She shrugged. ‘If you don’t have time for the beach then you can’t tell me what I want to know.’
‘That’s a black mark I’m never going to be able to erase, isn’t it?’
The man was so impossibly beautiful she had to force herself to gaze away, needing something to focus on beyond that tempting mouth and a rugged jaw that had her palms itching to slide across it. ‘It’s nothing of the sort. Just a case of apples and oranges.’
The bus jolted to a halt and their shoulders collided briefly. She tried to turn her swift intake of breath at the contact into a gasp of appreciation. She pointed. ‘Look, it’s the Merlion.’
As she stared at the statue the feigned appreciation all too quickly became real. She clasped her hands beneath her chin. ‘Oh, my God! Isn’t it just perfect? I’ve read about it, of course, but—’
Her words petered out at the way his brow pleated, and just for a moment one side of his mouth hooked up and it made her blood race. If he could appreciate the whimsy of a Merlion then the man couldn’t be an utterly lost cause, right?
All too soon, though, his face assumed its carefully polite lines again, reminding her that his decision to come along to ‘protect his investment’ hadn’t meant that he’d thought he’d have fun too. She’d bet he’d meant to pretend to enjoy himself—to put her at her ease, maybe while moving chess pieces across that imaginary chessboard that squatted between them, to further his cause. She’d be foolish to forget that.
He glanced back and his eyes narrowed. ‘Did I say something wrong? I agree with you—the Merlion is splendid.’
Yeah, right. She waved his words away and stared instead at the city of Singapore as the bus trundled along, doing her best to ooh and ah at the glimpses of Chinatown that they caught from their seats. She wanted to put Jamie and his perplexing attitude out of her mind and focus on the here and now for a little while. The bus drove all the way out to the Botanical Gardens and she laughed when they had to stop and wait for a large lizard to cross the road. The entire time, though, she was aware of Jamie, and the fact that he studied her rather than the landscape.
Eventually the bus headed down Orchard Road—one of the richest shopping strips in the world. Her heart sped up and her stomach churned. ‘Which one is...?’
He pointed and, as if in sync, their tour guide promptly described the building as one of the largest and most iconic malls in all of Singapore, boasting the kind of designer stores that made her head spin. The thought that her beach umbrellas and other bits and pieces could be featured in such a store seemed utterly amazing—the stuff of dreams.
The fairy-tale quality faded when she glanced at Jamie again, and the reality of the decision she was being asked to make struck her anew.
Not too long afterwards the bus pulled to a halt outside Raffles, which was where they’d boarded. The white colonial building shone bright in the sunlight, looking like an oasis of cool sophistication.
She turned to Jamie. ‘You didn’t enjoy that at all, did you?’ The man simply didn’t know how to do R & R.
He started. ‘I didn’t not enjoy it.’
Not the same thing. Even if he meant every word he’d said about changing the grass-roots culture at MA, and could achieve all he wanted, she couldn’t risk handing over her company to a man who in all likelihood was going to burn out within five years. Not that she could say as much, of course. ‘You’ve been very quiet,’ she said instead.
‘I’m not a natural chatterbox.’
Ouch.
‘And I’m still trying to decipher your comment about me not being able to tell you about the French Riviera or the Greek islands.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve been frank with me, so I’ll be frank with you—that comment sounded passive aggressive. Was it meant to?’
‘No!’ She went to push her hands through her hair again, but managed to stop herself at the last moment. ‘I just meant you’d have been there for work, not fun, right?’ Before he could answer she ploughed on. ‘You can’t tell me what those places smell like or whether the sun feels different in Greece than it does in Sydney or on which beach the people smiled the most and looked the happiest, or which of all the beaches in those places you’d go back to if you had a spare week.’
He stared at her as if he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. ‘See?’ The word shot out of her like an accusation. She tried to temper her tone because, of course, he couldn’t see and that was the problem. ‘Those things—the scent of a beach, the sounds and the quality of the light...the feel of the sun—are what feed the creative soul. Or, at least, my creative soul. I need that kind of downtime to spark inspiration. While you...’ She shrugged. ‘Why were you in the Greek islands?’
‘We were shooting an ad campaign.’
‘And the French Riviera.’
‘Closing a deal with an investor.’
‘Did you swim while you were there?’
His Adam’s apple bobbed and she had a feeling that he wished himself a million miles away. ‘Only in the hotel pool, I’m afraid.’
No doubt after a session in the gym. She didn’t roll her eyes. It’d be beyond rude. But it was an effort to remember her manners.
‘Look, I was there for business.’
His glare might’ve scorched a lesser person. And...okay, it left her feeling a tad singed around the edges but she had no intention of letting him see that. ‘You’re in Singapore for business, but you’re playing hooky today.’
Except he wasn’t, was he? He was protecting his investment.
With what looked like a superhuman effort, he shrugged and spread his hands wide. He even managed a smile. ‘See? There’s hope for me yet.’
For no reason at all, her mouth dried and her pulse started to race. It made no sense, but she felt on some primal level as if she knew this man—as if something inside them was made of the same stuff. She didn’t know why it felt so important to her that he learned the art of R & R. But she ignored the impulse to take on the role of his tutor. The man was an adult. If he wanted to take a holiday and loll on a beach, then he could. She had no right to hassle him to do any such thing or to reprimand him for the choices he made in his life.
‘So,’ he said when she made him no answer. ‘Where have you decided to alight?’
‘The Merlion.’ It was the only place, other than Orchard Road, that had cajoled any kind of response from him. ‘And then we’re going to walk around to the Marina Bay Sands Hotel...and from there into the Gardens by the Bay because the one thing I want to see above all others is the Supertree Grove. Have you seen it?’
‘Only from the hotel’s rooftop terrace.’
‘The photos look amazing.’ She couldn’t believe he’d been content with seeing it only from a distance. How had he been able to resist?
Work, Christy. He’s only ever been here for work. The man lives for his work. Not sightseeing.
‘It occurs to me how different our lives have been, Christy.’
‘In what way?’
‘I’ve grown up with a lot of privilege. Money has never been an object in my world. I live a charmed life. I’m not sure people like me need holidays—not when our lives are so enviable and we have so many advantages.’
She eased back to stare at him. ‘You’re joking, right?’
‘I think you’ll find I rarely joke.’
Absurdly then she wanted to cry for him. Working twenty-four-seven wasn’t living a charmed life. Couldn’t he see that? ‘I did an online search on you, you know?’
His mouth opened and then closed. He frowned. ‘And?’
‘And the conclusions I came to—as far as one can make such conclusions—is that you work hard. Driven seems to be the general consensus. You have a privileged life, sure—’ a life she could only dream of ‘—but you work hard for it. So while I know you have an apartment in Manhattan with views o
f the East River, I’m wondering if you ever get the time to enjoy them.’
‘If you want to see the Merlion, this is our stop.’
She followed him up off the bus and lifted her sunglasses so she could meet his eyes directly. ‘You don’t lead a playboy lifestyle, you don’t skive off midweek to...to...’
His lips finally twitched. ‘To?’
‘I don’t know what rich people do to skive off,’ she confessed.
‘Have long lunches over some ridiculously expensive champagne in a swish restaurant overlooking the boat lake in Central Park.’
Um... Right.
‘Or head up to Martha’s Vineyard midweek to get away from Manhattan madness.’
Had she read him all wrong? Did he have a beach house in the Hamptons that he frequented, um...frequently?
‘Or stay out late in some trendy nightclub that serves drinks in test tubes.’
‘That was the nineties thing,’ she said.
‘It’s coming around again.’
Well, who knew?
He gestured to the path that led down to the waterfront and she kicked herself into action. ‘So, you do all those things?’
He grinned as if enjoying throwing her off balance. ‘Of course not. You’re right. I don’t live the playboy lifestyle, but I know what it looks like.’
She laughed; absurdly relieved she hadn’t read him wrong. ‘I thought you said you rarely joked.’
‘All of this sun and your sightseeing fever must be rubbing off.’
She managed to choke back a snort. Just. And then she simply stopped and stared as the marina came into view. For a moment she had to pinch herself. She was in Singapore. What was more, she was in Singapore being courted by a famous fashion brand. There might be some downsides to the situation. But this—right now—was a serious high point.
‘What do you think?’
Dark water sparkled with a million points of light, while opposite the Marina Bay Sands Hotel loomed, impossibly majestic. She moved as if in a dream until she stood at a railing. She stared at the water flashing below and gazed at the pretty tour boats scattered across the bay. Beautiful flowering shrubs lined the paths all the way around the marina—the pinks and whites and oranges of the blossoms festive and fragrant. Everywhere she looked people were smiling.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed. ‘Really beautiful.’ She glanced at him. ‘What do you think?’
He nodded. ‘It’s lovely.’
The beauty couldn’t be denied. They both continued to gaze at it all as if held spellbound.
‘I should be making time for the beach.’
His words floated on the air and she did a double take. Whoa, what?
He frowned, rubbing his brow, before swinging to her with a decisive nod. ‘You and I, Christy, are going to the beach—Sentosa. It’s supposed to be amazing. I’ll organise it for later in the week. And I’m going to prove to you that I’m exactly the man who can appreciate a company like Beach Monday.’
Dear God. She had a feeling that she should just surrender now and admit defeat. When the man looked at her like that she had a feeling he could talk a mere mortal like her into anything.
* * *
It wasn’t until his phone rang that James realised he and Christy had been staring at one another in a kind of suspended daze. He pressed the phone to his ear, barking a curt, ‘Hello,’ while mentally noting he’d better get a hat. He’d evidently caught too much sun this morning.
‘Mr Cooper-Ford, it’s Lien Marsh.’
‘Is there a problem, Lien?’ Lien was the manager of MA’s new Orchard Road store opening in a month.
‘I’m afraid so. I’m afraid there’s been a...spot of vandalism overnight.’
‘What?’
The way Christy snapped away from taking photos of the bay to stare at him told him how sharply he spoke.
‘How did this happen? How did the perpetrators get past security?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
Misery threaded her voice and he made a concerted effort to check his impatience as outrage swelled in his chest. ‘Have you called the police?’
‘They’re on their way.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Christy asked immediately.
‘Just let me call Robert first.’ He organised for his driver to collect him and then pulled in a deep breath. ‘There’s been a spot of bother at the new store.’
‘Spot of bother? You asked if the police had been called.’
‘I don’t have any further details beyond knowing there’s been some sort of vandalism. It’s nothing you need to worry about. I want you to enjoy your day and—’
‘I’m not abandoning you at the first sign of trouble. Today was supposed to be for you too.’
‘But—’ His protests were cut short as she took his arm and turned them back the way they’d come so they could meet Robert at the prearranged meeting point. He gestured back behind them, trying to ignore how the touch of her fingers sent a ribbon of warm heat flowing through his veins. ‘The Merlion, the Supertrees—’
‘Can all wait until another day.’
This woman had unbalanced him from the first moment he’d clapped eyes on her. Some respite now would be welcome. He gritted his teeth as the heat in his blood gathered momentum. Several hours’ respite from Christy would be very welcome. ‘There’s nothing you can do, Christy. And—’
‘I can offer moral support.’
Damn! How was he supposed to extricate himself from that? He didn’t want her seeing the store in anything less than tip-top condition. But to reject her offer of moral support would offend her. Mortally, he suspected. And that would have a direct bearing on her decisions regarding Beach Monday. Hell, it’d probably ring a death knell on their negotiations. Grinding back a scowl, he forced himself to meet her eyes. ‘That’s unnecessarily kind of you.’
He could see that his words puzzled her, but he didn’t know why.
‘I appreciate it,’ he added.
‘Come on, Jamie.’ She sounded as if she was trying to rally him. ‘You’ve just told me we’re going to Sentosa—which is dream-come-true material. This is the least that I can do.’
He was so used to people wanting something from him that for a moment he didn’t know how to respond. He eventually found his voice. ‘Thank you.’
His words seemed to satisfy her. And as they drove through the traffic towards heaven only knew what mess, he found some of his tension slipping away. He wanted her to see him as a man she could relate to. Perhaps this was a step in the right direction.
Fifteen minutes later he stared around the new store in horror at the mess that greeted them, a knot of anger balling in his chest. Such wilful destruction! It took an effort to turn towards Christy. Her pallor made him wince, and had him choking back his anger. She deserved gentleness—needed it, he suspected.
‘Christy, I will get to the bottom of this.’
‘They’ve...they’ve utterly destroyed my—’ she swallowed convulsively ‘—my beach umbrellas.’ She turned to Lien and tried to smile, and it slayed him completely. ‘And no doubt the beautiful displays you were setting up.’
The horror on Lien’s face speared into the centre of him, the glance she sent him agonised. He nodded briefly to assure her he had this, would take care of it, and that she could leave them to it. Her genuine distress that the artist in question was with him had found a home inside his own chest. Christy shouldn’t have had to witness this.
‘Christy, I—’
‘They’ve wrecked everything.’
And the result was hideous, a travesty. In amongst the luxury beach towels, funky swimwear and silk caftans, Christy’s Beach Monday umbrellas had been shredded and then strewn around like so much litter. Like sacrifices. Even the h
ardest-headed artist would find this devastating, and, while she was valiantly trying to hide it, he could tell that Christy was rocked to the soles of her feet.
‘It looks as if they’ve deliberately targeted Beach Monday.’
‘It looks worse than it is.’
She spun to him, eyebrows raised.
‘What I mean is your designs look deliberately targeted because we were setting up a special display to showcase them. We’d ordered in a multitude of your stock—’ all of it now in bits and pieces about the shop floor ‘—so we could make a statement and wow you.’
Damn it all to hell! Whoever had done this would pay. He and Lien had taken such pains yesterday to set this out to perfection. Especially the umbrellas, which were Christy’s pièce de résistance. He’d wanted Christy to be dazzled by the store’s displays. He’d wanted to seduce her with the glamour and beauty of it all. He’d wanted to make a big impression.
His hands fisted. They’d made an impression all right.
Please, God, don’t let her cry.
He’d understand it if she did—he sure as hell wouldn’t blame her for it, but...
She turned to him, her brow pleating. ‘Jamie,’ she started slowly, ‘do you get the feeling someone doesn’t want the two of us doing business?’
He stared. ‘You’re coming over all Nancy Drew on me rather than dissolving into—’
‘I prefer Phryne Fisher,’ she shot back. When he said nothing she added, ‘You might not know her. She’s an Australian creation. A daring private investigator in 1920s Melbourne who wears—’
‘I know who she is.’
‘Good. Then we’re straight on who I’m channelling here.’
He wanted to hug her. Though, perhaps, that wouldn’t be such a good idea. With all of that honeyed skin of her arms and neck on display she looked far too tempting.
His skin tightened and perspiration prickled his nape. He was far too professional to do anything crazy like kiss a woman he was doing business with—he couldn’t imagine anything more fraught. Especially when so much hung in the balance. In his experience, hugging could lead to kissing. So no hugging.
Singapore Fling with the Millionaire Page 5
