an inch of its life. She’d need to kit out the entire operation with suitable tables and chairs, pretty linens and crockery. It wouldn’t come cheap.
‘Which is why I’m preparing a business plan to take to my bank manager with projected costs, profits et cetera in the hope I can secure a business loan.’
‘Which, unless you have some other asset you’ve not told me about, will mean putting Whittaker House up as collateral.’
He watched the fire leach out of her eyes. ‘How’d you know that?’
It wasn’t an accusation but a genuine bid for knowledge. ‘I did a business course when I was in prison.’
She chewed her lip and nodded. Her glance sharpened. ‘Do you have your own business?’
He shook his head.
‘If you’re as handy as you say, then maybe you should start up your own building business.’
He choked. ‘Me?’
‘Why not?’
‘There have to be at least a million reasons!’
‘And probably just as many why you should,’ she said in that tone of voice. ‘Well, I’m still going to put my proposal together and make an appointment with my bank manager. If I get no joy there then I’ll have to find investors.’
‘Which means the business is no longer your own.’
‘Which isn’t ideal, but it’s better than nothing.’
He could click his fingers and make the money appear for her. If he wanted. For a moment he was tempted. He cut the thought off. He hadn’t told Nell he was rich for the simple reason that he didn’t want the news getting about.
She tossed her head. ‘I bet there must be some kind of government initiative to assist fledgling businesses. I’ll check into that too.’
He had to give her credit. She wasn’t sitting around waiting for Prince Charming to swing by and rescue her.
She lifted her chin. ‘And if it takes longer to get off the ground than I want, so be it.’
In the meantime she’d be stuck with the upkeep of the place. ‘You know your grandmother’s rings would bring in the kind of money you need.’
‘Out of the question.’
Stubborn. He respected that, but it wouldn’t pay the power bills.
She dusted off her hands. ‘In the meantime, you’re going to do some work on the place in return for rent-free use of the cottage.’
‘And cupcakes.’
Her lips twitched. ‘And sandwiches and a Sunday roast or two.’
Her eyes narrowed and he recognised the calculation that suddenly flashed in their brilliant green depths. What amendment to their deal would she try and come up with now? He folded his arms and waited.
She moistened her lips. ‘If I help you crack that code of John’s, would you consider glancing over my business plan once I’ve written it?’
He grinned. ‘Princess, if you can crack that code I’ll write the darn plan for you.’
Her hand shot across the table. ‘You have yourself a deal.’
He closed his fingers around her hand. His hand completely encompassed hers, but her grip was firm. He didn’t want to let go.
‘When do you want to move into the cottage?’
He kept hold of it, even though he knew it was dangerous. ‘Tomorrow.’
She glanced at the clock. ‘Oh, dear Lord!’ She pulled her hand from his. ‘I’ll need to get my skates on if I’m to get it into any fit state to live in.’
‘It’s fine the way it is, Princess.’
‘It most certainly is not!’
‘There’s absolutely no need to drag your cleaning lady out at this late hour.’
Her head lifted, her chin jutted out—so unconsciously haughty that it couldn’t be feigned—and for some reason it made him want to laugh. ‘I’ll leave the key in the same spot. Will you be able to find it?’
‘I’m sure I’ll manage.’
Amazingly, she bundled up the remaining cupcakes into brown paper bags. ‘Take them home with you.’
‘An early down payment?’
‘It’ll stop me snacking on them. Besides, Tash and Mitch might like one or two.’
He couldn’t have said why, but his heart started to burn. He almost did something foolish like invite her to have dinner with him, Tash and Mitch that evening. A crazy, foolish impulse.
Why on earth would the Princess want to have dinner with him? He rose, thanked her for the cupcakes and left.
RICK HAD JUST finished his last cupcake and a mug of coffee when Nell walked through the back door. She stopped short when she saw him. ‘Hey.’ She swallowed. ‘How’s it going?’
Lines fanned out from her eyes and her frock—yellow with big purple polka dots—looked rumpled and tired. He wondered what she’d been up to all day. She dropped her handbag on the table, glancing at his plate and mug. Before her face could twist up with suspicion he said, ‘You can start using the front door if you like.’
A smile lit through her, banishing the lines around her eyes. ‘You fixed it?’
He swallowed. A woman like her could make a man like him feel like Superman if he wasn’t careful. ‘It was no big deal. The wood had swollen. I filed it back, rehung it and it’s as good as new.’
He tried to pull himself back. She might be a damsel in distress...or not. But he was no hero. He knew that and so did she. ‘I did promise to earn my keep,’ he reminded her.
‘Well, yes, but I didn’t expect you to start working the moment you moved in. I thought you’d take a day or two to settle in.’
Settle in? It didn’t take much ‘settling in’ to unpack a single suitcase.
‘You left cupcakes and sandwiches for me at the cottage.’ The cottage had been spotless too—not a speck of dust to be seen. He wondered who she’d had come in and clean it at such late notice.
‘Oh, that was just a neighbourly gesture. If I’d thought you’d want to start work today I’d have left you a key.’ She stuck out a hip. ‘Which rather begs the question—how did you get in?’
His stomach burned acid and he waited for that soul-destroying suspicion to wash over her
