At the Billionaire's Beck and Call? (6 page)

A horn beeped in the traffic behind them, and Macy turned to the cars before Ryder's voice brought her attention back to him. “Is the agent meeting us here?”

“I had the driver pick up the key before meeting us, so we can just go in on our own.” She withdrew the key from her briefcase and unlocked the door.

Ryder said a few words to the security then walked in behind her and shut the door. Abruptly, most of the sounds of the city cut off, as did the daylight. Crossing the room, she fumbled along the controls behind the counter until she found the light switches. She flicked them all on, drenching the room in bright neon lights.

She turned slowly, surveying a countertop that had been left by the previous tenant. It was an old wooden, carved bench. Unfortunately it would have to go—it didn't match the image they were after. All their fittings would be sleek glass and chrome. She ran a hand along the corner of the countertop, feeling its solidity. Its beauty of shape. A smile curved her lips—when she was running her own company, she'd have furnishings like this.

Another car horn outside made her look up, and she realized Ryder was at the edge of the room, leaning against a wall, hands in pockets, watching her. Even from six feet away, she could see his eyes were dark. And feel his heat.

She frowned and laid her briefcase on the counter. Keeping the image of a professional career woman was paramount when she was around him. Not giving him more openings to sway her to his plans of marriage and buying her father's company.

The kiss on the plane had been a mistake—she'd let her fear and vulnerability affect her actions. Though it
had been incredibly sweet of Ryder to distract her with the story. She almost smiled at the memory, but stopped herself. He may have been sweet, but she couldn't forget his real agenda. A business marriage.

She stepped out from behind the counter and straightened her spine. “This is the front-runner of the retail spaces we've investigated, primarily for the location but it also has the floor space we need, and good access for regular deliveries.”

Ryder pushed off the wall as if he'd never been staring at her and walked the floor, measuring by his stride. “It seems good. How's the price relative to similar properties?”

“More expensive than the others I short-listed, but when the extra features are taken into account, it's comparable.”

Ryder continued pacing the room, assessing features as he went. “What length lease are they offering?”

“When I spoke to the agent, she—”

The door opened and a flash went off to her right, interrupting her sentence. Ryder swore and strode to the door, slammed it shut and locked it. Then he moved to a side wall and pulled back a corner of newspaper to look out.

A cold shiver ran across her skin. “Is it them?”

Without looking back, Ryder nodded. “About six paparazzi. It seems our supposed romance is still big news. Must be a slow news day in Sydney.” He let out a disgusted snort then came to stand in front of her, hands on hips. “The security have moved them away from the door but they can't remove them completely from a public street. As I see it, you have two options.”

“Go on.” Despite the nausea in her belly, Macy blinked slowly, shoring up her reserves.

“One, we walk out the door, past the cameras to the hotel. The security will shield you from the worst of it and their car will meet us at the curb.”

The room tilted. A vision of them pushing past the small throng, with repeated flashes going off, made her dizzy. She took a stiff breath. “I can do that. But I think I'll prefer option two.”

“I ask the security to organize a diversion. We sit tight for half an hour to an hour, then we leave unnoticed.”

Her stomach clenched. Memories surfaced of being with her mother, surrounded by paparazzi. Of being stalked by them after her mother's death, when she'd been hurting and confused and grieving.

Would he judge her for lacking fortitude? Would seeing her vulnerable twice in one day change the heat that had flared in his eyes a few moments ago? She knew he respected her professionally, and his opinion of her personally shouldn't matter, but the thought of losing his respect sent a hollowness to her stomach. “It seems the coward's way out.”

“No.” He dismissed her concern with a nonchalant shrug. “If they bother you, then why let them harass you when there's another option? All it will take is one call. We don't even have to open the door.” He flipped open his cell phone. “Your decision.”

She looked into Ryder's eyes, seeking, but his face was relaxed, genuinely offering her a choice. “Make the call.” Relief surged through her veins as he dialed the number and made plans.

It shouldn't matter so much that people she didn't know would take her photo for other people she didn't know to look at in the papers. But it did. She'd always hated being put on display, but since her mother's death, the thought made her sick.

She heard Ryder ending his call and turned to see him pocketing his phone. “All done. Now we wait.”

She nodded, acknowledging his words, but still uncomfortable that she'd needed him to organize the distraction. But, uncomfortable or not, he'd earned her gratitude. Again.

She took a breath, waited a beat, then met his eyes. “It means a lot to me that you've done this. Thank you.”

He frowned. “If I wasn't here, they wouldn't be stalking you.”

True, but the paparazzi were the real culprits. “Even so, you've been very tolerant and accommodating of my anxieties today.”

He shrugged. “Everyone has fears.”

She couldn't imagine Ryder Bramson fearing anything. He resembled an imposing warrior-leader from times past as much as the corporate giant he was.

Ryder's gut twisted as he saw the look in Macy's eye. He knew she was about to ask him about his own fears, and that was something he didn't talk about with anyone.

He turned, casting an arm out to encompass the site. And neatly changed the subject. “You've done well to find this place. In fact, you've done well in every facet of the job. I'd like you to rethink your plan to leave at the end of the project.”
To leave him.

She took the change in good grace, and her countenance changed to match. Smiling, she walked around the old counter and jumped up to perch on its edge.

She threw him a glance over her shoulder. “You know why I'm leaving. It has nothing to do with the job.”

He followed her around to the other side of the counter and leaned a hip against its edge. “You made the decision when you were upset—”

She opened her mouth but he held up a hand.

“—and rightly so. There were things I should have told you up front, and I regret that. But we've moved past it. We could have a good working relationship if you take on the Australian arm of this company.”

She smiled wryly, kicking her heels out straight ahead, her gaze focused on them. “You know, a month ago, I would have jumped at that offer. That job was everything I was working toward.”

There was something in what she said—no, in what she wasn't saying—that drew him.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Why that job?”

She turned to smile up at him, eyes twinkling. “Shouldn't you be extolling the advantages of the position? Talking it up?”

“I'm curious.” And he was. The drive to understand the mystery of Macy was stronger in this moment than any other concern. He could spend years asking her questions just to hear what she'd say. “There are hundreds of jobs that are suitable to your skills. Why is this one the one you wanted?”

Macy stilled. “Honestly?” she asked, her face candid, as if the enclosed room with its newspapered walls had become a haven away from the world. A place away from reality. He liked being there with her.

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“I want to be CEO, so whether the company flourishes or perishes can be attributed to me and my team. I'd rather be CEO of a midsized company than have a senior position at a large company. And I want to be CEO of a company with an annual turnover in the range we forecast for Chocolate Diva.”

“That's quite a specific aim.”

She smiled again, acknowledging his point. “Yes, it is.”

“Have you had that goal long?”

She breathed in slowly. Too slowly. “Eight years.”

When he'd first met her, he'd found her hard to read—as he was sure she appeared to most people. But he was coming to understand the nuances of her expressions. Her gestures. The thought made his chest expand a fraction and drove him to try to understand what she was avoiding telling him.

“Why a company this size?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It seemed a good number.”

“No.” He smiled lazily. “You haven't answered my question.”

She arched an eyebrow, obviously a little surprised. “It's a good midsize company to prove myself in.”

“Sounds reasonable.” He pushed off the counter and moved to stand in front of her. “But that's not it. Why?”

She frowned at his rejection of her replies. “There's no other reason.”

He leaned one hand on the countertop either side of her, trapping her and bringing their mouths within inches of each other. “Your eyes tell me there's more to this story,” he murmured. “Why do you want a company this size, Macy?”

Silence met his question, but he waited. Her warm, sweet breath fanned over his face, driving him a little crazy, and still he waited.

Then she replied in a rush. “Because that's the size of my father's company.”

It was the truth this time. He felt it in his bones. His fingers picked up a lock of hair that had escaped the
confines of the twist she'd redone after their flight and toyed with it. “You want to beat him? Show you're better than him?”

Her pupils dilated as she looked from his eyes to his mouth. “No,” she whispered.

“Tell me.”

Her pink tongue slid across her lips then she closed her eyes, as if forming the thought in her mind. When she opened them again, she was bare, vulnerable. Willingly open to him. “I want to prove to him, and myself, that I should have been his heir. He wanted a son, but he didn't get one. And now he's willing to blackmail you into marrying me to keep the company in the family. It never entered his mind to pass it to me.”

Ryder swore and shook his head at Ian Ashley's stupidity. He'd assumed Macy wasn't in line for the inheritance because she'd walked away from her family, not the other way around.

He picked up her hands, linking their fingers. “That's rough.”

“You see my point?” She looked up at him, her wide hazel eyes searching his. She was extraordinarily pretty, but more than that pulled at him. It was as if he could see into her soul—see her need for someone to understand who she was and what she'd been through.

He squeezed her fingers. “Yes, I do. If it'd happened to me, I'd be more angry than you.”

For a split second her eyes glistened. Then she blinked twice rapidly and disentangled their hands. When she met his eyes again, all traces of emotional vulnerability were gone.

She smiled. “Thanks.”

Taking his cue from her, he stepped back, out of her personal space, but his mind couldn't make the same
disconnect. He needed to do something. Something to make this right for her.

“Marry me, and after I buy your father's company, I'll put you in as CEO. You'll show everyone, including him, what a blazing good job you can do.”

Her head tipped to the side and she frowned, as if surprised by his offer. But then she shook her head. “That's sweet, but no. I don't want his company anymore. It'd feel tainted.”

“Okay then.” He dug his hands into his pockets, mind racing, trying to find a solution for her, and solve his issue with his father's will at the same time. “How's this? Marry me and I'll give you a company twice the size of Ashley International. Lock, stock and barrel, it'll be yours.”

She shook her head but smiled in acknowledgement of his offer as she refused it.

“You can have your career goal right now by marrying me.” He arched a brow. “What's not to like?”

She crossed her trousered legs at the ankle, leaving her shiny black heels sitting in a sexy pose. “What meaning would it have if I don't earn it on my own?”

There was that integrity again. Damn, it was attractive. He was starting to think he'd want to marry this woman even without needing her father's company.

But his father's will—and it not leaving him a clear majority of stock—was still a factor. He needed to buy Ian Ashley's company and gain control of his board of directors. And he needed to marry Macy to buy it. He'd thought for a moment he'd found a way to entice her into the arrangement.

He'd just have to keep looking.

Three quick taps sounded on the door. The signal
from the security that all was clear and a car was waiting for them.

If only his marriage was as easy to arrange as fixing this paparazzi situation had been. But his plans for this afternoon and tonight should change her mind.

T
hey'd barely been in the limousine five minutes when Macy felt it slow to a stop. The security had called the limo back early and had been waiting to bundle them inside once the coast was clear. They now followed close behind. She checked out the window and saw the wide Opera House steps beneath its distinctive sails. “This is the wrong direction. The hotel's back in the city.”

Ryder nodded to the driver and opened his door as he said over his shoulder. “There's something I want to do first.”

She waited until he appeared to open her door, but didn't get out. “We have nothing on the schedule.”

“This is a personal detour,” he said as he offered her his hand.

Macy had never been a fan of detours from a set plan. Order and organization were the things that kept business and the world—including her life—operating smoothly.
But this was Ryder's business, therefore his call, so she took his hand and stepped from the limo.

Despite her ambivalence, one thing he'd said intrigued her. “Personal?”

He slipped his sunglasses from his jacket pocket, put them on and took in the expansive view. “I've never been to Sydney. My one previous Australian trip was also to Melbourne. There's something I'd like to see while I'm here.”

Macy folded her arms under her breasts and studied his face. It didn't seem right—The Machine taking time out for sightseeing. She was sure his American staff would never believe her if she repeated the story.

She found her own sunglasses in her bag and slid them on. “I wouldn't have picked you for the tourist type.”

He raised one eyebrow. “You weren't listening to my holiday description on the plane?”

She felt the heat rise up her chest and throat and turned away to the sails of the Opera House to obscure his view of her embarrassment. Except this wasn't simply embarrassment, the heat flowed through her veins to every square inch of skin. Her body was responding to the mere suggestion of his kiss, whether she wanted it to or not. And she hated that loss of control.

She tilted her chin up. “Ryder, I—”

“Before you say anything,” he smoothly interjected, “I'll show you what I have in mind.” He slipped an arm around her waist and gestured to the thirty-foot cruiser waiting at the jetty.

It was beautiful—large, sleek and white; its proud elegance easily outstripped the craft around it. But she'd be trapped alone with Ryder. Again. At the mercy of her own flawed ability to resist him. Again. The sweet pull
of the heavenly and the allure of the dangerous had never been so strongly interlaced.

She took a small but symbolic step back from his arm. “I'm not sure we have time for a cruise. I have a lot of work to do at the hotel.”

He dropped the arm she'd evaded and—seemingly unconcerned by her reluctance—dug both hands into his trouser pockets. “You have to eat, and lunch has been prepared for us on board. Think of it as your lunch break.”

She looked at the gleaming cruiser. She'd never been out on the Harbour. Her trips to Sydney had always been quick business visits, but each time she'd promised herself that one day she'd explore this, the heart of Sydney. Maybe today was that day, and Ryder had handed her the opportunity. Could she do it? Ignore work for an hour or two, indulge herself, spend social time with her boss and not let it lead anywhere? She bit down on a secret smile, not willing to let it free, but ready to live in the moment for once.

A man in a white uniform waved to them from the cruiser and Ryder returned the greeting. She watched the exchange and suspicion pricked. “You already have a booking, don't you?”

He grinned in approval as he started walking her down to the jetty, obviously aware she'd made her decision. “I made it from Melbourne.”

She shook her head as the smile she'd been restraining tried again to break free. Of course he had. This wasn't an unplanned detour—she'd just been unaware it was part of the schedule. Even the security men, leaning back against their car, seemed to know this was the next stop.

However, that didn't make her relax—now the question was, had he organized this to get her alone in a romantic
setting? Or was it really just about him wanting a chance to see a world-famous landmark, the same way she'd been curious?

He guided her onto the cruiser and left her to speak to the captain. Macy looked around the Harbour, trying to sort out the competing thoughts tumbling around her head. She hadn't made much progress a few minutes later when she heard Ryder's footfalls on the deck come up behind her and then he joined her, leaning against the rail and looking over the view as the crew eased the boat out into the waterway. Despite being dressed in a handmade suit and polished shoes, he looked strangely at home. None of this made sense.

“What are you planning, Ryder?” she asked, an edge creeping into her voice.

“People talk about Sydney Harbour, they say it's beautiful. Some say the most beautiful harbor in the world.” His sunglasses concealed his eyes but she could feel the truth in his words. “I've seen it on television, especially during the Sydney to Hobart yacht race, but I've never seen it in person.”

The breeze fluttered around her as she leaned on the rail next to him, her head turned to watch the man beside her instead of the view he described. “You watch boat races?”

“Yacht races,” he corrected, with a pained expression on his face. Then he flashed her a smile. “I learned to sail as a child, and always try to catch the best events. The America's Cup, Admiral's Cup, the Sydney to Hobart.”

She tucked the strands of hair that had escaped her French knot behind her ears. Suddenly, she could see him on one of those yachts, commanding the crew to victory as effortlessly as he commanded his staff to financial success. Yet she suspected he usually didn't make time
in his schedule for sailing or boat trips. And that he was granting her a rare insight into the inner sanctum of himself—he really did want to see Sydney Harbour on a boat.

Her heart relaxed its guard a little, honored that he'd wanted to share this with her. “This
is
all about you seeing an exquisite harbor, isn't it?”

One corner of his mouth kicked up. “If you get to see me away from the office for an hour and realize I'm not so bad, that wouldn't hurt, either.”

She hesitated. Had she read the situation wrong? “You said you'd keep your distance. That you'd be a perfect gentleman on this trip.” The kiss on the plane had already broken his rules, but she was positive he hadn't planned that. This cruise however…

“And I will be a gentleman.” He laid a hand over his heart, the picture of innocence. “This is only lunch. On what's rumored to be the most spectacular harbor in the world.”

The boat picked up speed a little and she leaned against the guardrail as she assessed his rugged features. “Nothing more?”

He clenched his hands around the waist-height metal bar, leaning out into the wind, his shirt billowing, his closely cropped hair tousled. Then he looked back, and even through his sunglasses she could tell his eyes were full of the devil. “Unless you ask.”

“I won't,” she said with certainty. It wasn't fair to give him mixed signals on this point.

He shrugged. “Then nothing more.” He turned back to watch the water as it whipped past.

They traveled for a couple of minutes in companionable silence, only broken when Ryder pointed out Clark Island, one of the green bumps of land he said he recognized
from watching Sydney Harbour on television. For a moment, Macy forgot about the undercurrents of their banter and was simply absorbed in sharing the beauty of her adopted country.

The steward emerged and handed them each a glass of champagne before showing them to a mammoth platter of tropical fruits and cheeses on the shaded upper deck.

Macy took her seat and eyed the mouthwatering choices, suddenly aware of how hungry she was. She took star fruit and an assortment of melon slices first, and as she sampled a sliver of honeydew melon, she realized Ryder was watching her. She stopped chewing and lowered the rest of the piece. “Is something wrong?”

“I'm watching you eat.” He said the words innocently enough, but the heat in his eyes betrayed him.

A shiver of awareness erupted across her skin and she placed the melon on the plate. “You said you'd be a gentleman.”

“I am. Mostly.” He grinned and scooped a piece of honeydew from the platter for his own plate. “It's hard not to watch when you're enjoying your food so much. It's compelling. Sensual.”

She refused to blush. Instead, she arched an eyebrow. “A gentleman wouldn't notice.”

“A gentleman would have no blood in his veins not to notice your mouth and that fruit. But point taken.” Within two bites he'd devoured his slice of melon. “Tell me, have you been on the Harbour before?”

Macy looked out across the blue, blue water. “No, I've never been to Sydney for more than a couple of days at a time.”

“You've always worked in Melbourne?” He cut several wedges of brie, placed them on wholegrain crackers and put them on her plate before making some for himself.

She smiled her thanks and selected one as she spoke. “When I first moved to Australia, I studied for a business degree in Melbourne. Straight after I graduated, I took a six-month project in Brisbane.”

“That's in the north?”

She nodded. “The capital of Queensland.” It had been a great place to start her career—a city big enough to support large businesses, but small enough to make her mark. She'd had an apartment downtown that overlooked the botanical gardens, close to good eating places, and within walking distance to work. Just how she liked it.

“They have great beaches up there,” Ryder said.

“So I've heard.” Many of her colleagues had raved about their holidays on the coast either north or south of Brisbane. She took a bite of the creamy brie, then followed it with a sweet red grape.

He sipped his champagne and watched her over the rim. “You didn't see the beaches?”

“I'd just graduated.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I couldn't afford to waste time.”

“That's why weekends were invented,” he said slowly.

“True.” She nodded casually and popped a chunk of dragon fruit into her mouth. Some people may want to play at the end of the week, but weekends were perfect for making progress on deadlines and working from the comfort of home.

Ryder watched her for a moment longer, eyes narrowed. “You didn't take weekends, did you?”

“No,” she admitted with a reluctant smile. He had a surprising ability to read her. It wasn't something she was used to—when she'd been younger, no one had watched her long enough, not with her mother or sister nearby. And
once she'd struck out on her own, she'd quickly developed an aloof facade that had kept everyone at bay.

Everyone but this man.

Under the cover of taking lychees and cubes of matured cheese from the platter with the silver tongs, she observed him. Sunglasses hid his eyes as he slowly slid a piece of moist pawpaw past his lips. Her pulse spiked. Now she could see his point about watching someone eat fruit.

He blotted his mouth with the napkin then reached for the Swiss cheese. “Where else have you been?”

She pushed the lychees around her plate, bringing her pulse back under control. “I've flown into Perth a few times for meetings.”

“And let me guess—” a teasing grin spread across his face “—all you saw was the inside of the car and a meeting room?”

“I did take in a couple of sunsets. It's on the west coast of Australia and the sunsets were spectacular. The best I've seen.”

She found room for one final piece of kiwifruit, but then edged her plate away and wiped her fingers on her napkin.

“Had enough?” Ryder asked.

“Probably a little past enough, but the flavors were too tempting to leave.”

He pushed back his chair and stood, then came around to pull her chair out. “Let's go back to the lower deck.”

“You like being closer to the water,” she guessed.

He rewarded her with a smile and held out an arm for her to lead the way. Once they were positioned again at the guardrail, where the wind danced through their hair and the smell of the sea was stronger, he turned to her. “Have you been to Tasmania?”

“Not had an opportunity.”

“I'd like to go one day,” he said, looking up to follow the path of a low-flying seagull.

Tasmania might have beautiful old growth rainforests and stunning mountains, but she knew the claim it would have on Ryder. “At the time of the Sydney to Hobart, I assume?”

“It'd be a sight to see, those yachts coming up Storm Bay.” His voice was wistful and his gaze sought the yachts that dotted the Harbour. His staff might call him The Machine, but deep inside, something in Ryder didn't want to be a workaholic. It was as obvious as the bright sun in the sky that part of him wanted to stop and smell the roses. Or, more accurately, watch the yachts.

From observing her father, she knew that being a workaholic didn't bring joy, and she wanted happiness for Ryder.

“You should do it,” she said softly. “Take some time for yourself and see the race firsthand.”

His head whipped around to face her again, dark eyebrows raised. “Do you want to be the pot or the kettle in this scenario?”

Macy laughed and leaned her elbows on the rail, submitting herself to the breeze and the sound of the water rhythmically hitting the hull.

Time had flown by so quickly, she was surprised a few minutes later when they pulled back in to the jetty near the Opera House. She watched the crew work to secure the cruiser and felt an unwelcome pang of sadness that it was over already. Definitely time to switch back into work mode and leave the casualness of their “lunch break” behind.