matter whom Chris was destined to date on the show, it seemed he would have at least one socially aware woman on set with whom to shoot the breeze. Struck curiously dumb by the thought, Adam once more decided it best to let her do the talking.
And she did.
‘So, since they will have your friend Chris tied up for the next couple of hours, let’s get out of here and have a natter.’
Even despite becoming lost in those expressive eyes, he somehow managed to pick out the pertinent information. A couple of hours until he saw Chris again? If he had to sit in the dull room for a second longer he would explode even if he was in the company of such an engaging woman.
Secondly, Adam knew when a golden opportunity landed in his lap. He couldn’t hide the smile that began to warm him from the inside out. She was to be Chris’s stylist. Thoughts of Chris in bizarre golfing outfits or excessive amounts of tartan wove their way through his devious mind. If he couldn’t convince Chris he was doing the wrong thing, here was the perfect opportunity to interrupt the process from an entirely unrelated angle.
‘It seems that you and I are destined to have a lunch date.’
‘Excellent,’ she said.
Adam stood, holding out an elbow in invitation. ‘Well, then, Ms Marlowe, shall we?’
‘Only if you call me Cara,’ she said, standing, placing a hand lightly in the crook of his offered arm. Her beguiling smile giving him a third reason to accept the lunch offer with increasing pleasure.
Cara watched Adam from the corner of her eye as she perused the large menu in the lovely little bistro around the corner.
I am having lunch with Adam Tyler, she thought, knowing she would rather be picking his brains about his business practices than about his friend.
As a connoisseur of stories about locals made good, she knew the highlights of his career as reported inside and outside of the business pages. Inside were tales of a marketing guru, part-owner of the fastest growing company in Australia. Awards and plaudits followed in his wake like tin cans clattering along behind a wedding car. Outside the business pages he was more well known for being a playboy-billionaire type, not quite hip enough to make it onto the cover of any of the supermarket gossip magazines, but certainly fascinating enough to grace their social pages time and again.
No wonder too. In the flesh he was pretty darned gorgeous. He oozed manliness, from the woodsy scent of his aftershave, to the easy way he wore his suits. From the practised nonchalance of every effortless movement, to the fact that that very nonchalance could not cover up the fact that his mind did not miss a beat behind those fierce, hooded eyes. Beneath the cool exterior beat the pulse of a brilliant, shrewd, powerful man to whom success on every front would have come all too easily.
And all she’d been able to do was go goo-goo and paw him and talk about bikinis and hot tubs. It was not exactly the impression she would have hoped to make on someone whose business acumen she greatly admired.
She found him looking her way, his eyes faintly questioning, and she knew she had been caught staring. She shot him a big cheesy grin, then went back to flicking through the menu.
The last thing she wanted was to be turning all gooey over some guy with money. And a billionaire? That was entirely out of the question. Money meant power. Money meant control. And Cara was not about to give any of her hard-earned power and control away.
Especially to one who, above and beyond the whole gorgeous, blue-eyed, strapping, silent man thing, was so obviously involved in The Billionaire Bachelor project against his will. He was trouble in a three-piece suit. No doubt about it.
‘You made up your mind?’ Adam asked.
‘You bet I have,’ she said, her voice deep with determination.
Then after a few seconds of ensuing silence she looked up to find the waiter smiling blandly at her. She quickly picked the first thing that came into focus to cover up the fact that she’d had no idea Adam had been asking about the meal.
‘So how does this all work?’ Adam asked once they had settled and begun their starters.
Cara opened her mouth to answer but then Jeff’s smiling face popped into her mind. ‘Tell a soul a thing and you will be out on your backside,’ he had said. ‘Great recommendations or not.’
‘Sorry,’ Cara said, ‘I’m not sure what I can really tell you. My contract has confidentiality clauses up the wazoo.’
‘You’ve already given away the title of the show.’
Her hands flew to cover her warming cheeks. ‘Oh, heavens, I have, haven’t I? I’m going to blow this before it even starts. You have permission to stuff a napkin in my mouth if I let it run away from me again.’
‘Thank you,’ Adam said, ‘that’s always worth knowing.’ He eyed her warily over his herb bread. ‘Anyway, I don’t mean about the show itself. I know more than I would like to about all that. I was wondering about specifics. For example, will Chris be at work tomorrow?’
‘Well, I guess I can tell you that it will take about two weeks. By tomorrow morning at the latest, all of those involved will be sequestered in the Ivy Hotel in the city. And nobody will be able to come and go unless authorised by the producers.’
She watched for Adam’s reaction to this news. When Jeff had told her she had all but freaked out, her mind running over with everything she would have to do that night to get her regular life up to date before she disappeared from the face of the earth. But this guy merely nodded and blinked and she had no idea if he was happy or sad or freaking out behind those dark blue eyes.
‘Why will you be sequestered, do you think?’ he asked.
‘To keep any of us from blabbing to the press.’
‘About what?’
‘The juicy details. The name of the show…’
Adam smiled and it was all Cara could do to go on, the charming appeal it brought to his strong face was so unexpected.
‘The star of the show,’ she continued. ‘The fact there even is a show. When word gets out, the producers want to control the spin. I’ve worked in the fashion biz for a number of years now and what it boils down to is the fact that sex sells. Television is sexy. Secrets are sexy. There is nothing sexier to eighteen-to-thirty-five-year-old women than a man so in tune with himself that he is openly looking for love. And the producers of the show want to reap the benefits.’
She finished her statement with a deep intake of breath. Now she was certain of it. The way he was watching her, weighing her words so carefully—this guy had ulterior motive written all over him. He smiled easily enough, and his body language certainly showed that he was open to anything she had to offer. Any conversation topic, she thought, giving herself a mental slap. But if for some reason he wanted this all to go away, she was pretty sure he would have his way. And it made her so nervous her chest hurt.
It sure didn’t help her nerves that he continued to be just as unreservedly attractive as he was when she first laid eyes on him. It would have been more helpful for her jitters if he slouched, or fixed his hair an inordinate number of times, or if he professed a predilection for polka music.
She took
