Fiancee for One Night Page 2

  And she, who had never been noticed in her life by anyone with such intensity, let alone a powerhouse of masculine perfection like this man, had done the only possible thing she could do. She’d said yes, maybe a little too breathlessly, a little too easily, for he’d growled and pulled her into a room stacked high with row upon row of files, already pulling her into his kiss, one hand at her breast, another curving around her behind even as he manoeuvred her to the furthest corner of the room.

  Blown away by the man, blown away by the red-hot magma of sensations surging up inside her, she hadn’t made a move to stop him, hadn’t entertained the possibility until, with one hand under her shirt and his hard thighs wedged between hers, the door had opened and they’d both stilled and waited while whoever it was searched a row of files, pulling one out with a swish and exiting the room. And he’d pulled her shirt down and pushed the hair back from her face from where he’d loosened it from the coil behind her and asked her name, before he’d kissed her one more time. ‘Tonight, Eve,’ he’d said, before he’d straightened his tie and gone.

  Cups clunked together under the suds and banged into the sides of the tiny sink, a sound reassuringly concrete right now. For this was her reality—a ramshackle bungalow it would cost a fortune to tear down and rebuild and probably more if she decided to renovate and try to preserve what original features might be worth saving.

  She finished up the dishes and pulled the plug, letting the water go. She had commitments now. Obligations. A glimpse at her watch told her that her most important obligation would be waking up any minute now.

  Would her life be any different if she had spent the night with Leo that night, if he hadn’t been called away with barely a hurried goodbye to sort out a hiccup in the next billionaire deal he had been brokering somewhere halfway around the world, and if they’d actually finished what they’d started in that filing room?

  Or given how she’d been incapable of saying no to him that day, maybe her child might simply have been born with skin even more olive, hair a little thicker?

  Not that Leo would make those kind of mistakes, she was sure.

  No, it was better that nothing had happened that night. He wouldn’t be her client now if it had.

  Besides, she knew what happened to the women Leo bedded. She could live without one of those terse thank-you notes, even if it did come attached to some pretty piece of bling.

  The room darkened and she looked out the window in time to see the first fat drops fall from the dark clouds scudding across the sky and splatter against the glass.

  ‘I thought I warned you,’ she growled at the sky, already making for the back door and forgetting all about Leo Zamos for one short moment.

  Until the phone rang again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE stood there, one hand on the door handle, one thought to the pattering rain growing louder on the tin lean-to roof, and yet Eve made no move towards the clothesline as the phone rang the requisite number of times before the machine cut in, inviting the caller to leave a message.

  ‘Evelyn, it’s Leo.’

  Redundant really. The flush of heat under her skin told her who it was, and she was forced to admit that even when he sounded half-annoyed, he still had the most amazing voice. She could almost feel the stroke of it across her heated skin, almost feel it cup her elbow, as his hand once had.

  ‘I’ve sent you an email,’ Leo continued, ‘or half of one, but this is urgent and I really need to speak with you. If you’re home, can you pick up?’

  Annoyance slid down her spine. Of course it was urgent. Or it no doubt seemed urgent to Leo Zamos. A night without a woman to entertain him? It was probably unthinkable. It was also hardly her concern. And still the barbed wire prickling her skin and her psyche tangled tighter around her, squeezing her lungs, and she wished he’d just hang up so she could breathe again.

  ‘Damn it, Evelyn!’ he growled, his voice a velvet glove over an iron fist that would wake up the dead, let alone Sam if he kept this up. ‘It’s eleven a.m. on a Friday. Where the hell are you?’

  And she realised that praying for the machine to cut him off was going to do no good at all if he was just going to call back, angrier next time. She snatched the receiver up. ‘I didn’t realise I was required to keep office hours.’

  ‘Evelyn, thank God.’ He blew out, long and hard and irritated, and she could almost imagine his free hand raking through his thick wavy hair in frustration. ‘Where the hell have you been? I tried to call earlier.’

  ‘I know. I heard.’

  ‘You heard? Then why didn’t you pick up? Or at least call me back?’

  ‘Because I figured you were quite capable of searching the Yellow Pages yourself.’

  There was a weighted pause and she heard the roar of diesel engines and hum of traffic, and she guessed he was still on the way to the hotel. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I mean, I’ll do all manner of work for you as contracted. I’ll do your correspondence and manage your diary, without issue. I’ll set up appointments, do your word processing and I’ll even flick off your latest girlfriend with some expensive but ultimately meaningless bauble, but don’t expect me to act like some kind of pimp. As far as I recall, that wasn’t one of the services I agreed to provide.’

  This time the pause stretched so long she imagined the line would snap. ‘Is something wrong?’

  God, everything was wrong! She had appliances to replace that would suck money out of her building fund, she had a gut that was churning so hard she couldn’t think straight, and now she was expected to find this man a sleeping partner. ‘You’re the one who left the message on my machine, remember, asking me to fix you up with a woman for the night.’

  She heard a muttered curse. ‘And you think I wanted you to find me someone to go to bed with.’

  ‘What else was I supposed to think?’

  ‘You don’t think me perfectly capable of finding my own bedtime companions?’

  ‘I would have expected so, given…’ She dropped her forehead in one hand and bit down on her wayward tongue. Oh, God, what was she thinking, sparring with a client, especially when that client was almost single-handedly funding her life and the future she was working towards? But what else could she do? It was hard to think logically with this churning gut and this tangle of barbs biting into her.

  ‘Given what, exactly?’ he prompted. ‘Given the number of “expensive but ultimately meaningless baubles” I’ve had you send? Why, Evelyn, anyone would think you were jealous.’

  I am not jealous, she wanted to argue. I don’t care who you sleep with. But even in her own mind the words rang hollow and she could swear that the barbed wire actually laughed as it pulled tighter and pressed its pointed spines deeper into her flesh.

  So, okay, maybe she had felt just a tiny bit cheated that nothing had happened that night and she hadn’t ended up in his bed, but it was hardly wrong to wonder, surely? It was curiosity, more than anything. Naturally she’d had plenty of time since then to count herself lucky she had escaped that fate, after seeing how efficiently and ruthlessly he dispensed with his women, but it didn’t stop her wondering what it would have been like…

  She took a deep, calming breath, blew it out slowly and cursed whatever masochistic tendencies had made her pick up the phone in the first place when it would have been far more productive to rescue her washing than risk losing the best client she was ever likely to have. ‘I’m sorry. Clearly I misunderstood your message. What is it that I can do for you?’

  ‘Simple.’ His liquid voice flowed down the line now she was so clearly back on task. ‘I just need you to find me a wife.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  So far this call was going nothing like he’d anticipated. It wasn’t just her jumping to the wrong kind of conclusion about his earlier call that niggled at him, or her obvious disapproval of his sleeping habits—most PAs he’d met weren’t that openly prudish; in fact, most he’d encountered had
been too busy trying to get into his pants—but there was something else that didn’t sit right about his indignant PA. She didn’t sound at all like he’d expected. Admittedly he was out of practice with that demographic, but since when did middle-aged women—any woman for that matter—ask their employer if they were serious?

  ‘Would I be asking if I weren’t? And I need her in time for that dinner with Culshaw tonight. And she probably doesn’t have to be a pretend wife—a pretend fiancée should do nicely.’

  There was silence on the end of the line as the car climbed the sweeping approach to the Western Gate Bridge and for a moment he was almost distracted by the view of the buildings of Melbourne’s sprawling CBD to his left, the port of Melbourne on his right. Until he realised they’d be at his hotel in Southbank in a matter of minutes and he needed to get things moving. He had to have tonight’s arrangements squared away before he got tied up with his lunchtime meeting with the government regulators due to sign off on the transfer of ownership when it went ahead. He’d dealt with those guys before and knew it was likely to be a long lunch. ‘Evelyn?’

  ‘I’m here. Although I’m still not quite sure I understand.’

  He sighed. What was so hard to understand? ‘Culshaw’s feeling insecure about the deal. Wants to be sure he’s dealing with solid family people and, given the circumstances, maybe I don’t blame him. Culshaw and Alvarez are both bringing their wives to dinner tonight, and I don’t want to do anything to make Culshaw more nervous by having me turn up alone, not when we’re so close to closing the deal. So I want you to increase the number at dinner to six and find me someone who can play my fiancée for a night.’

  ‘I can certainly let the hotel know to cater for six,’ she said, sounding like she meant to go on before there the line went quiet again and he sensed a ‘but’ coming.

  ‘Well?’ he prompted, running out of time and patience.

  ‘I can see what you’re trying to do.’ Her words spilled out in a rush. ‘But is taking along a pretend fiancée really wise? I mean, what if Culshaw finds out? How will that look?’

  Her words grated on both his senses and his gut. Of course it was a risk, but right now, with Culshaw feeling so vulnerable, so too was turning up alone. ‘Choose the right woman,’ he said, ‘and that won’t be an issue. It’s only for a night after all. Are you anywhere near your email? I sent you an idea of what I’m looking for.’

  ‘Look, Mr Zamos—’

  ‘Leo.’

  ‘Okay, so, Leo, I appreciate that I got the wrong end of the stick before, but finding you someone to play fiancée, that’s not exactly part of the service I offer.’

  ‘No? Then let’s make it part of them.’

  ‘It’s not actually that simple.’

  ‘Sure it is. Find an acting school or something. Tell whoever you find that I’m willing to pay over the odds. Have you got that email yet?’

  ‘I’m opening it now,’ she said with an air of resignation, her Australian accent softened with a hint of husky sweetness. He decided he liked it. Idly he wondered what kind of mouth it was attached to. ‘Charming,’ she read from the list of characteristics he’d provided, and he wondered. Surprisingly argumentative would be a better way to describe his virtual PA right now.

  ‘Intelligent. Classy.’ Again he mused. She was definitely intelligent, given the calibre of work she did for him. Classy? Maybe so if she’d worked as a corporate PA for several years. It wasn’t a profession where you could get away with anything less than being impeccably groomed.

  ‘And I’ve thought of something else.’

  ‘Oh, goodie.’

  Okay, so maybe charm wasn’t her strong point, but so long as she got him the perfect pretend fiancée, he would overlook it for now. ‘You might want to brief her on both Culshaw and Alvarez. Only the broad-brush stuff, no details. But it would be good if she wasn’t completely ignorant of the players involved and what they do and can at least hold a conversation. And, of course, she’ll need to know something about me as well. You know the kind of stuff…’

  And then it suddenly occurred to him what had been bothering him. She said stuff like ‘Are you serious?’ and ‘goodie’ in a voice threaded with honey, and that put her age years younger than he’d expected. A glimmer of inspiration told him that if she was, maybe his search for the perfect pretend fiancée was already over…

  ‘How old are you, Evelyn?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I had you pegged for middle-aged, but you don’t sound it. In fact, you sound much younger. So how old are you?’

  ‘Is that entirely relevant right now?’

  ‘It could be.’ Though by the way she was hedging, he was pretty certain his question was unnecessary. At a guess he’d say she wasn’t a day over thirty-five. It was perfect really. So perfect he was convinced it might have occurred to him earlier if he hadn’t assumed his virtual PA was a good ten years older.

  ‘And dare I ask…?’ Her voice was barely a whispered breath he had to search for over the sounds of the city traffic. ‘Why would that be?’

  And he smiled. ‘Because it would be weird if my fiancée looked old enough to be my mother.’

  There was silence on the end of the line, a silence so fat with suspicion that it almost oozed out of the handset. Then that husky, hesitant Aussie drawl. ‘I don’t follow you.’

  ‘It’s quite simple,’ he said, his blood once again fizzing with the heady buzz of a plan coming together beautifully. ‘Are you doing anything for dinner tonight?’

  ‘No. Leo—Mr Zamos. No!’ This could not be happening. There was no way she was going to dinner with Leo Zamos and pretending to be his fiancée. No way!

  ‘Excellent,’ she heard him say through the mists of her panic. ‘I’ll have my driver pick you up at seven.’

  ‘No! I meant yes, I’m busy. I meant no, I can’t come.’

  ‘Why? Is there a Mr Carmichael I need to smooth things over with? ‘

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Tried to find the words with which to give her denial, words he might understand, before realising she didn’t have to justify her position, didn’t have to explain she had an infant to consider or that she didn’t want to see him or that the idea simply sat uncomfortably with her. She simply had to say no. ‘I don’t have to do this. And neither do you, for that matter. Mr Culshaw knows you’ve only just flown in from overseas. Will he really be expecting you to brandish a fiancée at a business dinner?’

  ‘But this is why it’s so perfect, Evelyn. My fiancée happens to be Australian and she’s already here. What could be better?’

  She shook her head. For her own benefit maybe, but it made her feel better. ‘It won’t work. It can’t. This is artifice and it will come unstuck and in grand style.’

  ‘Evelyn,’ he said measuredly, ‘it can work and it will. If you let it.’

  ‘Mr Zamos—’

  ‘One evening, Evelyn. Just one dinner.’

  ‘But it’s not honest. We’d both be lying.’

  ‘I prefer to think of it as offering reassurance where reassurance is needed. And if Culshaw needs reassurance before finalising this deal, who am I to deny him that?’

  But making out we’re engaged? ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Look, I haven’t got time for this now. Let’s cut to the chase. I said I was willing to pay someone above the odds and that goes for you too. This dinner is important to me, Evelyn, I don’t have to tell you how much. What do you think it’s worth for a few hours’ work?’

  ‘It’s not about the money!’

  ‘In my experience, it’s always about the money. Shall we say ten thousand of your Australian dollars?’

  Eve gasped, thinking of new clothesdryers and new hot water services and the cost of plumbers and the possibility of not dipping into her savings and still having change left over. And last but by no means least, whether Mrs Willis next door might be able to
babysit tonight…

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Let’s make it twenty. Would that be enough?’

  Eve’s stomach roiled, even as she felt her eyes widening in response to the temptation. ‘Twenty thousand dollars,’ she repeated mechanically, ‘For one evening.’

  ‘I told you it was important to me. Is it enough, do you think, to entice you to have dinner with me?’

  Twenty thousand dollars enough? It didn’t matter that his tone told her he was laughing at her. But for someone who had been willing to spend the night with him for nothing, the concept that he would pay so much blew her away. Did tonight really mean so much to him? Was there really that much at stake?

  Really, the idea was so bizarre and ridiculous and impossible that it just might work. And, honestly, what were the chances he would recognise her? It had been almost three years ago and in a different city, and beyond heated looks they’d barely communicated that day and she doubted he even remembered her name, let alone what she looked like. And since then he’d met a thousand women in a thousand different cities, all of them beautiful, plenty of whom he’d no doubt slept with.

  And since then she’d let her coloured hair settle back closer to its natural mousy colour and her body had changed with her pregnancy. Now she had curves that hadn’t been there before and maybe wouldn’t be there if she’d returned to work in that highly groomed, highly competitive office environment. One of the perils of working from home, she mused, was not having to keep up appearances.

  Which also meant she had one hell of an afternoon in front of her if she was to be ready before seven. A glance at the wall clock told her she had less than eight hours to find a salon to squeeze into on the busiest day of the week, and find an outfit somewhere. Still assuming her neighbour could babysit tonight.