bit over how much make-up to wear, opting in the end to play it conservative, using just a bit of lip gloss and a light brushing of mascara. Her clear olive skin did not really need foundation, anyway. She then scooped her thick, black hair back up into a ponytail, wrapping a red scrunchie around it which matched the red flowers in the jacket. Finally, she pulled on a pair of very comfy black pumps before bolting out of the house by six-thirty, a good twenty minutes before she needed to leave.
The drive from Glenning Valley to Blue Bay would take fifteen minutes at most. Probably less at this time of day. She filled in some time having breakfast at a local burger bar, after which she drove leisurely towards the address she’d been given. Jess knew the area well. Whilst there were still lots of very ordinary weekenders around, any property on the beach front was worth heaps. Most of the older buildings which had once graced the shoreline had been torn down, replaced by million-dollar units and multi-million-dollar homes. Over the last decade, Blue Bay had become one of the places to live on the coast.
It wasn’t till she turned off the Entrance Road into the long street which led down to Blue Bay that Jess felt the first inkling of nerves. Though normally a confident and rather outspoken girl, she suddenly realised it wasn’t going to be easy bringing up the subject of Fab Fashions with the man responsible for taking over the company. If truth be told, he would probably tell her to mind her own business. He also wouldn’t be pleased with the fact that she’d looked him up on the Internet.
Maybe she should forget about the probably futile idea of trying to save Fab Fashions and just do what Mr De Silva had hired her to do—drive him out to Mudgee and back. Alternatively, maybe she would wait and see what kind of man he was; if he was the kind to listen or not. He hadn’t sounded too bad over the phone. Maybe a little frustrated, which was understandable, considering he’d just had a car accident and all his plans had gone awry. And he had asked her to call him Ben, which was rather nice of him. She almost felt guilty now that she hadn’t asked him to call her Jess in return.
Jess wondered how old he was. Probably about forty, she guessed. If he looked anything like his father—there’d been a photo of Morgan De Silva on the Net—then he’d be short, with a receding hairline and a flabby body from a sedentary lifestyle and too many long business lunches.
‘Oh, dear,’ she sighed.
Jess was no longer looking forward to today in any way, shape or form.
After letting out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding, she started scanning the numbers on the post boxes, soon realising that the number she was looking for would be on the left and right down the end of the street. Truly, what else had she expected? The son of a billionaire wouldn’t be staying anywhere but the best.
The sun was just rising as she approached a block of apartments which carried the right number and which, yes, of course, overlooked the beach. A man was already standing on the pavement outside the building. Beside him sat a black travel case on wheels, across which was draped a plastic zip-up suit bag.
Jess tried not to stare as she pulled into the kerb beside him. But it was difficult not to.
He wasn’t short with a receding hairline and flabby body. Hell, no. He was anything but. He was very tall and slim, with broad shoulders and the kind of well-chiselled face you saw on male models in magazines advertising aftershave or expensive watches. High cheekbones, a strong, straight nose and a square jawline. His hair was a light sandy colour, cut short at the sides and slightly longer on top, brushed straight back from that oh, so handsome face. His skin was lightly tanned, his eyes blue and beautiful. His clothes were more what she’d been expecting. Sort of. Dark-grey trousers and a long-sleeved blue business shirt which was open at the neck and which had a pair of sunglasses tucked into the breast pocket.
Jess dragged her eyes away from him, switched off the engine, then climbed out of the car, her thoughts somewhat scattered. Who would have imagined he would be so good-looking? Or so young? He couldn’t be more than early thirties. Maybe even younger.
‘Mr De Silva, I presume?’ she asked as she stepped up onto the pavement less than a metre from him. Up close, he was even more attractive, if that were possible.
‘You can’t possibly be Miss Murphy,’ he returned, the hint of a wry smile teasing one corner of his nicely shaped mouth.
She bristled at his comment. ‘I don’t see why not.’
He shook his head as he looked her up and down. ‘You’re not what I was expecting.’
‘Oh?’ she returned stiffly. ‘And what were you expecting?’
‘Someone a little older and a little less…er…attractive.’
Jess thanked the Lord she wasn’t a blusher. For if she had been she might have gone bright red under the openly admiring gaze of those beautiful blue eyes.
‘That’s nice of you to say so, Mr De Silva. I think,’ she added, wondering if she’d sounded old and ugly on the phone.
‘I told you to call me Ben,’ he said, and smiled at her, a full hundred-watt smile which showed perfect American teeth and a charm which was just as dazzling.
Oh my, Jess thought, trying not to be too dazzled.
Not without much success, given she just stood there staring at him whilst her heartbeat did the tango and she forgot all about Fab Fashions.
‘Perhaps we should get going,’ he said at last.
Jess gave herself a mental shake. It wasn’t like her to go ga-ga over a man, even one as impressive as this.
‘Yes. Yes, of course,’ she said, still far too breathlessly for her liking. ‘Do you need help with your bags?’ she added, recalling what he’d said about having a banged-up right shoulder.
‘I can manage,’ he returned. ‘Just open up the back for me.’
He managed very well. Managed the passenger door without any help either.
By the time she climbed into the driving seat and belted up, Jess had taken control of her wildly dancing heartbeat, having told herself firmly to get a grip and stop acting like some awestruck schoolgirl. She was twenty-five years old, for pity’s sake!
Taking a deep breath, she reached for her sunglasses and put them on.
‘Would you mind if I called you Jessica instead of Miss Murphy?’ he said before she could even start the engine.
Jess winced. She hated being called Jessica. ‘I’d rather you call me Jess,’ she replied, and found herself throwing a small smile his way.
‘Only if you promise to call me Ben,’ he insisted as he snapped his seat belt into place.
Jess suspected that women—no, people in general—rarely said no to Ben De Silva. His combination of looks and charm were both seductive and quite corrupting. Already she wanted to please him. Yet she wasn’t, by nature, a people pleaser. Jess had always had a mind of her own and a mouth to match. Suddenly, however, all she wanted to do was smile, nod and agree with everything Ben said. Already he was Ben in her head.
‘Okay. Ready, Ben?’ she said as she reached for the ignition and glanced over at him again.
Dear heaven but he was gorgeous! He smelt gorgeous too. She did like men who wore nice aftershave.
