‘Okay.’ I’m pleased with how my voice sounds. Crisp and cool. ‘These are the records of the last five years. A tropical storm damaged the clubhouse three years ago, so you’ll see the rebuilding costs have made a dent in the P & L for the subsequent two years—’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that,’ he interrupts, all business, not a hint of anything more between us.
I frown because I’m playing catch-up here and I don’t quite know how to reconcile what we shared less than twelve hours ago with this.
‘However,’ I continue, digging my nails into my palm beneath the table, ‘there’s a silver lining there for the new owners.’
‘Oh?’
‘The vendor, Karakedes Corp, used the opportunity to do a complete structural overhaul of all the buildings. Steel frames have been inserted to reinforce what was there. All the glass is triple glazed and tempered, like what you’d find on a naval vessel. The roofs are triple pinned. It would take two Category 5 storms to rip the roof off the clubhouse, plus a bunker’s been built as a “just in case” for staff or players who get caught in its wake. The Karakedes Corp wanted to offer safe haven to local residents—not just club members—in the event of future catastrophic events.’
‘You make it sound as though I should brace for cyclones every wet season.’
I dig my nails in deeper. The pain is excruciating. ‘Not at all, Jagg—Mr Hart. But tropical storms are part and parcel of life up in North Queensland. I’m sure you’re aware of that.’
His lips twist in what I think might be a smile, but he’s stern again immediately afterwards.
Frustration zips inside me. ‘How come you didn’t tell me who you are?’
He regards me with consideration for a moment, then drops his pen onto the table, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. ‘And who is that?’
‘A Hart.’
He continues to stare at me and I’m unnerved by it, but I don’t show it because I’d bet my bottom dollar on the fact he wants me to be off-kilter, and I don’t like that. I can’t reconcile that with the man I went to bed with last night.
‘Would it have made a difference?’
‘In whether I went back to your hotel room?’
He dips his head in silent agreement.
‘Absolutely.’
His brows lift heavenward.
‘I’ve never slept with a client before.’
He looks relieved for a microsecond and then he fires back a quick rejoinder. ‘Just your business partner.’
It’s a low blow and for a moment my businesslike façade drops. My chest hurts. I drop my eyes to the folders in front of me, taking in a breath and trying to think of something to volley back—but drawing a blank.
‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ he offers, the words softer. ‘I’m sorry.’ He reaches out then, curving his hand over mine, and a zap of electricity sparks in my veins. I pull my hand away quickly. ‘I was surprised to see you again today. I don’t...like surprises.’
‘That makes two of us.’ I smile at him, a tight smile but a signal of a truce, nonetheless. ‘I wouldn’t have gone back to your place last night if I’d known we were going to be doing business together for the next three days.’ God, that sounds kinky. My cheeks flame but thankfully he has the decency not to react.
‘I wouldn’t have invited you,’ he says softly, ‘if I’d known you’d be trying to sell me a sixty-million-dollar piece of property the morning after.’
My eyes lift to his.
‘But rest assured, Grace, I never mix business with pleasure. What happened between us last night will have absolutely no bearing on my decision. I’m a facts and figures man, so show me what you’ve got.’
* * *
I wish I was a little more facts and a little less figures—specifically, her figure—but from the moment she stepped onto the plane, wearing a simple cream suit with a pale pink silk blouse underneath, I wanted to strip it off her and lay her on this tabletop. Pink and cream, like her beautiful body, her breasts, her clit, all of her.
Fuck me.
Suddenly, three days of work feels like it could be more fun than I anticipated. My mind moves quickly, going over the situation.