card she’d yanked out of her sopping phone. Still cursing herself for her stupidity and hoping the damage was minimal, she inserted the SIM card into her old phone, which she’d dug out of a drawer.
It took three nail-biting minutes before she could confirm the switchover had been successful and that all her contacts had been saved. Unfortunately there was no way to track Xander’s number on the old cell, but intuition told her it wouldn’t be long before she heard from him again, and this time she would be prepared.
Her intuition was correct.
Her old cell still had everything set up on it, including emails. A message pinged into her inbox.
Elizabeth, it’s Xander. I assume you’re having issues with your phone. Here’s my number. Call me as soon as possible.
Her first impulse was to burst into tears but, before they could be unleashed, anger so strong it burned flushed through her and dried the unshed tears in an instant.
So he was going to follow in the footsteps of his fellow Casanovas and employ her.
The nerve of him. The crassness. The complete lack of sensitivity.
What did he need a wife for?
As tempting as it was to fire an angry email back and tell him in graphic detail what he could do with his order to call him back as soon as possible, she held herself back.
Xander had left her ten years ago. If she were rude or ignored him it would imply that she was still angry with him, which in turn would imply she had never gotten over him, which in itself was ridiculous. She was simply tired and overwrought after a busy few weeks.
She would prove she didn’t have any residual feelings for him.
She stood in front of her bedroom mirror and counted to thirty, then keyed in the number. It was answered on the first ring.
‘Thanks for calling me back.’
His businesslike tone echoed into her ear.
Keeping her focus on her reflection, Elizabeth fixed a smile to her face so her complete lack of residual feelings for him echoed down the line. ‘No problem. My apologies for earlier. I dropped my cell phone in Rome and it’s been playing up since.’ The lie fell smoothly from her tongue. Her voice sounded as friendly as she wanted it to be.
‘Is it liable to cut out again?’
‘No. I’m back home and have switched to my old one.’
‘Good.’ Without any pause he added, ‘I need to see you.’
‘Okay.’ She dragged the word out to stop herself from screaming at him and then hurtling the cell down the toilet. Still smiling, she said, ‘Do you have a particular date in mind?’ If she could get out of this she would but her company—her very reputation—was built on her personal touch. She brought her own unique take to matchmaking and it was hugely successful. The staff she employed were for technical and clerical support only.
‘I’m flying to your part of the world shortly. Are you available to meet tomorrow?’
Xander lived on a Greek island. Elizabeth made some swift calculations. It had to be almost six a.m. there. What time did the man get up?
Then she remembered the news stories. He probably hadn’t gone to bed yet.
Or was he speaking to her from his bed? Did he have a woman asleep beside him at that very moment?
‘Elizabeth?’
Swallowing back the sick feeling roiling in her stomach, she thought of her upcoming schedule. ‘When you say tomorrow...?’
‘Saturday. I should land around three p.m. Eastern time.’
‘I have a lunch appointment tomorrow.’
‘So you can do the afternoon.’ It was a statement not a question and it set panic clawing through her.
‘I’m free for the whole of Sunday,’ she said, jumping at the chance to delay the meeting, even if only by a day. ‘Do you know where my office is?’
‘We won’t be meeting there. I need you to fly out to meet me.’
Prickles made a slow crawl up her spine but she kept her tone breezy. ‘Meet you where?’
‘St Francis.’
All the air seemed to knock itself out of her lungs and the smile fell from her face.
‘There won’t be time to get my jet to New York to collect you, so I’ll charter one to fly you over when your appointment’s finished,’ he continued. ‘Pack an overnight bag and keep Sunday clear for me.’
She couldn’t speak. Her brain had gone cold, her knees weakening enough that she shuffled back and sank onto the edge of her bed.
‘Is there a problem, Elizabeth?’ There was a hint of challenge in his businesslike tone.
She covered her mouth to hide the sound of herself clearing her throat, then said, ‘There’s no problem at all. I’ll meet wherever it’s most convenient for you.’
‘St Francis is where it’s convenient for me.’
‘Are you aware I require a down payment of a quarter of my fee for overseas trips?’ She strove to keep her voice composed and her breathing even.
‘Message me your banking details and the amount, and I’ll get it paid.’
Before she could think let alone voice any objection, he said, ‘That’s everything settled, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
And then the line went dead.
She pulled the phone away from her ear and gazed at it as if it might suddenly bite.
Had that really just happened?
Billionaires throwing their weight around was nothing new. She was used to acting on their whims and fancies, had once conducted an interview with a client in a luxury Saharan Bedouin tent less than twelve hours after his initial call. To reach billionaire status required a ruthlessness mere mortals struggled to achieve. They weren’t all bad people by any means but they were used to getting their own way and working to their own agenda, and she was used to complying with their whims. It was one of the reasons she’d become such a hit in their world.
Her conversation with Xander was a variety of one she’d held dozens of times with other clients. It hadn’t been anything special. They were strangers who happened to have been married once and spent a grand total of fourteen days together. He clearly had no residual feelings for her, just as she had none for him.
It was the destination of St Francis that had thrown her into a funk.
Of all the places in the world, why there? Why?
It couldn’t be coincidence that her ex-husband had chosen the very island where they’d met, married and separated to employ her services in finding him a new wife.
*
