best possible hands with our company,’ she reassured him.
He looked at her intently, his blue eyes narrowed. ‘Did I speak with you?’ he said. ‘I am sure I would have remembered your voice.’
She certainly would have remembered his.
Gemma shook her head. ‘Eliza is our business director. She does most of our client liaison. You are not what we—’ She clapped her hand to her mouth. Put a zip on it, Gemma.
‘Not what you what?’ he asked with a quizzical expression.
‘Not...not what we expected,’ she said. Her voice trailed away, and she looked down in the direction of his well-polished Italian shoes.
‘What did you expect?’
She sighed and met his gaze full on. There was no getting out of this. She really needed to curb her tendency to blurt things out without thinking. That was why she worked with the food and Eliza and Andie with the clients.
‘Well, we expected someone older. Someone not so tall. Someone heavier. Someone perhaps even...bald. With a twirling black moustache. Maybe...maybe someone like Hercule Poirot. You know...the detective in the Agatha Christie movies?’
Someone not so devastatingly handsome.
Thank heaven, he laughed. ‘So are you disappointed in what you see?’ He stood, arms outspread, as if welcoming her inspection.
Gemma felt suddenly breathless at the intensity of his gaze, at her compulsion to take up his unspoken offer to admire his tall, obviously well-muscled body, his lean, handsome face with those incredibly blue eyes, the full sensual mouth with the top lip slightly narrower then the lower, the way his short brown hair kicked up at the front in a cowlick.
‘Not at all,’ she said, scarcely able to choke out the words. Disappointed was not the word that sprang to mind.
‘I am glad to hear that,’ he said very seriously, his gaze not leaving hers. ‘You did not know me, but I knew exactly what to expect from Party Queens.’
‘You...you did?’ she stuttered.
‘Party Queens was recommended to me by my friend Jake Marlowe. He told me that each of the three partners was beautiful, talented and very smart.’
‘He...he did?’ she said, her vocabulary seeming to have escaped her.
Billionaire Jake Marlowe was the business partner of Andie’s husband, Dominic. He’d been best man at their wedding two Christmases ago. Who knew he’d taken such an interest in them?
‘On the basis of my meeting with you, I can see Jake did not mislead me,’ Tristan said.
His formal way of speaking and his charming smile made the compliment sound sincere when it might have sounded sleazy. Had he even made a slight bow as he spoke?
She willed herself not to blush again but without success. ‘Thank you,’ was all she could manage to say.
‘Jake spoke very highly of your business,’ Tristan said. ‘He told me there was no better party-planning company in Sydney.’
‘That was kind of him. It’s always gratifying to get such good feedback.’
‘I did not even talk with another company,’ Tristan said with that charming smile.
‘Wow! I mean...that’s wonderful. I...we’re flattered. We won’t let you down, I promise you. The hotel is a perfect venue. It overlooks Hyde Park, it’s high end, elegant and it prides itself on its exemplary service. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much marble and glamour in one place.’
She knew she was speaking too fast, but she couldn’t seem to help it.
‘Yes. The first thing I did was inspect it when I arrived in Sydney. You chose well.’ He paused. ‘I myself would prefer something more informal, but protocol dictates the event must be formal.’
‘The protocol of your family business?’ she asked, not quite sure she’d got it right.
He nodded. ‘That is correct. It must be upheld even when I am in another country.’
‘You’re a visitor to Australia?’ Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. The phone calls had all come from Queensland, the state to the north of New South Wales. Where Jake Marlowe lived, she now realised.
‘Yes,’ he said.
She still couldn’t place the accent, and it annoyed her. Gemma had studied French, German and Italian—not that she’d had much chance to practise them—and thought she had a good ear.
‘What kind of business does your family run?’ she asked.
That was another thing the Party Queens had wondered about as they’d discussed their mystery client. He was still a mystery.
* * *
Tristan was still too bemused by the vision of this cute redhead wearing bright pink oven mitts and wielding a wooden spoon as a weapon to think straight. He had to consider his reply and try not to be distracted by the smear of flour down her right cheek that seemed to point to her beautiful full mouth. While he’d been speaking with her, he’d had to fight the urge to lean across and gently wipe it off.
Should he tell her the truth? Or give the same evasive replies he’d given to others during his incognito trip to Sydney? He’d been here four days, and no one had recognised him...
Visiting Australia had been on his list to do before he turned thirty and had to return home to step up his involvement in ‘the business’. He’d spent some time in Queensland with Jake. But for the past few days in Sydney, he had enjoyed his anonymity, relished being just Tristan. No expectations. No explanations. Just a guy nearing thirty, being himself, being independent, having fun. It was a novelty for him to be an everyday guy. Even when he’d been at university in England, the other students had soon sussed him out.
He would have to tell Party Queens the truth about himself and the nature of his reception sooner or later, though. Let it be later.
Gemma Harper was lovely—really lovely—with her deep auburn hair, heart-shaped face and the shapely curves that the professional-looking white apron did nothing to disguise. He wanted to enjoy talking with her still cloaked in the anonymity of being just plain Tristan. When she found out his true identity, her attitude would change. It always did.
‘Finance. Trade. That kind of thing,’ he replied.
‘I see,’ she said.
He could tell by the slight downturn of her mouth that although she’d made the right polite response, she found his family business dull. More the domain of the portly, bald gentleman she’d imagined him to be. Who could blame her? But he didn’t want this delightful woman to find him dull.
He looked at the evidence of her cooking on the countertop, smelled something delicious wafting from the oven.
‘And chocolate,’ he added. ‘The world’s best chocolate.’
Now her beautiful brown eyes lit up
