breath.
‘Wise,’ agreed Dylan—Mr Fairweather.
‘In her stead—as a temporary measure, you understand—you’ll have Mia here to run you through wedding options. Anything you’d like to know—ask her. Anything you’d like to see—she’ll show it to you. I promise that nothing will be too much trouble.’
Easy for him to say.
She straightened. It wasn’t the Fairweathers’ fault that Gordon had thrust her into the role of Assistant Events Manager. She’d helped Nora out before with weddings and corporate events. She’d do everything she could to answer the Fairweathers’ questions and help Carla plan the wedding of her dreams.
‘If you’d like to take it from here, Mia?’
‘Certainly.’ She forced a noncommittal smile to her face. ‘If you’d just hand me the Fairweather file from the top drawer of the desk, I’ll take Mr Fairweather through to the meeting room.’
She was tempted to laugh at the disgruntled expression that flitted across Gordon’s face. Had he really thought she didn’t know about the file? She’d helped Nora compile parts of it earlier in the week. Did he hate her so much that he’d risk a lucrative account, not to mention some seriously good publicity, to undermine her? The thought killed any urge to smile.
She had to counsel herself to take the file calmly, before leading Dylan Fairweather out of the office to the meeting room. Her pulse skittered and perspiration gathered at her nape. She preferred working with animals to people. Better yet, she liked working with plants. With over one hundred and seventy hectares of natural bushland to its name, it should have been relatively easy to avoid human contact at Plum Pines Reserve.
‘Can I get you tea or coffee...maybe some water?’ She gestured for Dylan to take a chair at the table, doing what she could to stop
