of magic, a fountain of stars showering her, lifting her into a new life. She barely stopped herself from pirouetting across the tiled floor and hugging Jake Carter.
“A done deal?” he asked.
“A done deal,” she affirmed exultantly.
“Then let’s go to lunch and celebrate,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed, too happy to worry about caution. Besides, he was part of this. Without Jake she wouldn’t have got this apartment. It was only right to share her pleasure with him.
THE restaurant Jake drove her to was on the beach side of The Esplanade, just along from the old Bathers’ Pavilion, which he pointed out in passing, informing her it was a historic landmark at Balmoral. Amy smiled over the name. It conjured up men in long shorts and singlets, and women in bathing costumes with skirts and bloomers.
The past, however, was wiped out of her mind as Jake led her into an ultra-modern dining room that shouted class with a capital C. “Table for Carter,” he murmured to the woman who greeted them, while Amy was still taking in the huge floral arrangement in the foyer—a splendid array of Australian flora in an urn. The waratahs alone would have cost a small fortune.
Her heels clacked on polished floorboards as Jake steered her into following the woman. Well-dressed patrons sat in comfortable chairs at tables dressed in starched white linen and gleaming tableware. They bypassed a bar that curved around from the foyer and headed towards a wall of glass which seemed to rise from the water beyond it.
This was an illusion, as Amy realised when she was seated right next to the window. There was a strip of beach below them, but they were so close to the waterline, the sense of being right on top of it stayed. Outside, a long wharf was lapped by waves and pelicans were using it as a resting place. Inside, she was handed a menu and asked what she’d like to drink.
“Two glasses of champagne,” Jake answered, and gave Amy a smile that fizzed into her blood.
“And a jug of iced water, please,” she quickly added, telling herself she needed to keep a cool head here.
She’d been in classy restaurants many times with Jake and a party of his clients, but never before alone with him. The setting engendered a sense of intimacy, as well as a sense of special occasion. A glance at the prices on the menu left Amy in no doubt she was being treated to top class, and the dishes described promised gourmet standard from the chef. She wasn’t sure it felt right to be sharing this much with her boss.
“Did you book a table before we left the office?” she asked.
He looked up from his menu, his golden eyes glowing warm contentment. “Yes, I did. Great forethought, wasn’t it?” he said with sublime confidence in her agreement.
“There might not have been anything to celebrate,” she pointed out.
“Then it would have been a fine consolation for disappointment. Besides, it’s lunchtime. On the principle we have to eat, why not eat well? Superb food here. Have you chosen yet?”
“No. It all looks marvellous.”
“Good! I figured you needed your appetite tempted. Can’t have you pining away on me.”
Relieved of any cause for battle, Amy returned her attention to the menu, satisfied she understood Jake’s motives. This lunch was part of his program to push her into forgetting her grief and promote the attitude that life was still worth living. Put her in a new environment, lift her spirits with champagne, stuff her up with delicious comfort food, and Amy Taylor would be as good as gold again.
She smiled to herself as she made her choice, deciding on her favourite seafoods. Making the most of Jake’s fix-it ideas was definitely the order of the day. He probably didn’t have a clue about broken hearts. He never stayed in a relationship long enough to find out. Nevertheless, Amy had to admit he was positively helping her over a big emotional hump.
After this sinfully decadent lunch, they’d be dropping in at Ted Durkin’s office to sign the lease on the apartment. She could take up occupation next Saturday. What had loomed as a long, miserable, empty week ahead of her would now be filled with the business of organising the move and coloured with the anticipation of all it would mean to her. To some extent, Jake was right with his practical solutions. Life didn’t stay black when good things happened.
Their champagne arrived and their orders were taken. Jake lifted his glass, his eyes twinkling at her over it. “To the future,” he toasted.
Amy happily echoed it. “The future. And thanks for everything, Jake. I really appreciate your kind consideration.”
“What would I do without your smile? It makes my day.”
She laughed at his teasing, then sat back in her chair, relaxing, allowing herself the luxury of viewing him with warmth. “I like working with you,” she admitted. “It’s never boring.”
“Amy, you’re the best assistant I’ve ever had. In fact, you’re the perfect complement to me.”
He was talking about work, nothing but work, she insisted to herself, yet there was something in his voice that furred the edges of sharp thinking and her heart denied any breakage by hop, skip, and jumping all over the place.
“Jake, darling!”
The jarring intrusion snapped Amy’s attention to the woman who had suddenly materialised beside Jake. A blonde! A very voluptuous blonde! Who proceeded to stroke her absurdly long and highly varnished fingernails down Jake’s sleeve in a very provocative, possessive manner.
It was like a knife twisting in a fresh wound. Amy could see Steve’s blonde getting her claws into him, never mind that he belonged to another woman. A marauding blonde, uncaring of anything but her own desires. This one was insinuating herself between Amy and Jake, splitting up their private celebration party, stealing the lovely comfortable mood, demanding to be the focus of attention.
“What a surprise, seeing you here today!” she cooed to Jake, not asking any pardon for intruding.
Amy hated her. She wanted to tear that hand off Jake’s sleeve and shove it into the woman’s mouth, shutting off the slavering drool of words.
“An unexpected pleasure, Isabella,” Jake returned smoothly, starting to rise from his chair, dislodging her hand.
Isabella! Of course, she’d have a name like that, Amy seethed. Something sexy and exotic.
“No, please stay seated.” It was another excuse to touch him, to curl her talons around his shoulder. The blonde bared perfect teeth at Amy. Piranha teeth. “I don’t think I’ve met your companion.”
“Amy Taylor…Isabella Maddison,” Jake obliged.
“Hi!” the blonde said, the briefest possible acknowledgement.
Amy met her feline green eyes with a chilly blue blast and nodded her acknowledgement, not prepared to play the all jolly friends game. She didn’t want to know Isabella Maddison, didn’t care to greet an uninvited intruder, and would not pretend to welcome a predatory blonde
