Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

" C AN I SEE YOU IN my office, Louisa?" She had just put her handbag down at her desk when the phone buzzed and the voice of the agency owner came through.

One of her father's oldest friends, from university, she didn't feel the same need to impress Stuart Conroy as other staff did. She also didn't see him as a miserable curmudgeon, which he seemed to have the reputation of.

"Sure, I'll be right there."

She'd stopped for a coffee on the way back to the agency and grabbed it from her desk before making her way down the corridor and up the floating timber stairs that led to Stuart's glass-fronted office. Glass fronted, so he could keep an eye on his staff. With that being said, in his mid-fifties and having made his fortune twenty times over, Stuart was not often at his desk these days. And good for him, Louisa thought approvingly. There was more to life than work. Out of nowhere, she imagined the future she'd imagined would be hers, the life she'd idly foreseen, when she and Ares had first started dating. It hadn't been a wildly passionate love affair, for either of them. It just hadn't been practical, given the strictures of dating a King. But they'd been good together. They'd made one another laugh. It had been so easy to envisage a rich, happy future at his side, with children and a puppy dog. But in those visions, Ares hadn't been King, and the publicity, protocol, and press were nowhere to be seen.

She knocked once at the door to Stuart's office. He glanced up and motioned with his hand for her to enter.

"You did well today."

She blinked, surprised. "I'm sorry?"

"I've just been speaking to Fox."

Her heart twisted sharply. She sipped her coffee to hide any tell-tale reaction.

"He likes you."

Her knees developed their own gravitational pull again. She ground her teeth, furious with her body for being so attracted to Noah Fox that even the mention of his name should heat up her blood.

"I'm glad. That's sort of the point, isn't it?"

"You're good at what you do."

"Thank you."

"He wants you to take over."

Another slug of coffee. "He mentioned that."

Stuart studied her, but unlike with Noah, Louisa could handle his scrutiny without a hint of tension.

"His business is worth a fortune if I'm frank. If you were anyone else, I'd be ordering you straight back to his office to set up shop."

She stared at him. "You would?"

"But your father—," he grimaced. "I promised him I'd look after you. I know what you've been through, Louisa. I don't want to put you in any situation you're not comfortable with. So, if working for Fox directly is a problem for you—," he let the sentence hang there, a question implicit.

"It's not that," she said, a little breathlessly. "But I clearly don't have the experience or skills to manage a campaign of that magnitude. Plus, I have other clients?—,"

"And I have other client managers," he said. "You've only been here a month; I can easily redistribute your workload for the next little while."

Her jaw dropped. "But I don't know what I'm doing. I wouldn't know where to start with something like this?—,"

"I know that. And I explained it to Fox. He's adamant—he wants you at the top. What happened with Donovan?"

She opened her mouth to answer then clamped it shut. She felt a weird sort of loyalty to the man, even when he had landed her in it that morning, by failing to show up.

"It doesn't matter," Stuart waved a hand in the air. "I'll talk to him later. As far as I'm concerned, this is a done deal, if you're happy with that."

She moved a little unsteadily to the chair opposite Stuart and sat down, both hands gripping her coffee cup. "How would it work?" she asked, focusing on the facts at hand. "I'd need an exceptional team."

"You'd have full hiring privileges. You can use whichever staff you want from the agency, and you can put out an ad for contractors if you need more."

"But Stuart, I really don't know what I'm doing. He looked like he was going to walk away, so I came up with some ideas on the fly?—,"

"He said they were the best ideas he'd heard all year, including from his overseas agencies. So, whatever you said, clearly impressed him."

"He's not in advertising either," she pointed out, wishing her chest didn't feel like it was swelling to bursting point with the compliment Noah had indirectly paid her.

"But I am, and I'll work with you. If you'll have me on your team," he said, with a wink.

Stuart Conroy hadn't built one of the most profitable advertising agencies in the southern hemisphere by accident. He was a natural at this stuff. Hardworking and gifted, he also operated fast, which Louisa liked.

"You don't want to work full-time," she reminded him. "Alice will kill me," she nodded towards the wedding photo on his desk—his fourth wife, and definitely Louisa's favourite. Alice was about ten years younger than Stuart, and she clearly adored him. "You're supposed to be spending more time with her and Oscar." Their son—a three-year-old—had been a late in life surprise for both of them. But he was completely doted upon.

"It's only six weeks," he pointed out.

"Over Christmas."

He waved a hand in the air. "By Christmas, the campaign will be running like a well-oiled machine. The crunch time is now. The next two weeks are where we really need to gear up. New creatives, ad spend through the roof, we need to film footage in the hotel." She could already see Stuart's brain was firing on all cylinders, but it was thrilling because it was just how she'd felt in Noah's office. She could see the vision of what they needed to sell, and now she was being given a chance to actualize it.

"What do you say, Loulou?" He used her childhood nickname out of habit, though they'd agreed that here, in the office, they wouldn't advertise their long-standing family friendship.

At least if she took up this opportunity, she wouldn't have to deal with Donovan afterward. She had the feeling he would be an unpleasant adversary, and he'd be furious at having been removed from such a blue-chip contract.

"It's important," Stuart said, leaning forward. "The Sydney hotel is just the beginning. The outback ranch will open in March, and that's going to be worth a fortune. Then, there's the Gold Coast next year. I want to keep him on board, at all costs."

Louisa nodded. Stuart had taken a chance on her when she'd needed to escape, and she wasn't going to let him down. "Of course, I'll do it. When do I start?"

"He's already getting a desk set up for you. What's that expression? There's no time like the present…"

Noah should have deleted the message after reading it the first time. He knew she didn't mean it. She was going through a phase.

The worst phase that had ever phased. If he had to hear his once-kind-and-loving daughter, now some kind of fifteen-year-old devil spawn, say one more lashing-out type thing, he was tempted to tear up the whole damned custody agreement.

Except, as if he could.

There was no way in hell he could send Taylor back to her mother. He might hate this stage of parenting, but he still loved Taylor, no matter how far out of line she was.

I hate you. I want to move back in with Mom.

Yeah, well, some days that was mutual. The problem was, Taylor's mother, and Noah's ex wife, happened to be leaning in hard to her alcoholism, and refusing to get help, no matter how hard he, and her family, tried. He had done everything he could, over the course of four years, to help her get sober. Every time he thought they were making headway, Amy would relapse. There'd been live-in therapists, long stints in rehab, meditation, hypnotism, absolutely everything that had been recommended had been attempted.

It never worked.

They'd broken up several years ago, but he'd known he couldn't desert Amy. Nor could he leave Taylor in her care, for any period of time, and he didn't want to sue for sole custody and make an already tenuous situation worse. He had stopped loving Amy a long time ago, but she was still Taylor's mother, and that meant something. Actually, it meant a lot. So, he'd stayed living under the same roof, albeit a totally separate life. But when he'd come home from a business trip one day to find a passed-out Amy sprawled on the sofa, drug paraphernalia and alcohol bottles everywhere, and an oven that was just starting to smoke so badly he had no doubt the whole house would have caught fire if he hadn't arrived when he did, he'd known he had to remove Taylor completely from the situation and allow Amy the time to focus on herself.

He hoped she was using it wisely, but according to Amy's brother Adam, who Noah considered a friend, there was no real improvement.

Noah kept funding the therapy though, as well as the live-in housekeeper, who was responsible for keeping the house clean (and not burned down) and making sure no alcohol breached the doorstep. He was keeping everything crossed that something would help Amy get sober. He knew alcoholism was an illness, and he didn't judge his ex-wife. He just desperately needed to know his daughter was safe.

And not just in the physical sense.

Amy Fox had been a model slash actress before they'd married, and she habitually posted things on Instagram that were borderline inappropriate. He'd managed to keep Taylor off social media up until about a year ago, when she'd downloaded the app in secret and created an account. "You can't stop me, Dad. Thirteen is the age cut-off, anyway, and Mom says it's fine."

Of course Amy said it was fine. Amy had very little regard for how to keep their daughter safe. She also had no idea how brutal kids could be. Noah hated the idea of Amy's antics bleeding into Taylor's life; he wished there was some way he could keep his daughter insulated from that, from everything, for all time. He'd deleted the app, forbidden her from getting it again, and just hoped she'd listen to him.

He sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his hair.

I hate you, he re-read, trying to imagine the giggling, chubby little three-year-old Taylor had been ever typing those words and sending them to him. Back then, parenting had been easy, and his marriage reasonably happy.

He'd been Taylor's hero and letting her snuggle into his lap while he read her a picture book had been the beginning and end of what she'd wanted in her day. She'd particularly loved The Gruffalo, and he'd read each page with the voices of the characters. When they reached the end, she'd clap her hands, look at him expectantly, and say, "Again?" He'd always relent, no matter what else he had on that evening. She was his daughter, and he would have moved heaven and earth for her.

He still would, but it was a lot harder to look forward to getting home at the end of the day when he never knew what particular kind of thunderstorm would be waiting to greet him.

So maybe he'd been a little harsher on Louisa from the agency than he'd needed to be.

Or maybe he hadn't been hard enough.

In truth, hot on the heels of the message from Taylor that morning, and with the abysmal response from the advertising campaign—which had resulted in sub-par bookings—he'd stormed into the meeting prepared to fire the agency, to hell with how well they'd done for him in the past.

He'd been livid. Admittedly, there'd been some splash back courtesy of his daughter's text, but mostly, it had been about Donovan and his incompetence.

Louisa—what was her last name? He looked down at the business card she'd pushed across the table in a flurry of apologies for Donovan's absence. Louisa Petrakis. Greek? Moricosian? No matter. Louisa Petrakis had succeeded in talking him off the ledge with her unexpected and beguiling habit of being honest. And brave. By taking responsibility for the agency's mess.

It was the trait he admired most of all. He didn't mind mistakes. Everyone made them. What he cared about was a person's ability to take responsibility and fix their mess.

His desk phone buzzed so he pressed the button to allow the intercom onto speaker.

"The suite of rooms are ready, sir, and Mr Conroy has informed me that Louisa Petrakis is on her way over."

"Excellent." He liked it when things went to plan, and his unflappable Sydney-based assistant Rose achieved that every time. She was worth her weight in gold. "Let me know when she gets here."

"Yes, sir."

He turned off the phone and pushed back in his chair, staring out at the view. It was a strikingly beautiful day, crystal clear, and very hot, so he'd gone for a run well before sunrise that morning, in an effort to escape the worst of the stifling heat. He was already looking forward to a swim after work.

Only, right as he imagined that moment of diving into his rooftop infinity pool, and letting the worries of the day slip over him, an image of Louisa popped into his mind. Not as she'd been that morning, in his office, dressed in a neat grey suit with her shiny hair pulled into a low ponytail. Not Louisa with her minimal makeup that highlighted the classical beauty of her face and features, with full, pouting lips, dimples in her cheeks, and warm brown eyes. Not Louisa with perfectly trimmed nails and obvious fear that she was about to lose an important client.

But as she might look at his home, totally relaxed and in a bathing suit, diving into the water beside him, her skin gleaming from sunshine and water, her smile broad as she turned to him and laughed.

He sat up straighter as the unintended image infiltrated his body and began to take hold, flooding him with a kind of need he hadn't known in a long time. A very long time.

When had he last been with a woman, much less looked at one? He stood up quickly, trying to rid himself of a very unwelcome awareness, suddenly, of Louisa as a woman, and groaned to realise that his body had other ideas. He rearranged himself in his pants, grateful to be alone, because he definitely didn't need anyone else catching him with a visible erection.

His phone buzzed once more. He clicked the button, hoping the sound of Rose would do the trick. She was not someone he'd ever found remotely desirable, even though, he supposed, she was quite pretty.

"Sir, Miss Petrakis is here. Shall I send her in?"

"No!" He responded, glancing downwards with shock. Then, cursing inwardly, he shook his head. "Give me two minutes, then I'll meet her in the foyer. I've just got…something I'm dealing with first."

"No problems." Rose disconnected the intercom, and he tilted his head back with a weary laugh.

Great.

Just great.

He'd found the solution to his advertising issue; he was sure of it. Only Louisa Petrakis still might turn out to be more trouble than she was worth, if he wasn't very, very careful.

He strode into the foyer at the exact moment the sun seemed to burst through the glass, like an arrow of gold, spearing him and bathing him in the sort of light that would stay in her memory for a long time. If she was a painter, she would have itched to pick up a canvas and render his image, exactly like this, for all time.

He was… beautiful. There was no other word for it. From his angular, symmetrical face to those deeply expressive eyes, his patrician nose and sculpted cheekbones, and a body that was lean yet strong, she felt his beauty on a powerful, soul-deep level. Anyone on earth would have recognized his physical traits, but it was so much more than that.

Noah Fox's particular brand of beauty was like a magnet, and the closer he came to her, the more he sent whatever magnets inhabited her cells into total disarray, so they were jangling and jumping all over the place, making her jumpy and over-alert.

"Hi," she said, her voice husky and low, and totally unprofessional. Her eyes flared wide and she grimaced. "Hello," she tried again, then wished she hadn't when Noah's lips quirked in an appreciative smile.

Was he laughing at her?

"Hi, hello, yourself," he said, only slightly teasing.

She crossed her arms over her chest, then wished she hadn't when, for the very briefest of moments, his gaze dropped downwards, landing somewhere near her cleavage before returning to her face once more.

"Thanks for agreeing to this," he said, gesturing towards the bank of elevators.

She slid him a sidelong glance, thought about holding her tongue before remembering how much he appreciated honesty. "Well, you really didn't leave me much choice," she pointed out, warmth spreading through her when he laughed in reply.

His laugh was like him—raw and real.

"True. When I know what I want, I pull whatever lever is necessary to get it."

It was a totally innocuous comment, as it pertained to the situation at hand, but because he was so damned beautiful, and she couldn't stop thinking about how beautiful he was, the comment hit her on a whole other level. It was just so sexy. And yet, it wasn't as though Ares hadn't been similar. He'd walked into a room and called the shots; he'd always been like that. So why hadn't that trait, in Ares, set her pulse on fire, the way it did with Noah? Maybe it was his Australian accent? Yes, that had to be it. He reminded her of every stereotypical bush-hardened Aussie she'd ever seen on the screen or read about in books. There was something so wild about him, so feral. And she liked it.

The discovery was kind of shocking, because Louisa had always valued, above all else, civility and manners. In that way, she'd been the perfect Queen-in-waiting. It had all come so naturally to her. Except for the public's interest in her, which had started as tolerable but had devolved, over the course of two years, into a sort of paralyzingly intense experience that made it almost impossible to leave the house.

And now, she could breathe again. Finally.

"You're not annoyed, are you?" He swiped a key in the lift and the doors swooshed closed. The cubicle began to ascend but Louisa was barely conscious of the fast progress upwards.

It was not a small lift. Like everything in the building, it was obviously first-rate. But it was still a small enough space for Noah's closeness to her to resonate like an electrical current.

She glanced across at him and felt her stomach drop to her toes. She could have lied to herself and pretended that it was courtesy of the lift, but truth was the theme of the day, and she knew it was all down to the man opposite.

"I'm not annoyed, no," she answered, the words husky and soft. She told herself to look away, to smile distractedly, to comment on the weather—it was a very hot day, after all. But instead, she just stared at him, like some kind of fool, and weirdly, he stared back. It was like they were sinking into one another, whilst neither of them moved. Her whole body seemed to be tingling and lifting with goosebumps, and just like when one experienced a sudden rush of cold, her nipples charged with a fizz of electrical current. It was such an overwhelming sensation, she almost gasped.

"I'm glad." His words seemed to come from a long way away. She didn't know what he was saying, but she didn't care. She stared at his mouth, her own mouth going dry as she imagined, completely out of nowhere, what it would be like to be kissed by Noah.

She imagined him doing exactly that, now. Here. Kissing her slowly at first, then harder, more demandingly, stepping forward and pressing her back against the lift, his fingers gliding over the emergency stop button, like men did in movies, to give them more time together. She imagined his leg wedging between hers, and his hands lifting her shirt from the band of her trousers, so he could brush against bare flesh.

The image was so erotic and so fully formed that she was almost at risk of melting into a puddle of desire, right at his feet.

Oh, God. The thought of falling to her knees in front of him and taking him…she closed her eyes as that very, very inappropriate and erotic image flooded her whole body with a sensual charge she could hardly ignore.

She took a hasty step backwards, pressing her own back to the wall of the elevator, as though the metal and glass might cool her down.

Yeah, right.

The doors pinged open, and Louisa had never been more grateful for something in her whole life. Only Noah didn't immediately move. Instead, he kept staring at her, so she no longer wanted the wall to cool her down, nor swallow her up, but rather for him to step forward and turn her unbidden fantasies into a reality.

His hand snaked out and for a moment, she thought he might hit the button she'd been imagining him touching. Instead, he pressed his flattened palm against the doors and nodded towards the reception area. "After you."

It was a curt dismissal, except for the sound of his voice. Strained. Woolen. As though he too had been lost in thoughts that did not belong anywhere near this, and what they were.

She left the elevator quickly, never more grateful for all those deportment lessons that meant she was able to at least look like a professional woman striding into a new job, rather than how she felt: a total slick of desire, trembling with need for a man she barely knew.