peas under the trees.
Ella went through the house to the kitchen, picked up her colander and a basket of fresh peas in the pod from the local market, and carried them out to the patio table.
And stopped abruptly, the peas skidding in the basket.
Seb was lying on a recliner with a beaker of now-cold coffee and a home-made cookie from Dan’s stash on a tray on the low table next to him.
Fast asleep.
His chest lifted gently up and down under a once crisp formal shirt, now smudged with dog paw marks.
Ella leant as quietly as she could on the edge of the hardwood table and looked at him. Really looked at him.
Dappled sunshine flickered over his skin as the light breeze moved through the branches of the trees, lifting the wide leaves to create a mosaic of light and shade on the patio lounger.
The strong handsome face was a road map of luxurious places where the very rich and powerful people liked to visit in their drive to become richer and even more powerful.
Places where sensitive souls like her own would burn up in the intense heat of that fire and driving passion. And from what she could see Sebastien Castellano was at best a little scorched and at worst exhausted from fighting back the flames.
His dark brown eyebrows were thick, wide and set into a powerful broad brow, which had been designed by nature to make his look fierce and intense even when asleep on the lounger.
His dark brown hair was expertly cut into a formal business look—but just a little longer than the average, leaving dark strands falling across his brow and collar.
He had a strong nose, and as she peered closer a sprinkle of sun-kissed freckles made her smile. Probably from his days spent yacht racing in the tropics. Or scuba-diving trips to the Great Barrier Reef. Something like that. Nothing as mundane as shelling peas in a farmhouse in the Languedoc.
A five o’clock shadow of dark brown stubble stretching down from his sideburns and across his upper lip softened the fierce-looking square jaw, which could have belonged to a prize fighter or matador, rather than a self-made entrepreneur.
His bottom lip was narrow compared to a sumptuous upper lip that photographers loved to capture at prestigious award dinners or business functions.
She could not resist a small sigh. Oh, how she envied him his lifestyle! She had loved her old life on the road! Travelling with her parents from town to town, playing jazz and classical concerts wherever they could. She had lost count of the number of weddings, birthdays, festivals and fairs where the Bailey trio had shared their passion for music.
She had spent so many years on the road since she turned sixteen the countries that they visited sometimes blended into one. Spain and Portugal had been amazing, but it was the three months they spent in southern India that she remembered the most. The colours, the energy, the dusty roads that choked you just before you had to sing for two hours! She remembered every minute. And was grateful that she had those memories to look back on.
That life was very far from this safe farmhouse where she could give Dan the benefits of a settled life.
Yes. You are a very lucky man, Seb Castellano.
Only at that moment Seb’s mouth moved in a charming little twitching action at the side and it hit her hard that Dan did exactly the same thing when he dozed off sometimes.
Ella smiled to herself.
Not exactly the image of the intimidating power-hungry master of Castellano Tech that Nicole kept cuttings about from business magazines!
So this was Nicole’s celebrity stepson! Or was that infamous?
He had reacted so oddly when he found out that Nicole was not going to be back until Monday at the earliest. From what Nicole had told her, they were not close and never had been, but he did seem genuinely concerned that she had been delayed.
What was it that he wanted from her friend and employer that he could not ask over the phone, or in an email? What was he here for?
Whatever the reasons, this real live version of Sebastien Castellano looked as though he needed a good meal followed by decent sleep in a soft bed.
Failing that, a power nap in a warm garden would do him good.
Which meant two things; first she had to head off attacks from both the dogs who had disappeared once they had been fed, and her son who should be arriving home from school at any minute.
Turning carefully on the balls of her feet, Ella lifted her basket of peas as quietly as she could—and almost dropped them when Seb’s cell phone started ringing.
He stirred twice, sighed loudly, and sat up, quickly grasping onto the cell phone, flicking it open and saying, Yes, before his eyes had even come into focus.
The image was of someone living on a knife edge and suddenly her envy was replaced with pity.
The familiar ring tone broke the deep sleep Seb had been enjoying and he yawned widely and uncreaked his neck muscles as he checked the caller identity and blinked a few times.
‘Matt? How are you doing? Oh. Insect bites? Ah, yes. The infamous Camargue mosquito. Should have warned you about those. Sorry, mate.’ He chuckled briefly with a closed mouth before getting back to business. ‘I take it you’ve had a call from PSN Media?’
Seb’s left hand rubbed vigorously along the line of his powerful jaw and the longer-than-normal designer stubble, then his mouth curved into a knowing smile. ‘I knew they would come around on the employee benefits in the end. You’ve done a great job, Matt. What’s that? His private yacht? Trying to impress us, is he? Interesting.’
His hand lifted, then dropped onto his knee. ‘If Frank Smith wants to fly a corporate lawyer down from Paris on Monday morning so that we can sign the contract on his yacht, then I’m happy to turn up and enjoy his hospitality—providing the numbers add up.’
Then a sniff. ‘Right. In that case, we’ll go through the fine print Sunday evening before dinner. Close the deal Monday. Thanks. You too.’
The fingers of both hands clenched hard into his palms as his brain reeled with the implications of the news.
Yes! PSN Media had come up with a compromise on the benefits package. And the chief executive of PSN Media was remarkably choosy when it came to inviting people onto his private yacht. This was a first. It was actually going to happen!
And he knew exactly who to share it with.
In an instant he swiped his finger across the touch screen on his top-of-the-range cell phone, found the contact number he was looking for, and the call was answered in his Sydney office within three rings.
‘Hi, Vicky. Seb. It’s good news. You’ve got the green light to start planning the phase two Foundation projects.’
Seb smiled at the shriek of delight and laughter that burst out from the talented project manager he had hired to look after the Helene Castellano Foundation.
‘Thought you’d like that. I’ll be back in the office next Wednesday and want to
