Singapore Fling with the Millionaire
Auteur·e
Michelle Douglas
Lectures
16,5K
Chapitres
10
CHAPTER ONE
CHRISTY MINSLOW TRAILED behind the other business-class passengers—among the first off the plane because business class—and told herself she was not taking advantage of James Cooper-Ford or his high-end fashion label Molto Arketa.
She glanced back and bit her lip. Business class. Why had the man sent her business class? Did he think it’d sway her into signing his contract?
The thought had her eyebrows lifting. Not in this lifetime, buddy! There was no way that Beach Monday and Molto Arketa were ever going to do business. And she’d told him as much. Nicely, of course. So Mr Cooper-Ford could pamper and flatter her until the cows came home and it wouldn’t sway her. She wasn’t some naïve schoolgirl with stars in her eyes. Not any more.
A little shiver of delight refused to be repressed, though. Business class. She’d felt pretty damn pampered when the flight attendant had handed her a cocktail menu, and definitely flattered by the speed with which her Singapore Sling had arrived. She’d chosen a Singapore Sling because Singapore was her destination and it seemed the polite thing to do.
Polite? She bit back a grin. If the Cooper-Fords wanted to throw their money away, who was she to argue?
She halted by the luggage carousel and folded her arms, tried to push away the frown that wanted to settle over her. She wasn’t taking advantage of James Cooper-Ford. People like her didn’t get the opportunity to take advantage of people with double-barrelled surnames. But her suitcase was one of the first to drop to the carousel, and it had her shoulders inching a fraction closer to her ears as she tried to fight off the guilt needling through her.
As she manoeuvred through the airport, her eyes started to widen. There were trees. Inside the building. She wasn’t talking little standards in pots here, but towering trees. And a wall of cascading water. Not to mention tubs of orchids everywhere. She pressed a hand to her chest. It all looked so calm and beautiful. It left her feeling revitalised and oddly restored. Drawing a breath into lungs that felt as if they hadn’t had a chance to breathe properly in months, a tiny flicker of hope flirted at the edges of her consciousness. Maybe Singapore would help her find her creative mojo again.
Staring every which way, she tried to take it all in. According to her guidebook this wasn’t even the most beautiful part of the airport. The Jewel on the airport’s eastern side held an amazing tropical forest garden spanning five storeys and an extraordinary waterfall—the tallest indoor waterfall in the world. She was definitely seeing that before she found a taxi and headed into the city proper. She wasn’t coming all this way and not experiencing that.
Oh, really? said that voice in her head—she could see it fold its arms and tap its foot. And what does that tell you?
Her hand clenched around the handle of her suitcase. She had nothing—nothing—to feel guilty about. It wasn’t possible to take advantage of a company like Molto Arketa. The iconic luxury fashion label was worth billions of dollars. It had men and women in sharp suits, and a board of directors, and the world’s most feted designers...not to mention a raft of up-and-coming bright young things.
And they wanted her.
Or, more to the point, they wanted her company—Beach Monday. Though the likelihood of her selling Beach Monday to a company with MA’s appalling record of workplace exploitation was laughable.
She’d still accepted this two-week junket in Singapore to ‘discuss’ things, anyway.
But that didn’t mean she was taking advantage of the company. She hadn’t hidden how she felt. Besides, she was just one tiny person—no billions or millions.
Her fledgling Beach Monday business might be considered one of the hottest new things around at the moment, but the key word in that sentence was fledgling. Every cent she had she’d poured into her business, and she’d have to watch every penny while she was here. She wasn’t risking everything she’d worked so hard for over the last nine years to make a mistake now. She’d be frugal with her money and on her guard. She had no intention of letting the attention of such a prestigious company go to her head or slip under her guard.
Uh-huh, and you claim you’re not taking advantage of anyone? You’re in Singapore under false pretences. Is that what you’d call ethical?
At that exact moment she glanced up to see her name held high on a gold-embossed placard by a man dressed in a dark suit. Beside him stood another man in another suit and although she wasn’t that kind of designer she could tell that the difference between those two suits was the difference between owning a nice house in the suburbs and owning the world.
Her heart sank. Not only had James Cooper-Ford sent a driver for her, he’d come himself to welcome her. In person.
People like him—people who owned the world—could afford to send drivers, they could afford to offer two-week trips to Singapore, and they could afford to buy whatever they damn well pleased. But no matter how much she reminded herself of that fact, guilt continued to drill away at her insides.
She should turn around and jump on the next flight back to Sydney.
And then what? She needed to make a decision about Beach Monday, and soon. That was the reason she’d come to Singapore. She’d thought of it as a breather—a chance to straighten her head out. But she should’ve done it on her own time, not on James Cooper-Ford’s.
Before she could turn tail and run, however, James, as if aware of her scrutiny, glanced across at her. Not wanting to appear an utter ninny, she forced herself forward. ‘Mr Cooper-Ford.’
If her appearance surprised him, he didn’t betray it by so much as a flicker of an eyelash. ‘Ms Minslow, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person.’ His hand was cool and his clasp firm, but not too firm, and the economy of his movements made her feel gauche and uncoordinated and travel soiled. To hide how she felt, she held her hand out to the other man.
He blinked but shook it. ‘I’m Robert. Your driver, ma’am.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ She turned back to her host. Assessing blue eyes raked her face. The man was utterly, utterly impeccable—like a model in a glossy Molto Arketa fashion spread. She doubted a single dark hair on his head would dare flip out of place. Which, perversely, had her aching to reach up and mess it up.
He was the most perfectly beautiful man she’d ever seen in the flesh. Not in a modern Hemsworth brothers kind of way, but in a young Gregory Peck kind of way. Yesterday she’d have sworn she preferred the Hemsworth look, but she’d have been wrong. Even now she tried telling herself she preferred the breadth of Thor’s shoulders, but it was a lie. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the breadth of Gregory Peck’s shoulders. Or James Cooper-Ford’s.
A frown appeared in his eyes, though it did nothing so vulgar as crease his brow. Dear God. She was staring. Stop staring!
‘I trust your flight was a good one, Ms Minslow?’
Did he have to be so polite? Was it really necessary for him to have gone to so much trouble? ‘Please, call me Christy. And the flight wasn’t just good, it was glorious.’ Worse luck. ‘I mean, truly glorious. I have to go online now and give the airline and staff the best review ever.’
He looked a tiny bit shell-shocked. ‘You leave...reviews?’
‘Of course I do. And if you’re happy with the service you receive, so should you,’ she added stoutly.
Dear God, what was she doing? Rein your mouth in, Christy.
He bent towards her slightly, the frown in his eyes deepening, and her mouth went dry. ‘I’m pleased your flight was so pleasant. However... Christy—’ the hesitation before he said her name made her pulse stutter and start ‘—forgive me, but is something wrong?’
His soft American vowels did something strange to her insides. Damn it! Why did he have to come and meet her at the airport as if she were a VIP? ‘I just... I didn’t expect you to send a driver for me, let alone meet me at the airport in person.’
His fingers flexed and stretched as if in defiance of the iron will that controlled them. ‘I’m sorry if that’s unwelcome.’
‘Of course it’s not unwelcome. But...’
He leaned towards her a fraction again and from the corner of her eye she saw Robert rein in a smile, and she knew he understood her dilemma.
She gestured. ‘There you are in your perfectly impeccable suit looking perfectly...impeccable. And here I am in my yoga pants and Minnie Mouse T-shirt looking...well, not looking perfectly impeccable. If I’d known you were going to meet me I’d have slipped to the restroom and donned my perfectly impeccable suit too.’
He smiled—for real—and it made her realise that everything that had come before had been a polite sham. ‘That doesn’t matter in the slightest. You’re not supposed to look perfectly impeccable after an international flight.’
‘Says the man behind a designer fashion label,’ she said as Robert took her suitcase. ‘So I don’t believe that for a moment.’
She said it to keep him smiling, but her words had the opposite effect. ‘You can wear your suit tomorrow when I take you to see the Orchard Road store.’
She kept her chin high.
Please don’t let him start talking business already.
‘Wear my suit tomorrow? I’m sorry, but it’s too late now.’ No way was he seeing her off-the-rack suit. He’d loathe it. And it might in fact make him feel as if he had an advantage over her. That wasn’t going to happen. ‘The only way I can possibly regain any kind of ground now is to devolve to type.’
‘Which is?’
‘Retro-boho eccentricity—the staple for all us arty types.’
As Robert led them to the car the warmth and humidity of a Singaporean afternoon enfolded them, and she kissed her tropical forest and waterfall experience goodbye. It was October, so spring in Australia, which meant the weather had warmed—but not like this. This was like... She closed her eyes and dragged in a breath, her feet slowing to a halt. It was like a big beach hug on a summer day.
When she opened her eyes again she found both James and Robert staring at her. Heat rushed into her face. With a shrug, she kicked back into motion and fell back on the standard excuse of creative types since time immemorial. ‘Inspiration...research...nothing is too small to spark an idea. It’s important to savour every new experience.’
Which was something she’d barely had time to do in the last two years, and it occurred to her now with renewed force that it wasn’t the way she wanted to live her life. Being her own boss was supposed to have been a liberating experience, not a prison sentence.
Stop being a drama queen.
She glanced at the man beside her. Being a bigwig boss seemed to suit him. It should suit her too. Maybe studying him would give her some pointers and—
She dragged her gaze away with a gulp. At the moment all she seemed capable of was studying the length of his legs, the power of his thighs and the breadth of his shoulders—all very impressive. And yet noticing those things was far from professional. She focused on trying to not be so aware of him. Everything about him was a little too much.
He had to be busy—must have ten times more demands on his time than she did—and yet he’d taken the time to come and meet her and welcome her to Singapore. And no matter how much she told herself that it wasn’t personal—it wasn’t because he knew her or liked her—it didn’t help. Because what it did reveal was how much he wanted her to sign on his dotted line. In the service of that he was prepared to make her feel important, special.
The knowledge was oddly seductive—it’d be glorious to let herself sink into it and really enjoy it. But she couldn’t. She’d made the mistake of letting her guard down once before and it’d led to disaster. She wasn’t risking that again. Besides, if she let herself enjoy all of this too much she’d feel beholden to him.
You haven’t promised him anything. Not yet.
They sped along a highway lined with neat hedges of flowering shrubs, and with huge trees arching majestically above them. She fished her phone from her pocket to snap a picture of a tree. It’d remind her to find out its name later. And then she murmured, ‘Hollywood,’ into the dictation app on her phone. Gregory Peck and the golden age of Hollywood...? Could it become her next theme? Ideas had been few and far between over the last twelve months and she had no intention of letting a single possibility slip through her fingers. She was grabbing every teensiest tiniest scrap of an idea—even half an idea—when she could.
James raised a perfect eyebrow. His perfection was starting to set her teeth on edge. ‘If I don’t record my ideas as they strike, I’m worried I’ll forget them,’ she explained.
That eyebrow lifted even higher. ‘Hollywood?’
She tucked her phone away. ‘Don’t ask. If I try and explain where my inspiration comes from it sounds startlingly banal—to both my listener and me—and I lose the magic.’
‘I see.’
Did he? She doubted he cared. All he wanted was her signature on his contract selling Beach Monday to Molto Arketa. End of story. And don’t you forget it. Except her signature wasn’t a given and—
‘Oh, my God!’ She pointed, a thrill shooting through her, her train of thought abandoned. The Marina Bay Sands Hotel rose against the sky in all of its splendour and it left her momentarily speechless.
In her excitement at seeing the iconic building she’d leaned forward, drawing dangerously close to her host. She couldn’t read the blue of his eyes at all, but she could read only too clearly the sudden cramping of her lungs, the butterflies that assaulted her belly and throat, and the warm fizz that enlivened her blood.
Oh, no, no. That wasn’t going to happen.
She eased back. ‘I’ve seen pictures, of course. And I’ve read all about it, but I didn’t realise it’d be so big. It really dominates the skyline.’
‘You’ve not been to Singapore before?’
She shook her head. ‘How many times have you been?’
‘Five or six.’
He didn’t know for sure?
‘If you’d like to stay at the Marina Bay Sands, that can be arranged.’
He’d put her up in five-star luxury? Absolutely not! Regardless of how she tried to justify it, that would be taking advantage of him. ‘I assure you that I’ll be more than happy with whatever arrangements you’ve made.’
James couldn’t get a handle on Christy Minslow at all. She oscillated between a seemingly innate, self-deprecating exuberance to a withdrawn, hunched-shouldered silence that he associated with socially inept introverts—socially inept like a fourteen-year-old adolescent boy who was standing in front of the girl he had a crush on trying to muster the courage to ask her on a date.
He glanced again at his puzzling guest. Instinct told him social ineptness wasn’t something she battled with. And she was about as far as one could get from a fourteen-year-old boy.
For no reason at all, his tie tightened about his throat. He wished he hadn’t worn the tie. He wished he hadn’t worn the suit. He wished he’d warned her that he’d be meeting her at the airport. Except it hadn’t occurred to him that she’d think otherwise. Damn it! He’d wanted to make her feel special, not ill at ease.
He needed to find out why his unexpected appearance at the airport had made her so uncomfortable, and then he had to fix it. Whatever it was. He needed her to sign his contract. He needed Beach Monday. The extraordinary reputation Christy’s company had gained for its progressive stance on environmental accountability and social equity coupled with the links that she’d forged in developing countries was enviable. What was more, there was more demand for her products than she could currently meet.
If he could bring Beach Monday under the MA umbrella, it would prove to his recalcitrant board that incorporating progressive practices didn’t have to correlate to falling shareholder profits. Furthermore, it’d halt the groundswell of public outrage at MA’s outmoded policies and procedures. That groundswell was gaining momentum, but his board had become too entrenched in the old way of doing things to recognise the danger it presented. Not for the first time he cursed his mother’s refusal to look beyond the bottom line and for allowing a board full of dinosaurs, and his father’s memory, to hold sway.
Enough of that. He needed to focus on Christy, not his mother.
He watched as she bit her lip and turned a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle in the middle of the living room of the apartment he’d organised for her. MA owned both this apartment and the penthouse apartment above it, which was where he was currently installed. The complex was a charming six-storey colonial building painted a bright white, its window shutters sporting a variety of bright colours—pastel blue, red, yellow, pink. The shutters of this apartment were an inviting green. For the life of him he couldn’t remember the colour of the shutters in the apartment above.
It occurred to him then that the silence had stretched too long. Social ineptitude might not be Christy’s weakness but it was something he constantly had to guard himself against. ‘If the apartment isn’t to your liking—’
‘No!’ She swung to him. ‘It’s fabulous. I love it!’
Her words sounded sincere, but something lurked in the depths of those amber eyes and her riot of red curls seemed to momentarily droop as she stared at the gourmet fruit basket that adorned the small dining table—a fruit basket he’d personally selected. She didn’t like fruit?
No, that was ridiculous. Who wouldn’t enjoy all of that exotic freshness? He had the oddest yearning then. He wanted to see her smile again.
What on earth...? His gut clenched. While there was no denying that his guest was an attractive woman, that was not the way he did business. He needed to stay focused. There was too much at stake to risk muddying the waters with anything else. Signing Christy would be an unmistakable indication of the new direction he meant to take MA. It’d show the world that he was serious about making significant grass-root changes to the company’s current policies. And it would prove to the board that their out dated notions no longer held sway in this brave new world.
He moved across to the window to gesture at the view. ‘That’s Clarke Quay down there—it comes alive at night with a remarkable array of bars and eateries.’ She came to stand beside him and her scent rose up all around him—warm and inviting like a vanilla cupcake. ‘And that’s the Singapore River.’
He schooled himself to not breathe in too deeply. He wanted to find that sweet vanilla scent too cloying. Rather than edging away, though, he leaned in closer to draw as much of it into his lungs as he could. Once he realised what he was doing, he snapped away. ‘A twenty-minute walk along the river will take you around to the marina.’
‘Right. Wow, look at all the boats.’
He stared at the colourful assortment of boats lining the banks. ‘River cruises are popular with tourists.’
‘Oh, that sounds nice.’
He supposed it did if you were into touristy things. Which he wasn’t. ‘I can organise one for you if you’d like.’ Where Christy and Beach Monday were concerned, nothing was too much trouble.
‘Oh, no, there’s no need for that.’
She said it quickly. Too quickly. Maybe she wasn’t into touristy things either. But then he recalled her face when she’d first spied the Marina Bay Sands Hotel and shook his head. She was exactly the kind of person who’d revel in a boat cruise.
He was also getting the distinct impression she’d like him to leave her alone now. As an introvert himself, he understood the need for peace and quiet. Setting his business card on the coffee table, he turned back towards her. ‘I’ll leave you to rest after your flight. Call me if there’s anything you need or if you have any questions.’
She eyed his card as if she expected it to bite her. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’
‘As I mentioned earlier, if you’ve no objections I thought we’d visit the Orchard Road store tomorrow.’ He intended the new MA store to knock her socks off.
‘That sounds great.’
She was lying. But he was confident he could change her opinion. She might be in two minds whether or not to sign the contract he’d offered her, but tomorrow she would be impressed.
‘Why don’t I collect you at ten o’clock?’
The smile she pasted on was big and fake. ‘Sounds perfect.’
As James pounded through the park that ran behind the apartment block an hour later, he wasn’t any closer to working Christy out. Exercise hadn’t helped. And it was too hot—even in the late afternoon—to keep running at the pace he’d set himself. He’d finish with a walk by the river to cool down and—
He halted when Christy emerged from the apartment building, her red curls spilling down her back and creating a halo around her face. Her backpack was clutched to one shoulder, and she glanced around almost...furtively?
It made him frown. Something was wrong.
She was going the same way he was, but he didn’t try to catch her up. She’d made it clear earlier that she didn’t want company. But when she ducked downstairs to the underground railway he found himself following. Something in the slope of her shoulders had foreboding stirring in his gut. It occurred to him now that the expression in her eyes earlier had been guilt.
Why the hell would Christy Minslow be feeling guilty?
Unless...
His nostrils suddenly flared. Was she meeting with one of his competitors while she was here? He knew Maddox was interested. And Bella Falconi from Jasmine’s would make a move too if she could. But he thought he’d got a jump on all of them.
Acid pooled in his gut. Was it so damn impossible to find one honest person in this business?
He bought a train ticket that covered all zones, because he had no idea where she was headed. But if she was going to double-cross him, he wanted to know about it.
He boarded the same train she did, one carriage behind. Surveillance wasn’t his super power, but she seemed too caught up in her own thoughts to notice she was being followed.
God, he thought in sudden disgust. Was he really following her? This was akin to stalking.
What did he mean...akin? It was stalking. His mother would applaud his tactics if she ever heard about them and that wasn’t a comfort. What he should do was get off at the next stop and go back to the apartment, leave Christy to her own devices. Even if those devices were nefarious.
He dragged a hand down his face. Except there was so much at stake. If he couldn’t turn the current tide of negative public opinion directed at MA around then he’d find himself in charge of a sinking ship. He’d promised his father he’d do everything in his power to protect and promote MA’s interests, ensure its continued success.
He squared his jaw, resolution solidifying in his gut. This was his best chance of dragging MA out of its morass of negative publicity and winning back public favour. He wasn’t going to lose that without putting up a fight.
He remained on the train. He wasn’t following Christy to hurt her. He didn’t even blame her for being tempted by a bigger, better, shinier offer. But he was determined that his offer would be the biggest, shiniest and most tempting of all.
He didn’t trust his competitors’ tactics or their morals as far as he could throw them. They played by the same rules his mother always had. She’d had her reasons, he reminded himself. An ugly set of circumstances had shaped his mother. He understood why she acted the way she did. But it wasn’t the culture he wanted to cultivate at MA, and he wasn’t letting this deal with Christy fall through without having done everything possible to convince her otherwise.
She disembarked at the airport.
What the hell...?
Was she taking off back to Australia? Just like that? Without a word to him?
A quick check of his phone told him he hadn’t received any messages from her. Wait, she didn’t have her suitcase... Though, he supposed she could’ve sent it ahead—or left instructions back at the apartment.
A rock settled in his gut. If she was leaving, what had spooked her?
Christy, however, didn’t make her way to the check-in area. She turned instead in the opposite direction.
He followed her through the airport. She eschewed the internal train to walk the fifteen minutes it took to reach The Jewel complex. She entered the tropical rainforest garden, and he stood to one side, screened by palms and orchids, as she sat in front of the waterfall and stared about with wide eyes, as if drinking it all in. He could feel himself growing grimmer and more forbidding as he waited to discover whom she was meeting.
And he kept right on waiting. For the next twenty minutes Christy didn’t glance at her watch once, she didn’t cast searching glances at the entrances or at the people who walked past her, and James finally had to conclude that she wasn’t meeting anyone.
She’d wanted to see the rainforest garden? Something in his chest cramped. Why hadn’t she said anything earlier? They could’ve made a detour here before leaving the airport. Had she thought he’d mind?
He turned to leave. He’d infringed enough on her privacy, but hesitated when he glimpsed the slump of her shoulders. Something was troubling her. She was alone in a strange city in a foreign country, something was troubling her and—
Before he could think the better of it, he found himself winding his way through the garden to take a seat on the bench beside her.
She glanced at him—idly, preoccupied—and then did a double take. ‘Mr Cooper-Ford!’
‘James.’
‘I—What are you doing here?’ And then those hot brown eyes raked him from the top of his head to the tips of his trainers and back up again. He felt scorched, a low thrum of heat buzzing through his blood. He couldn’t push a single word past the constriction in his throat. Her sudden smile, bright and sincere, knocked the breath clean from his body.
‘You’re wearing normal clothes!’
The curve of her lips told him the discovery delighted her.
‘I—’ he cleared his throat ‘—was out for a run.’
Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Here?’
‘No.’ He had to tell her what he’d done. It’d be too underhanded otherwise. Sordid. But if she walked away... He ran a hand over his face. If she walked away it’d serve him right. ‘I followed you.’
She eased away a fraction. ‘You followed me?’
‘I didn’t mean to. At least, not initially. You were coming out of the building as I was coming back from my run. I was heading down to the river.’
She shuffled away another inch. ‘What happened to heading down to the river?’
His stomach clenched. ‘You were acting oddly.’
She remained silent.
‘I could tell something was bothering you. You were acting...well, almost guilty, I guess. It made me suspicious.’
Her gaze dropped.
‘I thought you were slipping off to meet with one of my competitors.’ The admission burst from him. ‘I wouldn’t blame you for being tempted,’ he hastened to add as startled amber eyes collided with his. ‘But I wanted the low-down if that was happening so I could put a new plan into place and—’
‘You wouldn’t blame me?’ Her mouth fell open. ‘Are you serious? I would! It’d be an appalling way to behave. You’re putting me up in Singapore for two whole weeks, James. That has to buy a certain amount of loyalty, surely?’
He’d hoped so, but hard experience had taught him that wasn’t the way the world worked. ‘When you got off here—at the airport—I was worried something had spooked you and that you were going home.’
‘That’s a little closer to the mark.’
Her words brought him no comfort.
‘But I can promise you I wouldn’t leave without telling you first—preferably face to face.’
But those words did. ‘Thank you.’
‘When did you work out I wasn’t meeting anyone?’
‘Probably five minutes after you sat down.’
Her brow crinkled. ‘Then why did you come over? Why didn’t you just leave? Why confess to what you did?’
‘I shouldn’t have followed you in the first place. It was a reprehensible thing to do, and I’m sorry.’ It was an effort to maintain eye contact but he forced himself to do it. ‘It seemed only right to apologise.’
She stared at him for a long moment. Eventually she nodded. ‘Okay, apology accepted. But it can’t happen again.’
‘It won’t,’ he promised.
Her gaze sharpened as if she sensed there was something else on his mind. ‘And?’
He hesitated. ‘Forgive me if this is out of line, but I can’t help thinking that something is troubling you. You’re alone in a foreign country and I’m your host. If there’s anything I can do to help...’
She lifted her hands before letting them drop back to her lap. ‘And see? That, right there, is my problem. I didn’t know that you’d be so...nice.’
He didn’t understand.
‘The reason you think I’ve been acting guilty is because I feel guilty. I’ve been sitting here having a silent argument with myself. And holding an imaginary discussion with you in my head.’
For some reason her confession didn’t scare him. His every instinct told him Christy Minslow had integrity. Somehow he’d find a way to allay her concerns—whatever they were.
He made himself smile. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to have a real-live discussion with the real-live me right now instead?’ he offered, his every instinct shifting into fix-it mode.
