“Speaking of brother or sister, Dom and Nathalie just found out they’re expecting.”
“That’s fantastic.”
“Like I said, we need to get married immediately. Dominic knows a judge who’ll waive all the rules for us.”
“I have to admit I don’t mind marrying into your aristocratic family after all. A perk like that I can live with. But the greatest one of all is that I’m actually going to marry the prince I once dreamed about. Dreams like that just don’t come true in real life.”
“Kiss me again before I call my cousins. They’ll be in shock when they find out I’m marrying the most gorgeous woman in all Provence.”
Alain came running over and clasped them both around the legs. He looked up with those shiny black eyes so much like Raoul’s, Cami melted.
“Papa—Cam—”
“Oh, darling—” Her heart was bursting with happiness.
Raoul pulled her closer. “This is heaven.”
* * *
If you missed the previous story in Escape to Provence duet, check out
Falling for Her French Tycoon
And if you enjoyed this story, look out for these other great reads from Rebecca Winters
How to Propose to a Princess
The Prince’s Forbidden Bride
The Princess’s New Year Wedding
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Redemption of the Maverick Millionaire
by Michelle Douglas
CHAPTER ONE
THE PHONE IN the top pocket of Damon Macy’s pristine white business shirt vibrated. He pulled it out and gave it a cursory glance. A text with an email link and then a message.
You need to read this.
What the hell was Clay thinking, sending him anything today? He slipped the phone back into his pocket. Later.
His phone vibrated again but he ignored it. Darrell, his driver, as if sensing his employer’s impatience, glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘Your flight is on time, Mr Macy. We’ll reach Sydney airport in another four minutes. There will be an airline official waiting to escort you to your seat.’
‘Thank you, Darrell.’
His damn phone vibrated again. For pity’s sake, Clay knew he was off to clinch one of the biggest deals of his career. He’d been working on this deal for a solid eight months. It would cement him and his company—Macy Holdings—in the big league for good. He had no time for distractions.
He pulled his phone out again.
YOU REALLY NEED TO READ THIS!!!!!!
He blinked at the capitals and the line of exclamation marks that followed. Clay wouldn’t be contacting him now unless he thought Damon needed to know whatever that website link had to tell him. His best friend was always lecturing him that he needed to stop and smell the flowers, but he’d never undermine Damon’s work or aspirations—he knew how important this deal was.
‘You have two minutes, Clay,’ he murmured, clicking on the link.
A newspaper headline loaded on his screen. He stared at it.
Mirror Glass Bay residents outraged at new development!
Every muscle stiffened.
Mirror Glass Bay?
She lived in Mirror Glass Bay. He leaned forward to read the newsprint more quickly. She’d moved there and had built an entirely new life for herself after he’d...
He pressed a hand to his forehead, acid burning in his gut as he pushed that thought away and scanned the article. There was no reference to an Eve Clark. Not that he expected one. She’d worked hard to maintain a low profile.
According to the article, a new luxury beachside resort was being built in Mirror Glass Bay—less than a seven-minute walk from her beachside motel. His knuckles whitened about his phone. A brand-spanking-new resort had the potential to destroy her business.
He tried to still the churning in his gut. He owed that woman. And here was an opportunity to finally make amends—an opportunity for which he’d been waiting four long years.
She said she never wanted to clap eyes on you again.
His heart pounded. Hard. As if it were punishing him for the choices he’d made four years ago. The edges of his vision darkened and it took three breaths before he could ease the vice-like grip that tried to crush his lungs.
He would never hurt her again. Ever. But she didn’t have to clap eyes on him—he could make sure that didn’t happen. Regardless of how his every atom ached to catch the smallest glimpse of her.
‘We’re here, sir.’
He snapped to at Darrell’s words. Owen, his VP, who had preceded him to the airport, had opened the car door and was waiting for his boss to emerge.
‘Change of plan, Owen,’ he said, exiting in one smooth movement, although internally things burned, rocked and crashed. Damon had learned early on never to reveal internal turmoil—a skill that had held him in good stead in the piranha-infested waters of the corporate world.
‘Damon?’
‘You’re going to Frankfurt without me.’
Owen’s mouth worked but no sound came out. With a visible effort, he reined in his shock. ‘You are planning to be there, though? I mean—’
‘Of course,’ he cut in, irritable with his VP’s shock, even though it was perfectly justified. ‘This is nothing more than a minor delay.’
His second-in-command straightened with a nod, all brisk efficiency again. ‘When will you arrive?’
Damon’s mind flashed to the newspaper article. Greamsman Industries Pty Ltd was behind the development. His lips twisted. He and Kevin Greamsman had history. ‘I’ll aim to fly out tomorrow.’ He bit back an oath. ‘But in all likelihood I won’t get away until Wednesday.’ The timing couldn’t be worse.
‘Negotiations are expected to proceed the day we arrive.’ Owen’s colour came and went. ‘Herr Mueller is going to be...disappointed.’
Herr Mueller would take it as a personal affront. They both knew that. ‘Thank you for pointing out the obvious.’
His VP had the grace to look shamefaced.
‘I’m not expecting you to perform miracles, Owen. Just concentrate on smoothing things over as well as you can until I get there.’
‘Got it,’ the other man said with a lamentable lack of enthusiasm.
He forced a weary severity to his voice. ‘This is what I pay you the big bucks for. If you’re not up for it, there are at least five other candidates who’d snap my arm off for the opportunity, and—’
‘I’m definitely up for it,’ Owen assured him with what should’ve been gratifying haste. ‘You took me by surprise, that’s all.’
Damon had taken himself by surprise; he was risking eight months’ worth of hard work.
You owe her.
‘I’ll take care of Herr Mueller. You have my word.’
He clapped his VP on the shoulder. ‘Good man.’
Damon turned to the airline executive who stood waiting nearby. Until this moment, he’d never particularly regretted not owning his own private jet. It had always seemed such an unnecessary indulgence.
Until today.
He consoled himself with the thought that, if he closed this deal with Herr Mueller, he could buy a whole fleet of jets if he wanted.
‘I need to get to Byron Bay. Can you organise a charter for me?’
The airline executive gave a nod, pulled a phone from her pocket and began making the arrangements.
‘Is there anything I need to know?’ Owen hesitated. ‘About Byro
n Bay?’
Damon shook his head. ‘This is personal, I’m afraid. Not business.’
‘Roger.’
A moment later another airline official appeared and gestured for Owen to follow him. The two men said cursory farewells and Damon’s steward led him to a private luxury lounge. ‘We should have you in Byron Bay by four o’clock, Mr Macy.’
Damon glanced at his watch. That was nearly four hours away.
‘Joshua at the bar will organise any refreshments that you need. Let him know what you want and if you require use of the business centre. In the meantime, can I get you a drink?’
‘Coffee—hot, black and strong.’ He hit speed dial for his PA’s number. ‘I’d appreciate it if Joshua could keep it coming.’ He needed his wits sharp and honed. He pressed his phone to his ear. ‘Philip, I need you to find out everything you can about the new Greamsman development that’s about to start in Mirror Glass Bay. And I need it yesterday.’
‘Onto it,’ Philip said without hesitation.
* * *
‘You want to what?’
Kevin Greamsman leaned across the table in the boardroom of one of Byron Bay’s most exclusive hotels to stare at Damon with an exaggerated lift of his eyebrows.
Damon shifted his gaze from his competitor’s face to the view out of the window. The boardroom boasted a comprehensive view of the coastline. Numerous travel magazines and tourist boards had voted Byron Bay one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. Damon stared out at it with impassive eyes. They were right—it was magnificent.
But he didn’t care about the view. He cared about the deal.
He shifted back to Greamsman. ‘I want to buy you out,’ he repeated. Mirror Glass Bay was a thirty-minute drive from Byron Bay and, from all accounts, sleepy. Where Byron Bay thrived on tourism, Mirror Glass Bay was doing its best to preserve its ‘off the beaten track’ tranquillity. While apparently beautiful, Mirror Glass Bay lacked Byron’s colour, sophistication and the ultra-hippy surf vibe that brought tourists flocking from all corners of the globe.
The older man’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t like you, Demon, and I don’t like your tactics. What do you know that I don’t?’
He used the nickname many in the industry called Damon behind his back, but few had the courage to use it to his face. ‘You don’t have to like me, Greamsman. I keep telling you—this is business, not personal.’
Though he knew Greamsman wouldn’t believe him. He was convinced Damon had used underhand tactics to win two recent government tenders. He no doubt now thought Damon had an inside track on some piece of news that would change the complexion of a development in Mirror Glass Bay in a more favourable way.
Rather than playing games or trying to field questions, he chose to be honest with the other man. ‘I find myself becoming sentimental in my old age.’ Old? He was only thirty-two, though most days he felt closer to sixty. ‘I want to preserve Mirror Glass Bay’s natural beauty, its sleepy nature. There’s enough development and progress happening here in Byron and further north on the Gold Coast. It’s not unreasonable for developers to be asked to leave some places unspoiled.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
But Greamsman’s posture told Damon the opposite. It told him he did believe him and was trying to work out how to take advantage of it.
‘I know how much you paid for the site. A little preliminary research shows me there are another two sites in the area that would meet the requirements of the luxury development you’re planning. I’m prepared to offer you a fair price for the land.’ He wrote a number down and pushed it across the table.
For a gut-wrenching moment he thought Kevin might push it back without even looking at it, shoot to his feet and tell him to go to the blazes just because he could. Damon had risen to the top for his ability to read people, and he could read that impulse clearly in the face of the man opposite. Kevin wanted to tell him that karma was a bitch; he wanted to march out of this boardroom feeling that he’d got the better of Damon.
But that warred with a second impulse—curiosity. When Kevin reached over to turn the slip of paper towards him, Damon knew curiosity had won out. The older man’s eyebrows rose. ‘This is actually a fair price.’
‘I’ve already told you I’m not playing games.’
‘And yet I find myself recalling the sting of having lost out on the container ship contract and find myself unmoved by this particular offer. Though, perhaps another two hundred thousand dollars might help.’
Damon had already factored that in—knowing Kevin would up the price—but he didn’t betray that by so much as a flickering eyelash. ‘I’m sure that could be arranged.’
‘And I’m not signing that site over to you unless you sign a non-compete clause. I’m not handing over a piece of prime real estate just begging for development for you to then go and build your own luxury resort. I don’t trust you, Demon.’
‘You have yourself a deal, but only on the proviso you can have your man draw up the papers and send them to me for review before the close of business today,’ he said, refusing to betray how much he hated that nickname.
Greamsman glanced to the man on his left, who nodded, before rising and sticking out his hand. ‘Done. I’ll meet you back here in the morning—nine on the dot—to sign the papers.’
Damon refused to let his satisfaction show. ‘Till then.’
* * *
The papers were signed and the deal was done by nine-fifteen the next morning.
Kevin eased back, lacing his fingers over his stomach. ‘You want to tell me what you’re really up to now?’
Damon sipped the coffee Kevin had been good enough to provide, relishing the rich heat and full flavour. For the first time in two days he could finally taste something. Nerves had kept him screwed up too tight. He hadn’t wanted to fail Eve. Not again.
Not that she’d ever know about this, of course.
He glanced out of the window at the beach and the sun, at the golden sand and an emerald sea. Would there be time to take a walk on the beach before he left, to dig his toes into the sand?
He shook off the thought. What was he thinking? He needed to get to Frankfurt without delay—had to try and salvage the situation with Herr Mueller who was, from all accounts, far from impressed.
‘I had no hidden agenda. I told you the truth.’
‘In that case, you should’ve waited another couple of days, Demon.’
The nickname made his back molars clench.
‘Your haste surprised me. It was out of character. And you usually do far more due diligence before embarking on a deal of this magnitude.’
This deal had been far from usual, though, and the other man’s words made his gut clench. What had he overlooked? Where had he gone wrong?
‘I confess, I enjoyed taking advantage of your...recklessness.’
Kevin rubbed his hands together as if enjoying a great joke at Damon’s expense. Ice tripped down Damon’s back. What the hell had he missed?
‘I can’t say I’m sorry for it, though.’ Kevin chortled some more. ‘Nothing personal, Demon, you understand? It’s just business, right?’
Damon calmly sipped his coffee, though his stomach had started to rebel. ‘Want to let me in on the joke?’
‘That piece of prime real estate you just bought is about to be slapped with an environmental injunction. It appears that it’s a breeding ground for some rare seabird. I was walking away from the project—was chalking it up to experience. Instead, I made a killing. At Demon Macy’s expense, no less.’ He slapped the table and let loose a belly laugh that had his second chin wobbling. ‘You win some and you lose some—I believe that’s what you said to me last time we did business. I have to say, it’s a joy to see you on the losing side for once.’
The hard knot in Damon’s stomach eased. ‘I got what I came for, Kevin.’ Mirro
r Glass Bay and Eve’s business were safe, and he had every intention of keeping them that way. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a plane to catch.’
He turned away to stash the papers he’d just signed into his briefcase when the door to the boardroom crashed open.
‘Mr Greamsman,’ a female voice said, cutting through the air. ‘Is it true you’ve just pulled out of your resort development?’
A familiar female voice. Damon closed his eyes and bit back an oath. Eve! He hadn’t meant for her to see him, or even to know he’d been here. He’d resisted every bitter impulse yesterday to turn his hire car in the direction of Mirror Glass Bay just to see the place she called home. It took all his strength now not to swing around and feast his eyes on her.
‘You’re well informed, Ms Clark. Let me introduce you to Damon Macy, who has just bought the development site. I’m afraid I’ll be moving my operations elsewhere.’
Two beats passed. ‘Damon... Macy?’
He counted to five to give her a chance to gather herself—five, four, three, two... He turned, met her gaze and froze.
She wasn’t wearing make-up. It seemed the most inane of things to notice, but when she’d worked for Spellman and Spelman she’d never walked through the office doors, let alone attended a business meeting, without her armour, a full face of make-up. He didn’t know what it meant.
He opened his mouth but snapped it shut again. What was he going to say—you’re not wearing make-up? Looking good, Evie? Can I kiss you? All of them were totally inappropriate.
And her white-faced shock tore him to the centre of his being. He’d known she never wanted to see him again, but to be presented with such stark evidence made him feel physically sick.
Her familiarity, though, punched through him in a way he hadn’t expected, rocking him to his foundations. He hadn’t known he had anything left inside him that could still want. And he wanted her with a ferocity that had only increased in the four years since he’d last seen her.
Falling For His Unlikely Cinderella (Escape To Provence Book 2) Page 15
