Chapter 1

Chapter

One

B illionairess.

That was what she was called now; what the clickbait headlines screamed on the internet.

Billionairess Lindy Jones spotted coming out of Target. What's she doing at the chain discount store?

Billionairess Lindy Jones looking lovely in Chanel. Looks like she didn't get that from Target.

She was a fraud.

Truth of the matter was some days she was more comfortable in the discount clothes she bought than the designer clothes her position required her to wear.

The fortune and power she'd inherited when her father died were more of a millstone around her neck than the golden egg others deemed it to be .

Some days she yearned for a job that didn't have the level of stress her current one did. Some days she wished for a partner to come home to each night so they could talk about their days.

Some days she wished for a normal life.

A life she craved, while others craved the life she had.

Funny how things worked out. Most people would consider her a spoiled brat, especially with the thoughts currently running through her mind. She had more than so many and she was complaining about it.

"Can I get you a refill?"

The bartender's voice pulled her from her pity party. Grief and the two glasses of wine she'd already consumed had dumped her into the pit of selfishness and had her wishing the fates had given her a different life.

Talk about being ungrateful with everything her father's work ethic and drive had provided her with.

"No thanks." If Lindy had one more wine, she'd likely stagger out of the bar and wouldn't that make the gossip mongers happy. Maybe a little food to suck up the alcohol would help keep her from the headlines. "Do you have a menu?"

She'd gone from meeting to meeting today and hadn't had much time to eat. Her assistant, Ian, had brought her a sandwich, but a call had gone on for longer than she'd expected, and when the opportunity arrived for her to eat it, the bread had dried out and the lettuce had wilted. Lindy had managed to consume half of it, choking it down with water before yet another meeting beckoned, requiring her full attention.

When she'd worked alongside her father, things hadn't seemed so difficult. Then again, Dad had taken most of the load of running the large mining company himself.

He'd been preparing her to take over from him. They both imagined it would be another five or so years before that occurred, giving her plenty of time to learn the ins and outs, not to mention handle all the minor details that seem to be tripping her up at the moment.

A drunk driver had another idea, and in a flash her father had been taken from Lindy and her mother.

Now she was struggling to find her footing, but there was no way she'd disappoint her father. Or the legacy her father had handed her. She'd take control of the company and steer it in an upward direction. Make her father proud.

When things weren't so stressful and Lindy hadn't been slammed with a dose of grief like at this moment, she loved the challenges her job brought. She loved being able to solve an issue others hadn't been able to. Truly believed she could live up to her father's belief in her.

"Yep, here you go." The bartender passed the menu across the bar top.

She grimaced at the sticky surface when she picked it up. "Thanks."

Standard bar food. She contemplated ordering the salt and pepper calamari, or did she want a chicken Caesar salad.

The barstool beside her became occupied.

A tangy citrus scent wafted over her, chasing away the stale bar smell for a brief moment. His leg brushed hers, knocking her heel off the small rung.

"Sorry, ma'am."

The scrape of metal against the concrete floor as he moved the barstool grated on Lindy's already hyper nerves, and she couldn't stop wincing even if she tried.

"Apologies again. It's like fingernails down a chalkboard, isn't it?"

American.

She'd thought so when he'd first spoken, but it had been so brief, only two words she couldn't have been certain .

"Yes, it is." She kept eyes on the menu, maybe he wouldn't talk to her.

Wow, arrogant much?

Why would the man want to spend his evening talking to her?

Too much time starring in the gossip rags had given her a sense of importance that she didn't deserve—or want.

Lindy inhaled a big gulp. Would this breath be a cleansing one? One that would take away her grief and fatigue when she blew it out.

Unlikely, but she could hope.

Only as she took a breath, once again, the scent of citrus filled her lungs, and she couldn't help herself, she had to look at the man occupying the stool beside her.

Their gazes clashed, his eyes a dark brown, matching the dark color of his hair. His square jaw was covered with a thin layer of dark stubble, giving him a piratical look. His hair was short on the back and sides, but long on the top and styled back from his forehead.

There was nothing boyish about him. His shoulders were broad, his shirt stretching at the seams. His hands were clasped on the bar top in front of him, and fine lines fanned out from his eyes, suggesting he either smiled or squinted a lot .

Maybe a combination of the two?

Either way, the man was seriously handsome and a hint of danger seemed to envelop him. Whether it be from the muscles bulging beneath his shirt or the way his eyes seemed to scan the room looking for trouble. If trouble broke out, she'd rather have him on her side than against her.

Again, where the heck were these thoughts coming from?

The American man was alluring, and she needed to stay well away from him. The last thing she needed, or wanted, was for a man to distract her—no matter how much he teased her long sleepy hormones awake.

She had a business to run.

A company to steer safely through the troubled waters of nervous shareholders and board members, worried that she was in way over her head.

"Can I buy you another drink?" he asked.

Lindy lifted her gaze from where she'd been studying his strong arms.

He was watching her, a slight uptick at the corners of his mouth, enhancing his already sexy good looks.

"Yes, that would be nice, thanks."

What?

Why on earth did I say that?

Her brain hadn't engaged her mouth, because if it had, it would've politely refused the invitation and she would've got up and left—ordering food forgotten.

He raised a finger and the bartender rushed over. "I'll have a pint of this," he indicated to the pale ale beer tap in front of her. "And she'll have another glass of whatever she was drinking."

Having already turned down his offer for another drink, if the bartender was surprised to see that she was, in fact, indulging again, he didn't show it. He nodded at the menu still in her hand. "Did you want to order something?"

"Oh, umm, can I have a few more minutes?" Not that she needed them, Lindy had a fair idea what she wanted to eat, but it gave her hands something to clutch.

"Sure." He looked over at her companion. "Do you want a menu too?"

"I could eat."

Was he expecting to eat with her?

Oh, what have I done?

She should've refused his offer of a drink and left. Gone home to the empty house she'd grown up in. Mum had taken to living in the holiday home on the beach in Yallingup the family had owned for years—the place where she and Dad would've retired to had he not died .

"Do you mind if I join you for dinner?" The stranger asked, after their drinks were delivered.

"You can eat, I'm not stopping you." Damn, that'd come out bitchier than she intended. Lindy sighed, facing him instead of the opposite side of the bar, where a group of guys were laughing and watching a sports game on the television. "Sorry, it's been a day."

"We all have those, apology accepted. Chris Swanson." He held out his hand toward her.

She studied it for a moment. Would he do that macho squash her hand to show dominance handshake, or would he have a weak grip.

What did it matter? The chances of her seeing him again were slim. What was one dinner?

She slipped her hand in his. "Lindy Jones."

His larger hand engulfed hers, and a fissure of sparking warmth trickled over her skin, heating her.

Lindy looked at their joined hands, noticing the way hers fit snugly in his and his grip was firm but not overbearing at all.

During the last couple of months many of her father's associates had attempted to show their strength when they shook her hand, but she'd showed them she wasn't a weak female.

She wasn't that young impressionable girl who'd got taken in by a smooth-talking swindler who'd dazzled her so much that she'd fallen for him and married him, against her parents' wishes. How long had it been before Skip had shown his true colors? Two weeks after their marriage? He'd probably been sleeping around the whole time they had been together.

Lindy firmly pushed her mistake of a marriage to the recesses of her mind—where it belonged. She'd moved on from her mistake, and any relationship she'd indulged in since had been a mutual slaking of desires and suitable partners for the formal events she'd had to attend.

The days of looking for a long, loving relationship like the one her parents had had were long gone.

Not happening for her now.

"Can I have my hand back?" Amusement laced his tone.

Her face heated, and she tried not to snatch her fingers back. How long had she been staring at their hands?

Too long, obviously.

What the hell is wrong with me?

If she'd had any idea she wouldn't be in this position, she wanted to yell back at her inner voice.

"Sorry, as I said it's been…a day." Now Lindy was repeating herself. She really was off he r game tonight. The best thing to do would be to cut and run, go home and loose herself in some mindless sit-com. Not the K-Dramas she liked to watch. Those she had to concentrate on—reading subtitles meant she couldn't quite lose herself in the show, unfortunately, but there was still enough emotion, even reading, for her to feel everything the characters did.

Chris picked up the menu and his beer, inclining his head to the open part of the room. "Want to get a table?"

"Sure."

What am I doing? I don't do this, normally.

Yet, after the last few months, seeing how life could be snatched away so quickly. Doing the opposite of how she normally acted seemed like something to try.

After everything she'd dealt with recently, she deserved something nice. At the end of the night, she could shake his hand again, thank him for a pleasant meal and then be on her way.

Never to see him again.

So, why didn't she like that idea?