So far she’d got the card off one guy who claimed to be related to the Prime Minister which, she’d confided, wasn’t exactly the kind of endorsement she needed.
Pen had written her email and cell phone number down on other people’s business cards – half a dozen, she thought. Two had said they were entertaining in the New Year and would be happy with exactly what she’d provided for Michael, and had asked for quotes.
Michael, Carl, and Anita came up, and Carl reached over to kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you for that, Penny. It was a terrific evening. Congratulations.”
He stepped back, and Anita gave her the thumbs up.
“Agreed.” Michael kissed her other cheek, and murmured, “You knocked that one completely out of the park.”
Pen breathed him in. It was so different to Carl, the kiss; it felt so completely different. Michael’s scent, the sensation of his lips on her, that zingy awareness that seemed to sit all around her when he was this close.
“Thanks. Both of you,” she said.
Carl had slung his arm around Anita’s waist now, and she was resting her head against his chest and there was something so casual, so intimate, even something innocent about it, yet it was so incredibly sexy.
Pen looked away and found her gaze colliding once more with Michael’s.
“The car’s all loaded up,” Michelle announced. “There’s just the catering equipment we hired to be picked up.”
Pen said to Michael, “They’ll come by tomorrow morning if that’s okay with you. Their number is on the boxes in your spare room.”
“I’ll make sure I’m here,” he said.
Meghan and Brett had already left, and Michelle said, “Shall we go?” She beckoned to the door. “I’m beat, and I told Daisy I’d open up the shop for her tomorrow.”
Pen nodded. “Sure. I’m ready.”
Anita had turned around now, was facing Carl, her arms clasped around his neck, pressing closer to him as he slid his hands down her back and rested them on her hips.
Longing thudded through her and she turned away again to find Michael watching her.
For a moment he didn’t say anything, and her mind went blank.
“The bill,” he said. “Email it through and I’ll get it paid ASAP.”
“I might bring it over tomorrow,” she said impulsively. “I need to talk to you about something and I’d rather do it in person.”
He frowned at her. “Sure. Come on by.”
“Will you be in your office tomorrow afternoon?”
He nodded. “What’s it about, Pen?”
“It’s business related,” she told him vaguely.
“I’ll be in from one. Just drop by.”
He looked relieved. Did she imagine that, or had he thought she was about to bring up the other night?
Michael, you and me, the other night at the house? You kissed me, or maybe I kissed you, it’s all such a blur now, but I know something happened and I have no idea what it was about, but I need to talk to you about it.
She gave him a quick wave, and then, with Michelle hot on her heels, she left.
Chapter Eleven
THE OFFICE of McGuinn Spencer was located not far from the supreme court in what was known as the legal district.
Pen had barely slept for going over what she was going to say to Michael, and imagining him agreeing whole heartedly that of course she could get the use of the trust money.
But as she followed Michael away from the reception area to his office, hopelessness began to pit in her stomach and she couldn’t get it to go. No amount of deep breathing or positive thinking was helping. It was hopeless. Futile.
He’s not going to let me use the money.
It was her money, but he wasn’t going to let her use it. Wasn’t going to let her risk it.
Let me be wrong, she prayed, because getting Jerome’s shop hinged on this. Let this just be a bad feeling and nothing more.
Michael stood back silently, and gestured for her to go ahead of him into the office.
She took a deep breath before she turned to face him.
He said first, “I want to say again how incredible last night was. The food was superb, the service was great. Even Michelle,” he gave a wry smile, “seemed to have quite a few of the single men talking. And some of the not so single, but we won’t go there.”
“She has a way with people. Most people,” Penny added.
“Maybe she’s starting to grow on me. But, you.” He looked at her with admiration. “You’re really getting out there.”
“Your words mean a lot,” she said. “And that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you.”
His forehead creased. “I wondered what it was about.”
She took a long, deep breath, and tried to ignore the nerves playing havoc inside her. “I’ve been thinking about what I want to do - with my life. Where I want to be, and I’ve been considering it for some time. Even before my parents left.”
“Are you thinking of leaving Auckland?” There was nothing in his tone to indicate what he thought – or felt – about that.
She shook her head. “No. This is home, and I imagine it always will be. I can’t see myself living anywhere else. But I have been thinking - for some time - about opening a cake shop. A bakery, really, but specialising in cupcakes.”
“That makes sense when you’re so good at them,” he agreed.
She crossed her fingers. “I’ve been checking out premises, and I’ve been talking to people to get a handle on what’s required. And I think…” She took another deep breath. “I think I can make a go of it.”
“I’ve no doubt you can.” He was looking at her, a half smile on his face. “It’s good to have a dream like that. A goal to work towards.”
He was agreeing with her? She hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected…
Because he doesn’t realise I’m serious. Shock punched her, gutted her so hard it nearly took the wind out of her.
And he’s only humouring me.
After all this time, after last night, after telling her it had been amazing, he was still humouring her.
“I’ve found a place,” she said.
His eyes suddenly widened.
“The lease is incredible. It’s a favour from a friend, to help me get started. I’m getting a top location for edge-of-the-suburb rates.”
He let out a low breath. “Where is it?”
“It’s on Ponsonby Road.”
Surprise flared in his eyes, and he began tapping his fingers on the desk top.
She said, “The location is one of the best. This friend is really keen to see me get started, and I’ve run it by the accountant.”
Michael’s jaw tightened. Now, she realised, he was finally beginning to understand that this was real. That she wasn’t here to ask his advice.
She was here to tell him.
“I’ve worked out a business plan. The accountant’s made some suggestions but he’s on board with it.”
Michael stopped tapping.
“It’s too good an opportunity to let pass by. I know how to run a business. I’ve been running Portman’s ever since Dad left. I share-managed the café in my last job, and the one before that.”
Quietly, Michael said, “I know you’ve got that experience. But I don’t see what you want from me, since it’s clear you’re not after advice, and that you’ve actually made a decision.”
She pushed her shoulders back. “What I want from you," she said, “is the money Greg left for me in the trust.”
Michael went still.
She said, “That money will get me started. It will be enough for me to invest in the initial business and to cover the lease for the first six months.”
Michael pushed himself away from the table, and crossed the floor to the window. He stared out a moment, his back to her.
“You’ve spent a lot of time on this?”
“More hours than I’d ever admit to.”
She pulled her busine
ss plan out from her bag, and at the sound of the rustling, Michael turned around.
She said, “This is the plan. It has every detail you need to know.”
“You know what Greg intended you to do with that money. He intended it to be a deposit on a house or an apartment or a flat; something that might have taken you years to save up for. The Auckland property market is volatile and if you want to stay here, you’re going to need that cash, and you just said you see Auckland as your home.”
Pen put the folder on his desk. “I need the money for this. No bank will loan me this much, and even if you agreed that I could use it as security, it still won’t be an option. If the café’s a success, then I’ll be able to earn the money to get my own place. I’ll be able to use that as security, if I decide to look at the housing market.”
His shoulders had tensed and he looked down at her, his hands in his trouser pockets.
“I know this is unexpected,” she said then. “I know that Greg could never have foreseen that I’d want the money for this, and that you couldn’t either.”
She bit down on the feeling that it was because he’d never believed she was capable of earning money any other way.
That she was destined to clear tables and make espresso all her life, and work for someone else. That’s what Greg had always believed, and maybe she’d been guilty of letting him believe that. Maybe she’d been complicit, and was partly to blame, and Michael saw her the same way.
In spite of last night’s compliments.
She pulled an envelope out of her satchel, and said, “Here’s the invoice for last night.”
She set it on top of her business plan but suddenly, an unsettling sense of panic began to rise in her chest.
He wasn’t going to agree.
She didn’t know that for a fact. She couldn’t possibly know that.
But something was telling her she was wasting her time.
“I have to go,” she said. “I need to head back to the café and relieve the staff.”
Michael looked silently at her, confusion in his eyes.
“You’ll think about it?” she pressed. “Because I need to know soon, or I’ll lose the opportunity, I’ll lose this shop, and it’s an incredible location. It would take a miracle to get this kind of opportunity ever again.”
Confusion was etched in his face, and finally, he said, “I will think about it. And I’ll make a decision.”
And he added, “I promise.”
Chapter Twelve
IT HAD been twenty four hours.
Twenty four long, slow, dull, nerve-racked hours.
Penny flipped through the latest Martha Stewart magazine, then checked her phone.
Nothing.
It was the first time she’d sat still all day, and it was killing her. Already, she’d scrubbed the kitchen, tidied the pantry, and had even cleaned the windows. There was too much energy racing around her body, and she needed something to do, something to release it.
Even now, she began to feel it rise again. Began to feel jittery and restless, and it was an awful feeling.
Waiting was the work of the devil.
“I’d have given you the money if I had it,” Michelle said.
Penny looked over to where she sat with her hands dipped in a green solution.
Pen said, “I know you would.”
She pushed herself up off the chair, and the magazine slipped to the ground. She picked it up, settled in on the table, and straightened it. Then she picked up the whole pile, and straightened them.
Michelle groaned. “For God’s sake, ring him. Get him to put you out of your misery.”
“I can’t. I’m scared.”
“But at least you’ll know. At least you won’t be waiting and torturing yourself.” She took her hand out and inspected her nails, then dipped them again. “He’s got the power over you right now, and he’s stringing you along.”
Pen moved the magazines to the left. “What would the point of that be?”
Michelle shrugged. “All I’m saying is that he should tell you. He must know what he’s going to do. If he’s half decent he’s been stewing over it all night, like you, and is equally as tormented. Just like you.”
Pen sighed. “I hope so. But sadly the truth is probably that he’s got more important things to do than obsess over one piddly trust fund.”
Michelle looked at her sharply. “No, he hasn’t. There’s nothing more important than this because this is personal. And if there is, then he shouldn’t be the trustee of Greg’s estate. “Which means,” she pre-empted, “that you should ring him. Or even better, go and see him yourself so he can’t put you on hold or tell you he’s in a meeting.”
Pen glanced at her watch. She had an appointment with Anita at her Newmarket shop for an “assessment.” She could go and see Michael then.
“You’re right. I’ll head into town and see him.”
Michelle nodded. “We’ll go out and celebrate after.”
“How do you know it’s good news?”
“I don’t. But you know I’m selfish in that once you get your shop, you’ll be so busy you won’t have time for me. First Daisy, now you. My best friends are deserting me. But go. Because either way - one of us wins.”
MICHAEL WAS seated at the desk in his office as Pen shut the door behind her. A takeaway coffee sat at one side as his hands flew over the keyboard.
The view outside was bad. Overcast. Stormy.
Typical Auckland. They were predicting a wet Christmas Day, but that was nothing new.
He rose to his feet and said, “Come on in, Pen.”
There was nothing she could read into his words at all.
She drew a deep breath. “What have you decided?”
For a moment, it reminded her of Greg’s last days, knowing that these were his last, knowing that at any second she was going to have that grief slam into her that no amount of praying could prevent.
It was almost as if the world had stopped revolving and she was waiting.
Just waiting.
“I have made a decision,” he said to her.
Her mouth and throat went dry as he walked towards her.
He smelt of aftershave. It wafted to her and even though she had no idea what he’d decided, it still made her want to lean in closer, move to his neck, inhale…
“Pen, you can have the money.”
“What? Oh.” Inside her body flipped, her heart somersaulted, a wave of intense relief washed over her, so strong that for a moment she wasn’t sure if her legs would hold her up.
“Oh, Michael… Oh my gosh. That’s… That’s so…” There were no words. She shut her eyes, squeezed them tight. Her dream. About to come true. Her dream.
“But I’m not giving you Greg’s money.”
Her eyes snapped open. She stared at him as he looked down at her.
Confused, she said, “What?”
He grabbed her hand, pulled her to the sofa against one wall, and sat her down.
She ground out, “What do you mean?”
He had her hands in his. “I’m giving you the money.”
She stared blankly at him. “You’re giving me the money? But Greg…”
Michael tightened his grip on her hands. “Greg’s money is still there for you. It will stay in trust. I’m giving you what you need to start up your business.”
“But…” She pulled away from him, stood up, walked to the window and turned around to face him. “But why?”
“Because you want to do this. Because I can gift it to you. Because I’ve read your plan and its sound.”
A thought crossed her mind.
Had she guilted him into doing this? Had her pleading only made him feel obligated, because it had never occurred to her that he would do this? She’d thought only of Greg’s money, not Michael’s and she’d known that this had probably never been something the two of them had discussed because, jeez, even she hadn’t known about it.
She backtracked, tried to
think rationally.
“Why won’t you give me the Trust money?”
Michael sighed. “Greg wanted you to have that for a deposit on a flat, to set yourself up. It’s there for that. That was the intention, and I want to see that intention followed through.”
“If you weren’t in a position to give me the money, would you have agreed to give me Greg’s money?
“That isn’t the situation, Pen.”
“But would you have?”
“That’s ‘what if’s Pen and I’m not dealing in them.”
“And I’m finding it hard not to.” Her mind was racing. In the end, what did it matter? What the hell did it matter?
Michael raised his arms, exasperation pouring out of him. “You’ve got an opportunity and I’m helping you get there and you’ve still the trust money safely invested.”
She stared blatantly at him. “There are conditions, right? What are they? What strings are attached to this?” She raised her shoulders in a casual shrug but inside, she was suddenly anxious. “There have to be strings attached to this, right?”
He just looked at her, and she held her breath.
Finally, he shook his head. “There are no strings. There are no conditions. You can use the money for whatever you want. It will be nothing to do with me once it’s in your account.”
She stared at him, and wanted to believe he was telling her the truth. Wanted to believe he was just giving her the money.
But who did that? Who just passed over money like this when of course there was a chance it could fail. All her forecasting meant nothing if there was a downturn in the economy, if people had to tighten their wallets and buying cupcakes and coffee was the last thing on their list.
There were no strings attached.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” he said finally. “You don’t believe that I’m just giving you this money?”
“I want to,” she told him honestly. She managed a smile. “But you said yourself once, that whereas Greg didn’t much care about money, you do. You’re cautious with it. And yet…”
“And yet?” he pressed.
“Yet you’re giving it away.”
Christmas Down Under: Six Sexy New Zealand & Australian Christmas Romances Page 93
