the box that had been locked as long as he could remember and which had always intrigued him. So he’d scrabbled up on to his father’s wide jarrah desk and tested the lock. It had clicked open on the second scratchy attempt. With a thrill of discovery he’d removed the lock and the metal plate from the catch. He remembered holding his breath as he’d lifted the lid to peer at whatever treasures lay inside.
And he remembered the crush of disappointment when he’d found it only contained a stash of old letters. Barely half-interested by then, he’d picked the first from the top of the pile. He’d opened the folded sheet, only to stare at a letter from his father to his so-called Aunt Bonnie, his mother’s best friend. There was a list of numbers and something about a house and a monthly payment that made no sense at all to his young mind. But there’d been no time to linger over it once his nanny had discovered him in the room he’d been forbidden to enter and warned him never to look in places he shouldn’t in case he learned something he never wanted or needed to know.
For a while he’d wondered what she’d meant but then he’d found a new game to play and gone back to school and he’d forgotten all about it. Until that day, nine stark years ago, when he’d been reminded of the letter and its contents and suddenly it had all made perfect sense!
He heaved a sigh as he considered the box, the stain of bitterness deep and permanent in his mind. What was his father really playing at, leaving him the box like this? Did he expect him to read the entire contents—no doubt their love letters—making sure Zane knew the whole sordid truth? Was this all Laurence thought Zane deserved after walking out nine years before? Was this to be his inheritance? Zane couldn’t help but raise a smile ironically as he contemplated the box. He wouldn’t put it past him. His father had never been known for his subtlety.
But he wasn’t playing into that game. He’d read enough all those years ago to last him. The box could stay closed.
Kyoto whisked away his plates and swept around the kitchen, cleaning everything he touched until it gleamed.
‘More coffee?’ he offered, interrupting Zane’s thoughts.
Zane responded with a shake of the head, giving the box a final push away as he stood. He didn’t need any reminders of the past. He had Ruby to do that.
‘Thank you, Kyoto, but no. I need to get started on a few things. Is there a car I can use while I’m here?’
‘Yes, yes.’ He nodded. ‘But you are home to stay now, for good?’
Zane dragged in a breath. His immediate plans for the company included making the long-term arrangements that would ensure his speedy return to London and his businesses there. Of course, there would be ramifications of his father’s sudden death to deal with—someone would have to take over the running of the pearl business; he’d source a manager somehow—but staying wasn’t an option right now. ‘We’ll see, Kyoto,’ he replied noncommittally. ‘First, I just need to make sure the company gets through this difficult stage, without my father’s hand to guide it.’
‘Not a problem,’ Kyoto offered, waving away his concerns with a flick of his tea towel. ‘Miss Ruby take care of all that, no worry.’
Zane stilled, a knife-sharp feeling of foreboding slicing through his thoughts. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Miss Ruby already at the office. She take care of everything.’
If indigestion came in a colour, it would be red. If it came in the shape of a woman, it would take the form of Ruby Clemenger.
She sat now in his father’s office, behind his father’s desk, like she owned it, making notes on a laptop computer as she studied an open file on the desk.
‘You haven’t wasted a minute, I see,’ he said, announcing his presence in the same sentence.
She looked up, momentarily startled, before the shutters clamped down on her eyes again, turning them frosty blue. Guarded.
‘I expected you’d sleep longer.’
He smiled. ‘So you thought you’d get a head start on running the company before I woke up?’
She frowned. ‘And why would you possibly think that?’
He gestured around the spacious office. ‘Because you’re here, barely twenty-four hours after my father’s death, in his office, occupying his desk.’
She put down her pen and leaned back in her chair—his father’s chair—her eyes narrowing to icy blue channels. ‘Is that what you’re worried about? That I might want to take your precious birthright away from you? That I might steal your inheritance and whisk Bastiani Pearls away from you while you’re not looking?’
‘You wouldn’t stand a chance!’ He squeezed the words through lips dragged tight, his jaw held rigid.
She smiled, a smile that exposed her even white teeth but extended no further. ‘Then maybe it’s just as well I’m not interested.’
‘So how do you explain being here now?’ he demanded, moving closer to the broad desk. ‘It’s Saturday. Not exactly office hours.’
I had to get out of the house, she thought. I had to get awayfrom you. But she wouldn’t say it. Didn’t want to admit the blatant honesty of her thoughts, even to herself. Instead she steeled herself against his approach and said, ‘I have work to do. Laurence and I were involved in a project together last week when he took ill. The file was still on his desk. And I really didn’t think he’d mind me borrowing his office for a while.’
‘What kind of work?’ he demanded, shrugging off her sarcasm like he expected it.
She surveyed him as he made his way around the desk to her side, taking in the cool-looking chinos and fine-knit shirt, resenting every lean stride he took closer to her. He was dressed for the heat, so why was it that her temperature was suddenly rising?
Damn the man! She’d told herself all night—she’d promised herself—that now they’d got their first meeting out of the way, now that they both knew where they stood with each other, that she’d be immune to his power and his sheer masculine force. And finally she’d convinced herself that that would be the case, that she could wear her anger like steel plating around her. But she’d been kidding herself. Otherwise, why else would she have fled the house at first light? And why else would she be feeling the encroaching heat of this man like the kiss of a blowtorch?
Her anger was still there, and the resentment—with just one comment, he’d managed to resurrect that in spades—but there was no avoiding the Bastiani aura.
Like father, like son.
Laurence’s power had made him a powerful colleague to work with, a fascinating and inspiring mentor. Zane, though, seemed to take the family trait to a new level, his proximity grating on her resistance, his raw masculine magnetism and fresh man-scent leaving her feeling strangely vulnerable.
‘What are these?’ he asked, looking down at the drawings on the desk, breaking her out of her reflections.
‘The new range,’ she said, feeling a note of pride creep into her voice as he sorted through the designs she’d been working on for over six months. ‘We’ve called them the Passion Collection. The launch is a little over three months away.’
‘Here?’
