In the Rich Man's World

She forced a smile. ‘If I can give it, I should be able to take it.’

‘It’s not always that easy, though, is it?’ Vaughan suggested, gently now. ‘We all make mistakes. Only most people don’t have to get up in the morning and read about them. Most people can hide under the duvet for a few days and that’s the end of it.’

Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out his mobile and frowned. ‘I’d have thought Mr Cheng would have rung by now.’

Eternally grateful for the change of subject, she smiled more naturally.

‘Maybe no news is good news?’

‘Let’s hope so.’

‘When will you know for sure?’

‘Next week. Mr Cheng is flying into Melbourne to check over a few last-minute details, and hopefully on Friday it will be in the bag. I should be able to announce it the following Monday. Thanks for not saying anything, by the way.’

‘You said it was off the record.’

‘Which normally means zilch.’

He watched her tongue bob out to lick her lips as the waiter placed her dessert in front of her. Integrity was seemingly ingrained in every one of her pores. Off the record for once meant just that.

‘The Japanese company I am dealing with are shrewd businessmen. They’re also incredibly well-mannered,’ Vaughan explained, ‘and more than a touch superstitious; blasting the story over the papers without Mr Cheng being informed would have been disastrous for progress. I’d have hated to face him on Monday if this had got out.’

Amelia nodded, sinking her spoon into the most delectable white chocolate and nougat mousse, knowing it was going to taste even better than it looked. The thought was confirmed as the sweet goo melted on her tongue.

‘Nice?’

‘Heaven,’ Amelia sighed, taking another spoonful. ‘I don’t care how many meals you’ve eaten today, there’s surely a pocket of space for this. You really don’t know what you’re missing.’

As innocent as a child, she held out the spoon for him to taste. Shaking his head, he stared into that elfin face. Her mascara had long since smudged, the lipgloss had been lost somewhere between the main course and dessert, and Vaughan couldn’t have disagreed with her more—he knew exactly what he was missing.

‘Come.’

If her teeth hadn’t been bound by nougat Amelia would have said something stupid, like Where? But the chocolate gods were being kind, allowing a semblance of sophistication as she refilled her water glass and washed down her dessert, forcing Vaughan to elaborate.

‘Come to Melbourne with me next week.’

‘Why?’

Even after a suitable pause, it wasn’t the most sophisticated of answers. A real journalist would have murmured I’d love to; a real journalist wouldn’t make her subject justify handing over such a magnificent scoop. But half a glass of champagne and a couple of hours in this divine man’s company had eroded every last shred of sensibility.

‘Well, if you’re going to do an in-depth piece on me you might as well get the full picture. Of course there will be a few exceptions—I can’t guarantee all of my contacts will want a journalist in the boardroom, and I’d like to go to the pool unaccompanied in the morning, given that I can’t swim and talk at the same time.’

‘You swim?’

‘I do.’ Vaughan grinned. ‘And, yes, you can use that. But, on a rather more serious note, one of the reasons I’m trusting you to do this piece is the unbelievable fact that I haven’t got fifty calls in my message bank asking me to confirm the motor deal.’

‘I passed, then?’

‘I guess so.’ Vaughan smiled. ‘But these are a couple of ground rules. I don’t mind you doing an in-depth piece on me, but my clients’ names stay out of it.’

‘Of course.’ Amelia nodded.

‘And, apart from my morning swim, I do have a personal life. Every now and then I will have to disappear.’

It came as no surprise to Amelia how much that piece of news depressed her, but she gave a solemn nod. And even if Paul might kill her, even if she was putting doubts into Vaughan’s jet-lagged mind, Amelia couldn’t refrain from pushing the point that she’d let go earlier.

‘Why now, Vaughan? You’ve never given a personal interview, never allowed anyone to get close till now. What’s caused the change of heart?’

‘My advisors.’ Vaughan rolled his eyes. ‘Which sounds horribly affected, but no CEO worth his salt is without them these days and, given what I pay them, I guess I should try acting on some of the advice they so gleefully dish out. We both know that when—or rather at this stage if the motor deal’s announced I’ll be a hero. A hero next Friday but a villain by Monday.’

Sad, but true.

‘Once the euphoria has worn off my rescue plan will be analysed and scrutinised…’

‘And criticised,’ Amelia offered, and Vaughan nodded.

‘Jobs are going to go. The fact that without me within a year every job would have gone will be conveniently forgotten.’

‘I thought you’d be used to being the bad guy by now.’

‘I am.’ Vaughan shrugged. ‘But the fact of the matter is the press are going to go to town on this one.’

‘I’m the press, Vaughan,’ Amelia pointed out. ‘Why do you think you’ll get anything different from me?’

‘I don’t know,’ Vaughan replied, but his confident expression belied the ambiguity of his words, and not for the first time Amelia had the feeling he was playing her.

‘You can buy me all the white chocolate nougat I can stomach, tell me I’m the best journalist in Australia and massage my ego for hours, but I write the truth, Vaughan. You won’t sway me for a moment.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of trying. And, no, I’m actually not asking you along to do a hearts-and-flowers piece on me. The truth would be refreshing enough!’

Amelia stared at him thoughtfully for a moment. His answer had almost convinced her, but there was one thing she needed to get out of the way—one thing she needed confirmed before she accepted the assignment. And if it sounded presumptuous, then so be it. There was no denying the sexual sparks cracking in the air around them, and to disregard them could only be to her detriment. By ignoring the sparks she could be fanning the flames, which was a dangerous game indeed—especially with such a skilful player as Vaughan.

‘Would you have asked Carter?’

‘Carter’s after a different angle. His mind’s stuck purely on business.’

‘So is mine,’ Amelia retorted sharply, but Vaughan just laughed.

‘I was actually referring to the different section of the newspaper that Carter covers. But if that’s what’s worrying you…’

‘I’m not worried, Vaughan. I just like to make things clear from the outset.’

‘Which you have,’ Vaughan replied easily, smothering a yawn before signalling for the bill. ‘And if it makes you feel any more comfortable I never mix business with pleasure—well, not recently anyway. It’s a definite new rule of mine. It makes things far too messy and complicated. Katy today is a prime example. Believe me, Amelia, if I want casual sex I can think of easier ways of getting it than having a journalist glued to my side for a week.’

And therein lay the problem. With two small words he’d affirmed what she’d guessed.

Casual sex.

Walking out onto the street, momentarily blinded by the flash of photographers, Amelia managed a wry smile at their wasted efforts. Curses would later fill the darkrooms of rival newspapers as her face came into focus alongside Vaughan’s, when they realised that not only did Vaughan Mason not have a hot date tonight, but she, Amelia Jacobs, had landed a wonderful scoop.

Refusing his offer of a lift, Amelia hailed a taxi, firmed up a time to meet him at the airport, then climbed into the back seat, managing a small wave as the taxi pulled off. But all the time her heart was hammering, her cheeks flaming at his throwaway comment.

Casual sex was all a man like Vaughan wanted from women, and she mustn’t forget it—not even for a moment.

CHAPTER THREE

‘NO PROBLEM getting away?’ Vaughan greeted her, and Amelia gave a crisp smile.

‘No problem,’ she confirmed—which was the understatement of the year!

Paul had practically died on the spot in delight when she’d told him—in fact, she was surprised he wasn’t here at the airport now, to wave her off, hiding behind a pot-plant and attempting to catch her alone so he could give her just one more piece of vital advice.

After she’d told her editor of Vaughan’s invitation the whole weekend had been a blur of vital advice—the questions she should ask, the subjects she should avoid. The only time Paul had been silent was when Amelia had asked him about the big story the paper was due to break on Vaughan.

‘Like I said, Amelia, it’s best you don’t know.’

‘Best for who?’ Amelia pushed. ‘How can I do an informed piece when my own paper’s holding back on vital information? If there’s something about to go down with the motor deal, surely I should be aware—’

‘It’s nothing to do with the motor deal,’ Paul broke in.