Two weeks in Singapore...
...a deal to change everything
Designer Christy Minslow’s put everything into her fashion brand. Now she wants to focus on her designs, not balancing the books. When billionaire James Cooper-Ford invites her to discuss buying her out, she’s intrigued! After a past bitter betrayal, she’s cautious of James’s reputation. But in reality, there’s more to him than meets the eye. He’s funny, charming, attractive...and quite possibly just the holiday fling she needs!
“If we were just two people enjoying each other’s company at the beach, what would you say?” she persisted.
James’s heart pounded so hard he was amazed a tidal wave didn’t form beneath him. “I wouldn’t say. I’d do. I’d kiss you, Christy. Like I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I saw you standing in the foyer looking like every dream vision of a beach girl that I’ve ever had. I’d tell you that not touching you is starting to hurt. But if it’s a choice between being near you and not touching or not being near you, I’d choose the former.”
Her grip on his hand tightened. Her lips parted, her hunger blatant. “Here’s what I think. I think that for the rest of today—and tonight—we should pretend that we’re just two people enjoying each other’s company and nothing more. Everything that happens today has no bearing or impact on our business negotiations next week. Deal?”
Dear Reader,
Last year I was lucky enough to spend four days in Singapore, and it was nowhere near long enough! I’d only been there for a couple of hours when I knew I had to set a book in this wonderful, vibrant place. The mix of east-west cultures, with cool white colonial buildings sitting harmoniously beside Buddhist and Hindu temples, created a contrast that had me falling in love. The scent of the street food had my mouth watering in anticipation, while the sights—from the whimsy of the Merlion to the splendor of the Gardens by the Bay to the impressive Marina Bay Sands—filled me with awe and glee.
After many happy hours spent daydreaming, Jamie Cooper-Ford came striding across the surface of my mind. Jamie, the head of his family’s iconic fashion label, is opening a brand-new store in Singapore’s shopping paradise of Orchard Road. The designer he’s desperately trying to woo is Christy Minslow, and she’s frustratingly elusive and disconcertingly unimpressed with all of his wealth and prestige.
I hope you love Jamie and Christy—and Singapore!—as much as I did.
Happy reading!
Hugs,
Michelle
Singapore Fling with the Millionaire
Michelle Douglas
Michelle Douglas has been writing for Harlequin since 2007 and believes she has the best job in the world. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero, a house full of dust and books, and an eclectic collection of ’60s and ’70s vinyl. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website, michelle-douglas.com.
Books by Michelle Douglas
Harlequin Romance
The Vineyards of Calanetti
Reunited by a Baby Secret
Snowbound Surprise for the Billionaire
The Millionaire and the Maid
A Deal to Mend Their Marriage
An Unlikely Bride for the Billionaire
The Spanish Tycoon’s Takeover
Sarah and the Secret Sheikh
A Baby in His In-Tray
The Million Pound Marriage Deal
Miss Prim’s Greek Island Fling
The Maid, the Millionaire and the Baby
Redemption of the Maverick Millionaire
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
To all the readers who’ve ever dropped me a line to tell me how much they’ve loved my books, who’ve left reviews and who’ve shared their enthusiasm for the romance genre with me. You are all awesome.
Praise for
Michelle Douglas
“I loved it so much, Ms. Douglas has never disappointed me with one of her stories, but I think this is her best one yet that I have read... It is filled with witty banter and emotions and is sure to leave the reader very happy.”
—Goodreads on The Maid, the Millionaire and the Baby
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Excerpt from Christmas Reunion in Paris by Liz Fielding
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 l
abel 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.’
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