Chapter 10

Wade had given up trying to figure out women a long time ago.

He dated them, he wooed them, he liked them, but that's where it ended. Any guy who lost his head over a woman was asking for trouble.

He'd seen it firsthand with his dad.

Not that he'd begrudged the old man happiness, far from it. Quentin had raised him alone after his mum died when he was a toddler, devoting his time to his business and Wade with little room for anything else. When Wade started uni, Babs had come along and his dad had been smitten. Wade had been appalled.

He'd seen right through the gold-digging younger woman; probably why Babs had hated him on sight.

The feeling had been entirely mutual.

But Wade had seen the way his dad lit up around Babs and while he'd tried to broach the delicate subject of age differences and financial situations, one ferocious glare from his dad had seen him backing down.

Quentin and Babs had married within a year, and as much as Wade hated to admit it, Babs had been good for his father. They'd had a good ten years together, but Wade left for London after two. He couldn't pretend to like Babs and vice versa, and he saw what the barely hidden animosity did to his dad. It caused an irrevocable tension between them, and while neither of them mentioned it, it was there all the same.

Wade had stayed away deliberately, only catching up with Quentin on his infrequent trips to London, invariably alone. They talked publishing and the digital revolution and cricket but Wade never asked how Babs was and his dad never volunteered the information.

He hadn't seen his dad in the fifteen months before his death and Quentin hadn't trusted him enough to tell him the truth about the heart condition that had ultimately killed him, resulting in the biggest regret of Wade's life and the sole reason he was here, trying to save the company that had meant the world to his dad.

He should've known about his dad's dodgy heart. He should've had the opportunity to make amends for deliberately fostering emotional distance between them. Instead, Quentin died and guilt mingled with sorrow for Wade, solidifying into an uncomfortable mass of self-recrimination and disgust.

He didn't trust easily and his scepticism of Babs had ultimately driven his dad away.

He regretted it every day since.

Hopefully, saving Qu would help ease the relentless remorse that he'd screwed up when it came to Quentin.

While Wade had left Qu a long time ago, he kept abreast of developments, and when rumours of employee dissatisfaction, low print runs, poor sales, and financial strife reached him in London following Quentin's death, he knew what he had to do.

Throw in the fact his dad had barely been buried before Babs started flinging around terms like ‘white elephant' and ‘financial drain' in relation to Qu, and Wade had had no choice.

He'd appointed his deputy as acting CEO in London and hightailed it back to Melbourne as fast as he could. Just in time too, judging by the board's lukewarm response to his plans to save the business.

As for his confrontation with Babs before the party yesterday…he'd been right about her all along.

Thank goodness his dad had been smart enough to leave a precise will. Babs got the multimillion-dollar Toorak mansion and a stack of cash. Wade got the business. But sadly, the bulk of his dad's shares had passed on to Babs too, and that meant they now had equal voting rights with the board of Qu Publishing.

If she whispered in the right ears—and she had from all accounts—and it came to a vote, they'd sell company out from under him.

He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't, now he had Liza on board.

Thinking of Liza brought him full circle back to his original supposition.

He'd given up trying to figure women out. Which was why he had no clue why she'd had a mini meltdown half an hour earlier, and why he didn't trust her complete about-face in regard to his offer.

One minute she'd been fiery and defiant, the next he'd found her in a defeated heap near the elevator. Whoever had called had delivered bad news, and the thought it could've been some guy who'd devastated her rankled.

He'd assumed she was entanglement-free last night, but what if there was some guy in the picture, an ex she was hung up on? And why the hell did it matter?

Whatever had happened via that phone call, it had provided a major shake-up for her to switch from a vehement refusal to accepting his offer. It made him wonder, had it been a ruse? A plan on her part to get him to up the advance?

He didn't think so, because her devastation had been real when he'd found her crumpled beside the elevator. But his ingrained lack of trust couldn't be shaken and her vacillating behaviour piqued his curiosity meter.

Was Liza genuine or was she a damned good actress? And if so, what was her motivation?

Ultimately, it shouldn't matter. He couldn't afford to be distracted. It would take all his concentration to ensure her autobiography hit the shelves within a record six months. He had editors, buyers, online marketing managers, and a host of other people to clue in to the urgency of this release.

Not that he'd tell them why. Having a publisher on the brink of implosion didn't exactly inspire confidence in the buyers who'd stock this book in every brick-and-mortar and digital store in the country.

He needed their backing for Liza's story to go gangbusters following a speedy release. It would take every moment of his time to make it happen.

So why the persistent niggle that having Liza stride into his office the first time, and later agree to his offer, was the best thing to happen to him on a personal level in a long time?

He'd been thinking about contacting her anyway, doing an online search first and if that hadn't worked, getting one of the company's investigators to find her. Thankfully, that wasn't necessary. But realising she was the WAG every publisher in town had been hounding for a tell-all threw him. And made him doubt his own judgement, which he hated.

Had his first impressions been correct? Was she a woman not to be trusted?

He couldn't afford to have this book deal fall through and with Liza's abrupt turnaround—shirking his offer then accepting it—what's to say it wouldn't happen again?

She'd verbally agreed to the deal, but until he had her signature on a contract he wouldn't be instigating any processes.

Damn, he wished he knew her better so he could get a handle on her erratic behaviour. She seemed introverted last night, reluctant to flirt, at complete odds with the image of WAGs.

In London, a day didn't go by without the tabloids reporting exploits of sports stars' wives and girlfriends, from what they wore to a nightclub opening to rumours of catfights.

The woman he'd coaxed into having a drink with him last night, the woman who'd later blown his mind with sensational sex, didn't fit his image of a WAG.

Which begged the question, what had Liza done to become notorious?

What was her real story?

Considering he'd just emailed her a publishing contract, guess he'd soon find out.