‘There’s coffee and tea in there. Would you like anything else?’
‘Stiff drink?’ I joke, and shake my head to show I didn’t mean it. ‘Thanks.’
I turn away from him and move through the plane, the realtor in me taking in the pertinent details as I go. White leather seats and pale beige carpet, muted overhead lighting, bleached timber detailing. It’s the last word in understated opulence.
Steeling my nerves, I go deeper into the plane. The doors are shut with a loud, telltale sound. Halfway down on the right there’s a wooden door with a frosted glass panel. It must be the boardroom.
I hesitate for the briefest moment as the plane begins to push off, moving down the runway, then knock loudly.
‘Yeah?’
A deep voice, but definitely impatient, and I wince because I really wish I hadn’t started these three days off by arriving late. What a stupid mistake to have made.
I should have left twenty minutes earlier. Except I had left plenty of time—the traffic was unusually heavy. It was out of my control.
I push the door open, not seeing him at first.
I clock the details of the room—the enormous, highly sheened meeting table, the white leather seats that are set around it and, at one end, at the head, the man I’ve come all this way to see. The man I need to sell this golf course to. The man who, indirectly, holds my future in his hands.
The man who last night held my pleasure, and my body, in his hands.
It’s him...
Him, Jagger.
Him, last night.
Him...
Oh, God.
At least I’m not the only one who’s shocked by this. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.
‘Miss Llewellyn?’ he asks, the words raw in his mouth. ‘You’re Miss Llewellyn?’
‘You’re J Ryan Hart?’
He stares at me like maybe I’ll disappear or maybe he’s imagining this. He stares at me in a way that is cold and confused where last night every look was brimming with fire and flame.
‘The J is for Jagger?’ I ask, quickly collating all the facts and coming up blank. Nothing about this makes any kind of sense.
‘Yes.’ He stands up belatedly, moving to the seat beside his. ‘Have a seat, Grace. We’re about to take off.’
I stare at him and wonder if it’s too late to back out of this. If it’s too late to get my assistant Bianca to take the kind of promotion she’s desperate for and accompany this handsome squillionaire to the Whitsundays in my place.
But I’m not going to compound the shitshow my life is right now with unprofessionalism.
‘Fine,’ I say crisply, taking the seat beside him. ‘Let’s go, then.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘YOU HAVE THE financials there?’ He buckles a seat belt around his waist and I realise all these seats have belts. Of course they do. We’re in a plane. Still, nice touch. I echo his movement, clipping in and tightening it, then reach for my bag.
‘Yes, I do.’ I pull out the manila folder but leave it in front of me, forcing my eyes to meet his. ‘What should I call you?’
Something sparks between us, a hint of what we were last night. ‘Mr Hart is fine, Grace.’
God, how the hell am I going to do this?