Chapter 2

Wade couldn't take his eyes off the dazzling blonde.

She stood in the middle of the room, her shimmery bronze dress reflecting light onto the rapt faces of the guys crowding her.

With every fake smile she bestowed upon her subjects, he gritted his teeth.

She was exactly the type of woman he despised.

Too harsh? Try the type of woman he didn't trust. The same type of woman as Babs, his stepmother, who at this very minute was making the rounds of the room, doing what she did best: schmoozing.

His father Quentin had been dead less than six months and Babs had ditched the black for dazzling emerald.

Guess Wade should respect her for not pretending. As she had for every moment of her ten-year marriage to his father.

A marriage that had driven the family business into the ground, and an irreversible wedge between him and his dad. A wedge that had resulted in the truth being kept from Wade on all fronts, both personally and professionally.

He'd never forgive her for it.

Though deep down he knew who should shoulder the blame for the estrangement with his dad.

He looked at that guy in the mirror every morning.

Wade needed to make amends, needed to ease the guilt that wouldn't quit, and ensuring his dad's business didn't go bankrupt would be a step in the right direction.

Qu Publishingcurrently stood on the brink of disaster and it was up to him to save it. One book at a time.

If he could ever get a meeting with that WAG every publishing house in Melbourne was clamouring to sign up to a revealing biography, he might have a chance.

Her name escaped him and, being overseas for the best part of a decade, he had no idea what this woman even looked like. He needed to do some much needed research, pronto, on the home-grown darling Australia couldn't get enough of. He'd been assured by his team that a book by this woman would be a guaranteed best-seller—just what the business needed.

But the woman wouldn't return his assistant's international calls and emails. Not that it mattered. He knew her type. Now he'd landed in Melbourne he'd take over the pursuit, demand a face-to-face meeting, up the ante financially, and she'd be begging to sign on the dotted line.

At times like this he wished his father had moved with the times and published genre fiction. It would've made Wade's life a lot easier, signing the next debut author with a commercial hit.

But biographies were Qu Publishing's signature, a powerhouse in the industry.

Until Babs entered the picture, resulting in Quentin's business sense fleeing alongside his common sense, and his father had hidden the disastrous truth.

Wade hated that his dad hadn't trusted him.

He hated the knowledge that he'd caused the rift more.

It was why he was here, doing anything and everything to save his father's legacy.

He owed him.

Wade should've been there for his dad when he was alive. He hadn't been and it was time to make amends.

The bronzed blonde laughed, a surprisingly soft, happy sound at odds with the tension emanating from her like a warning beacon. Even at this distance he could see her rigid back, and the defensive way she half turned away from the guys vying for her attention.

Interesting. Maybe she was nothing like Babs after all, who was currently engaged in conversation with a seventy-year-old mining magnate who had as many billions as chins.

Yeah, some people never changed.

Something he could do with, a change. He needed to escape the expectations of a hundred workers who couldn't afford to lose their jobs. Needed to forget how his father had landed his business in this predicament and focus on the future. Needed to sign that WAG to solve his problems. And there were many; so many problems that the more he thought about it, the more his head pounded.

What he needed most right now? A bar, a bourbon, and a blonde.

Startled by his latter wish, he gazed at her again and his groin tightened in appreciation.

She might not be his type but for a wild, wistful second he wished she could be.

Ten years of setting up his own publishing business in London had sapped him, sucking every last ounce of energy as he worked his butt off. When he initially started he'd wanted a company to rival his father's but had chosen to focus on the e-book and audio market rather than mass market paperbacks, trade, and hardbacks. Considering how dire things were with Qu Publishing, his company now surpassed the one-time powerhouse of the book industry.

He rarely dated, and socialised less. Building a booming digital publishing business had been his number one priority. Ironic, that he was now here to save the business he could've been in competition with if his dad had ever moved into the twenty-first century. And if Quentin had entrusted him with the truth.

Not that saving Qu mattered if Babs had her way.

The muscles in his neck spasmed with tension and he spun away, needing air before he did something he'd regret, like marching over to step-mommy dearest and strangling her.

He grabbed a whisky from a passing waiter and downed half of it, hoping to eradicate the bitterness clogging his throat, before making his way to the terrace that wrapped across the front of the function room in wrought-iron splendour.

Melbourne might not have the historical architecture of London but the city's beautiful hotels like this one could hold their own around the world.

He paced the marble pavers in a vain attempt to quell the urge to march back into that packed function room and blast Babs in front of everyone, media be damned.

Wouldn't that go down a treat in tomorrow's papers?

PUBLISHING CEO BAILS UP SOCIALITE

STEPMOTHER, A REAL PAGE-TURNER.

He wouldn't do it, of course, commit corporate suicide. Qu Publishing meant too much to him.

Correction, his dad had meant everything to him and Wade would do whatever it took, including spending however long in Melbourne to stop Babs selling his legacy.

Qu Publishingneeded a saviour. He intended to walk on water to do it.

He cursed and downed the rest of his whisky, knowing he should head back inside and make nice with the publishing crowd.

‘Whatever's biting your butt, that won't help.'

Startled, he glanced to his right, where the bronze-clad blonde rested her forearms on the balcony, staring at him with amusement in her eyes. Blue. With tiny flecks of green and gold highlighted by the shimmery dress. A slinky, provocative dress that accentuated her assets.

The whisky he'd downed burned his gut. His excuse for the twisty tension tying it into knots.

Her voice surprised him as much as her guileless expression. Women who dressed like that usually wore calculating expressions to match their deliberate sexy garb and spoke with fake deference. She sounded…amused. Concerned. Normal.

It threw him.

He prided himself on being a good judge of character. Hadn't he picked Babs for a gold-digger the moment his dad introduced her ten years ago?

His people radar had served him well in business too, but something about this woman made him feel off-kilter. A feeling he wouldn't tolerate. He needed to stay focused to ensure he didn't lose the one thing that meant anything to him these days.

And as long as this woman was staring at him with that beguiling mix of fascination and curiosity, he couldn't concentrate on anything.

‘Can't a guy have a drink in peace without being accused of drowning his sorrows?'

He sounded abrupt and uptight and rude. Good. She would raise her perfect pert nose in the air and stride inside on those impossibly high heels that glittered with enough sparkle to match her dress.

To his surprise she laughed, a soft, sexy sound that made his fingers curl around the glass as she held up her hands in a back-off gesture.

‘Hey, no accusations here. I was merely making an observation.'

A host of smart-ass retorts sprang to his lips and he planned on using them, until he glimpsed something that made him pause.

She was nervous.

He saw it in the way her fingertips drummed delicately on the stem of the champagne flute she clutched. Saw it in her quick look-away when he held her gaze a fraction too long. And that contradiction—her siren vamp appearance contrasting with her uncertainty—was incredibly fascinating and he found himself nodding instead.

‘You're right. I was trying to take my mind off stuff.'

The corners of her mouth curved upward, the groove in her right cheek hinting at an adorable dimple.

‘Stuff?'

‘Trust me, you don't want to know.'

‘I used to worry about stuff once.'

Intrigued by the weariness in her voice, he said, ‘Not any longer?'

‘Not after today,' she said, hiding the rest of what she was about to say behind her raised glass as she took a sip.

‘What happened today?'

Her wistful sigh hit him where he least expected it. Somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

‘Today I secured a future for someone very important to me.'

He didn't understand her grimness or defensive posture, but he could relate to her relief. When he secured the future of Qu Publishing in memory of all of his dad's hard work, he'd be relieved too.

‘Good for you.'

‘Thanks.' She smiled again, sweet and genuine, and he couldn't fathom the bizarre urge to linger, chat, and get to know her.

She wasn't in his plans for this evening. Then again, what did he have to look forward to? Putting on a front for a bunch of back-slapping phoneys and gritting his teeth to stop from calling his stepmother a few unsavoury names?

He knew what he'd rather be doing.

And he was looking straight at her.

‘Do you want to get out of here?'

Her eyes widened in surprise before a disapproving frown slashed between them. ‘You've got to be kidding me. I make polite small talk for thirty-seconds and you're propositioning me?'

She shook her head, her disgust palpable.

‘Let me rephrase that.' He tried his best smile, the one he used to win friends and influence colleagues. Her frown deepened. ‘What I meant was, I've had a long day. My flight landed in Melbourne this morning, then I had to attend this shindig for work tonight, and I'm already tired of the schmoozing.'

He gestured at the balcony around them. ‘Considering you're out here to get away from the crowd, I assumed you're probably over it too?'

Her wary nod encouraged him to continue when he should cut his losses and run.

‘The way I see it, we have two choices. Head back in there and bore ourselves silly for the next hour or we can head down to the bar in the lobby, have a martini, and unwind before we head home. I mean, before we go our separate ways.'

The corners of her mouth twitched at his correction.

‘What do you say? Take pity on a guy and put him out of his misery by saving him from another interminable stint in there?'

Damn, he'd made a fool of himself, blathering like an idiot. What was it about this cool, classy blonde that had him rattled?

He'd had her pegged wrong and he, better than anyone, should know never to judge the proverbial book by its cover.

‘So you weren't propositioning me?'

Was that a hint of disappointment?

Mentally chastising himself for wishful thinking, he mimicked her frown. ‘Sadly, no. I'm too jet-lagged to—'

He bit off the rest of what he was about to say when her eyebrow arched.

Yep, he was screwing this up royally.

‘To what?'

At last, she smiled and it made him feel oddly excited, as if he wanted to see her do it again.

‘To muster up enough charm to ensure you couldn't say no.'

She chuckled and he joined in.

‘I like a guy with confidence.' She laid her champagne glass on the ledge. ‘Let's go get that martini.'

He didn't have to be asked twice. ‘You really made me work for that acceptance.'

As he gestured for her to take the stairs ahead of him, she cast him a coy glance from beneath her lashes. ‘Didn't you know? You need to work your ass off for anything worth having.'

‘Is that right?'

‘Absolutely.' She nodded, strands of artfully curled golden silk falling around her face in gorgeous disarray. ‘Nothing better than nailing a challenge.'

He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent from laughing out loud, finding her utterly beguiling. In contrast to her sexy persona, she was forthright and rather innocent if she hadn't picked up on that nailing remark.

Then he made the mistake of glancing at her and saw the moment her faux pas registered. She winced and a faint pink stained her cheeks, making him want to ravish her on the spot.

‘That didn't sound good,' she said, wrinkling her nose.

‘Now we're even,' he said, wondering what they'd say after a few drinks under their belts. ‘My mistaken proposition, your nailing suggestion.'

‘Guess we are.' She eyed him speculatively, as if not sure what he'd say next.

That made two of them.

‘Maybe we should stick to coffee tonight?'

‘Why's that?'

That dimple flashed adoringly again. ‘Because with our strike rate, who knows what will happen if we have a martini or two?'

He laughed. ‘I was thinking the same thing.'

‘Coffees it is.' She nodded, expecting him to agree.

But there was a part of him that delighted in flustering this woman and he couldn't help but wonder how she'd loosen up with a few drinks inside her.

He leaned in close, expecting her to retreat a little, his admiration increasing—along with his libido—when she didn't.

‘Actually, I prefer to live on the edge tonight. Why don't we have a martini or two and see what other verbal gaffs we can make?'

‘As long as we stop at the verbal stuff,' she said so softly he barely heard her.

‘Any other mistakes we make? Not our fault.'

‘Oh?'

He loved her imperious eyebrow quirk.

‘Haven't you heard?' He lowered his voice. ‘What happens in the martini bar stays in the martini bar?'

With a surprisingly wicked twinkle in her eye, she nodded. ‘That's if we stay in the bar.'

With that, she descended the steps, leaving him trailing after her, more than a little captivated by this woman of contrasts.

A woman whose name he didn't know.

With a little luck he'd have all night to discover it.