paraphrase, in comes the supreme Mr Lincoln. Then he sits across from you and he changes; he sort of melts as the look he gives you is all adorable and schmaltzy, like he’d prefer to be sitting on your side of the table just so he can look at you up close and personal.’
‘Please!’ Holly interjected, her cheeks fast burning up.
‘I was there. I saw. And I also see you aren’t wearing your lucky suit.’
‘My what?’
‘Whenever we meet with a new client you wear the charcoal trouser suit with the white sleeveless shirt with the plunging neckline and the sexy frill. But not today. Today you’re suddenly going out of routine and wearing this dreamy new number.’
Lydia motioned to Holly’s impeccable cream calf-length, fitted, square-necked dress.
‘It is neither dreamy nor new,’ Holly replied truthfully, but she knew that she had taken a great deal of care choosing what to wear to the lunch. ‘And I did not know he was going to even be there today.’
‘But you were going to meet his sister. And who would you more need to make a good first impression on than the sister? It all fits. The goo-goo eyes you two kept shooting at each other were so telling. So spill!’
‘He attended my Hidden Valley day as well as the Arty Pants evening, liked them, then offered me the job.’ Close enough anyway. ‘He’s a client, that’s it.’
‘Not if the divine Mr Lincoln has anything to say in the matter. You’ve got him hooked. Reel him in and be done withit.’
Lydia was such a dreamer, looking for romance in every chance encounter any time of the day or night. She simply had no idea what sort of person Jacob Lincoln was. She had not been there the other night to see the colour drain from his face at the thought of marriage. Goo-goo eyes or no goo-goo eyes, he was a hopeless case. No strings. No complications. No way.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HOLLY spent Wednesday at the press junket for a new opera, which would be hitting town in the coming Spring. Thursday she managed the dressing of a debutante ball venue, which she then attended that same night. Alone. Stag. Sans date.
What with the party looming, she told Ben, she really did not have time to concentrate on her personal project. In a couple of weeks she would be back on track, but for now all dates were suspended. Suspended indefinitely if that meant landing the Lincoln Holdings account? Perhaps. She hadn’t yet given herself the luxury of making that decision.
So in between more imminent projects Holly and Lydia had prepared a detailed preliminary plan for Anabella’s party, and they knew it was going to be the best shindig they had ever thrown. But in order for this to be the best shindig they had ever thrown, the client had to be one hundred percent behind them and she knew she could not go any further without that surety. So last thing Friday afternoon Holly called Jacob.
‘Holly! I’m surprised to hear from you—pleasantly surprised, of course.’ His voice was loud and muffled as he was obviously talking on his car phone. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘The thing is I really do feel that I should show you our initial plans for the party. You know Anabella, and all I know is she likes pink paper. It’ll only take a few minutes, I promise.’
‘Sure. How about tonight?’
Holly looked at her watch. But she had no set plans and knew she should really strike before he changed his mind. ‘Great.’
‘Will Lydia be tagging along or will it be just you?’
‘Just me, I’m afraid. Lydia’s off to try out some new dance club in the city. The stamina of that girl constantly amazes me.’
‘Then how about my place? I’m on my way there now.’ She could hear the smile in his voice and it took all of her concentration not to picture him doing so.
‘No, I don’t think—’
‘Why not? I’ll cook. It’s my turn.’
‘There’s no need for that. It will only take a minute.’ Holly bit her thumbnail. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Port Melbourne.’ He gave the address. On the water’s edge and only a few minutes drive from work. She looked around her office. Fabric samples, menus and brochures swamped every spare surface. Quick decision, to stay late on a Friday night and clean up a week’s worth of mess or—?
‘Okay. How about I pop around in about half an hour? But please don’t cook. I’ll be out of your hair in time for the evening news, I promise.’
‘I’ll see you in half an hour, then,’ was Jacob’s only guarantee.
‘Well, there you go,’ Jacob said aloud as he hung up.
The excitement in Holly’s voice when talking of the party had been palpable. He had wanted to give her something to focus on other than her unreasonable husband hunt and it seemed this party had done the trick.
But why invite her over to your place? How does that help? Having her alone, at night, in your home, your private sanctuary?
No worries. It would be fine. This night would simply be the passing of the torch to their new professional relationship. And once that was established, they would be on stable ground. She would be happy professionally and he would be free and clear of any obligation he might have felt considering his part in her quest.
Okay, if it’s a business meeting we should have an agenda. Much easier to stay in control of the situation if it’s mapped out beforehand. First let her get comfortable with you as a business associate, second go over her presentation, and third send her home with the energy and high spirits to complete the project satisfactorily.
If dinner is involved, that’s fine too. And maybe a bottle of wine. It will be business, not personal. All to ease the transition, of course.
He put his car in gear and barely kept under the speed limit all the way home.
Holly hurried into her office bathroom to grab a glass of water and caught sight of herself in the floor-length mirror. She was wearing her ‘lucky suit’, as Lydia called it, and was glad Lydia was not there to ask if it meant she was feeling lucky. And Beth would have a conniption fit at such a time, professing all sorts of fortuitous signs from her choosing that outfit on that day.
‘It’s nice and it’s comfortable,’ Holly said aloud to her reflection. ‘Besides, tonight is just a presentation like you have done a hundred times before. Choosing to wear a particular outfit hardly portents anything out of the ordinary.’
She smoothed down the neat charcoal pinstripe trouser suit, and soft white sleeveless shirt with its plunging neckline. She ran her fingers through her hair, which for once she was wearing long and loose.
Blissfully ignoring her messy office, she popped the presentation in her ‘magic’ briefcase, hoping the information inside would work its magic that night, and headed out.
Walking along Lonsdale Street to where her car was parked, she passed the spot where she had first run into Jacob. A flash of intense eyes, mussed
