be honest with you, Nick. There’s a big promotion in this for me, a huge one. If I nail this, I’m the new managing director.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘That’s some title.’
Picking up the boutique beer the waiter had discreetly placed on the table in front of him, he took a healthy slug.
‘So where do I fit into all this?’
She’d got this far. Taking a deep breath, she went for broke.
‘Your place is the oldest sugar-cane plantation in Australia. If I could have exclusive access to it, shoot footage, use some of the history, I’m pretty sure the promotion is mine. That’s it in a nutshell.’
She didn’t like his silence, his controlled posture. She’d expected some kind of reaction, not this tense quiet that left her on edge and wondering what was going on behind those deep dark eyes.
‘I’ve set out facts and figures in the written proposal. How much the company’s willing to pay to use the farm, how many hours it will involve, that kind of thing.’
Her voice had taken on a fake, bubbly edge, as if she was trying too hard, and she eventually fell silent, waiting for him to say something.
When he didn’t, she blurted, ‘Well, what do you think?’
Something shifted in his eyes, a shrewdness she’d never seen before.
‘All sounds very feasible.’
Elation swept through her, quickly tempered when he leaned forward and shook his head.
‘There’s just one problem. I’m about to sell the farm.’
‘Sell it? But where will you live? Where will you work?’
His condescending grin sent a chill of foreboding through her.
‘You still see me as some hick bumpkin farm boy, don’t you?’
She fought a rising blush and lost. ‘Of course not. I just meant that place has been in your family for generations. I don’t get why you’d sell now.’
He gestured all around him. ‘Because my place is here now.’
Confusion creased her brow as she followed his hand. His designer suit, his patronising smile, his cryptic comments, made her feel as if she was left out of some in-joke and the punchline was on her.
‘You belong here?’
She shook her head, knowing if there was one place a guy like Nick belonged, it wasn’t in this ultra-elegant hotel.
He’d always loved the farm, had been proud of his family’s heritage, so what had changed? The Nick she’d known and loved thrived under the harsh Queensland sun, harvesting billets of sugar cane, getting his hands dirty with the machinery he’d loved tinkering with, riding down the highway on his beat-up Harley with the wind in his hair and the devil at his back.
He frowned, his shoulders rigid as he sat back. ‘You find that so hard to believe?’
‘It’s just not you.’
‘It is now,’ he snapped, his control slipping as anger flashed like fire from those dark eyes she’d lost herself in too many times to count.
‘Just because we had a teenage fling, don’t presume you know me.’
That hurt, more than she could’ve thought possible after all this time.
‘It was more than that and you know it.’
Understanding warred with passion before he blinked, obliterating the slightest sign he acknowledged what she’d said as true.
‘Irrelevant to our business now.’
He glanced at his watch and stood up. ‘Sorry, I have to cut this meeting short. I’ve got an interview scheduled.’
‘You want to work here?’
He shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching.
‘I already do.’
‘What?’
Thankfully, some of her old Ice Princess skills kicked in and prevented her jaw from hitting the floor.
‘Though technically, that’s not entirely right.’
Scanning his face, looking for a clue to what this was all about, she came up lacking.
‘I don’t understand.’
As he nodded to someone over her shoulder and held up a finger to indicate a minute he leaned down, his breath fanning her ear and sending ripples of heat through her. ‘I don’t just work here, I own the place.’
This time, as he strode away, she was sure her jaw did hit the floor.
Nick stared out of his office window on the fifth floor of the Phant-A-Sea, blind to the exquisite view of Noosa beach stretching into national park to the far right.
He’d loved this view when he’d first built the hotel, experienced a sense of immense satisfaction every time he’d sat behind this desk and stared out of the window.
Not today.
Today, whether his eyes were open or shut, all he could see was Britt’s brilliant blue eyes wide with shock as he dropped his bombshell.
He’d expected to feel powerful, proud, even smug, when he told her the truth. So why the let-down, as if he should’ve come clean from the start?
What kind of game was he playing anyway? He didn’t have time for them, not these days. On the verge of opening the fifth Phant-A-Sea hotel on Pink Sand Beach in the Bahamas and trying to build clientele here, he didn’t have enough hours in the day.
That was why he was selling the farm. At least, that was his excuse and he was sticking to it.
He loved that place, had loved it from the first time Papa handed him a piece of sugar cane to gnaw on as a toddler, and it was as much a part of him as his love of the sea.
But that was part of the problem.
No one around these parts took him seriously as long as he was still connected to it, as long as every time they saw him they saw the rebel farm boy he used to be.
While the Phant-A-Sea was doing big business, he wanted to expand, diversify, take his business to the next level and to do so he needed investors.
If he didn’t have the respect and backing of local investors because of his heritage, what hope did he have with the overseas moneymen?
Throw in the constant rumours about his reputation, labelling him as some Casanova playboy who couldn’t possibly be serious about business while playing the field, and he was facing an uphill battle.
Not that it daunted him. He’d fought his way to where he was today,
