man who, Ben realised, had been suspiciously quiet up till now. ‘Who?’ he asked, intrigued.
‘A woman. She runs a very discreet dating agency aimed specifically at people like us. She knows our world inside out—’
‘Who is she to you?’ cut in Dante. ‘An ex-lover?’
Xander glared at him, not looking so aloof now. ‘That’s none of your business, Mancini. Just trust me when I say that if anyone can set us up with the right women, she can.’
The Italian mogul held up a hand. ‘Fine—keep your pants on.’
Ben, who’d been absorbing all this, looked to Sheikh Zayn. ‘Well?’
The Sheikh looked as if he’d prefer to sign up to a knitting class, but he finally said heavily, ‘I think it might be the best option... If we’re doing this, time is of the essence—for all of us.’ He punctuated that with an expressive look at each of them.
Dante eventually said, with palpable reluctance, ‘Fine. I’ll take her details but I’m not promising anything.’
Ben held out his phone to Xander Trakas and tried to ignore the sensation of his collar tightening around his neck. ‘Put her number in there. I’ll call her next week.’
As Xander added the contact details to Ben’s phone Sheikh Zayn sat forward and said, with another glimmer of wry humour, ‘Do you know, I’ve actually forgotten what it was that set us off against each other in the first place...?’
Ben quirked a rueful smile. ‘I think we have to admit that perhaps we liked being adversaries too much to give it up.’
Xander put Ben’s phone down on the table. He held up his glass. ‘Well, then, maybe it’s time to concede a mutual defeat for the benefit of a bigger victory. Restoring faith in our reputations, which in turn will restore confidence in our businesses and profit margins. Because, as we all know, that’s what’s most important.’
Dante Mancini lifted his glass and drawled, ‘Hear, hear. To the start of a beautiful friendship, gentlemen.’
Ben looked around at each of the men and thought that in spite of the slightly mocking tone of Mancini’s words something had shifted here tonight. These men were not foes any more. They were allies and, yes, possibly even friends.
Ben raised his glass to join the others. Nothing was going to get in their way now. Not even the women they would take as their convenient wives.
BEN CARTER STOOD near the main window in his office, with its impressive views over downtown Manhattan. The thing that usually pleased him most when he took in this view was seeing his construction cranes high in the sky, dotted around the island. Right now, though, he had his back to the view and every line of his body was in defence mode, from his crossed arms to his tense stance.
‘So, I think that about covers it.’
He bit back the urge to ask snarkily if she wanted to know what colour underwear he was wearing today.
The woman seated by his desk glanced at him and observed wryly, ‘You don’t like answering personal questions, do you?’
Ben bared his teeth in a forced smile. ‘Whatever gave you that impression?’
Elizabeth Young, the matchmaker, shrugged nonchalantly as she tapped something into her palm tablet. ‘I think the fact that you look about ready to jump out of the window gives it away.’
Ben scowled and walked back over to his desk. With every question she’d asked—from innocuous ones like, What’s your favourite holiday destination? to more edgy ones like What is it you want from a relationship?—he’d put more and more space between them. As much as he recognised his need for a convenient wife, the quantum leap from a life of no-strings encounters with beautiful women to a committed relationship—albeit for convenience’s sake—was making Ben’s skin prickle uncomfortably.
After witnessing the collapse of his parents’ marriage, which had fallen like a deck of cards at the first sign of trouble, Ben had never entertained notions of domestic bliss.
The matchmaker was right: if he could have jumped from the window he might just have tried it.
He scowled harder as he sat down—who the hell’s idea had this been again? Xander Trakas. Recalling the Greek man’s reaction that night, when Mancini had asked if this woman was an ex-lover, made Ben assess the slim and elegant blonde on the other side of his desk.
Hair that looked as if it tended towards being curly was tied back in a low bun. She was casually dressed, yet smart, in tailored trousers and a loose unstructured top under a fitted soft leather jacket. She oozed elegant style and, he had to admit, discretion and professionalism. Xander had been right.
As she looked at him now, he noticed that her eyes were an unusual shade of amber. Ben waited a beat to see if he had any reaction to her on a physical level. Nothing. He told himself that was good—the last thing he needed now was the distraction of someone he actually desired. Which brought him neatly back to why she was here.
He said, ‘So, now that you’ve mined my soul for every tiny detail, who do you suggest is my best prospect for a partner?’
He saw the unmistakable flash of cynicism in her eyes, and a small smile tipped up her mouth at one side.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I’m under no illusions. I know that you’ve told me only as much as you want to reveal. I know men like you, Mr Carter, that’s why I’m good at my job.’
Ben decided to ignore the urge to ask exactly what she meant about knowing men like him. If it helped him to achieve what he needed to survive this crisis then what of it? He steepled his hands under his chin and admitted to a grudging respect for the way she wasn’t intimidated by him, as so many were.
‘Xander Trakas recommended you.’
And just like that this woman’s composure slipped slightly, just as Xander’s had that night in the bar, almost a week ago. She wasn’t so sanguine now.
She avoided Ben’s eye, fussing with the tablet. ‘I have lots of connections, he’s just one of them.’
Ben was intrigued by the button he’d obviously just pushed, but not intrigued enough to lose sight of his own goal. He became businesslike and sat forward again. ‘Forget I mentioned it. So, do you have anyone specific in mind?’
She turned her tablet around to face him, laying it flat on the desk, and pushed it towards him. ‘There are some possibilities here. Look through them and see if anyone piques your interest.’
Ben took the tablet and did as she had bid, scrolling through the pictures of women along with a few lines of their bios. They were all stunning in their own ways, and obviously accomplished. He scrolled past a human rights lawyer, the CEO of a software company, a UN interpreter, a supermodel...but none of them jumped out at him. He was about to hand the device back when one last woman appeared on the screen and something inside him went very still.
He didn’t even look at her bio. He was transfixed by her. In the picture her shoulder-length dark brown hair
