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Her right eyebrow lifted. “Mr Tanner—”
“Simone.” He offered her his most charming smile. “I’m sure you can force yourself to call me Ryan.”
She blinked, then managed a stiff quarter-smile. “Ryan, we both know I’m not here for a literary critique.” Sitting back, with her slim hands folded in front of her, she studied him grimly. “And I’m sure you’ll agree that my story might have had a greater sense of immediacy, not to mention accuracy, if I’d been able to consult my diary.”
He shrugged. “You made it rather difficult for me to return it. There were absolutely no contact details.”
She dismissed this with an impatient wave of her hand. “I didn’t expect to lose it. I’m always exceptionally careful.”
“I’m sure you are.”
She shot him a narrow look as if she suspected he was teasing her.
“Unfortunately,” he added, “your taxi driver wasn’t so careful.”
Simone’s eyes widened.
“The diary fell out while he was cramming your backpack into the boot.”
“I thought something like that must have happened. I rang the cab company, but no one handed it in.”
Ryan sighed. “I rang the airport lost property, but no one had listed any contact details for a lost diary.”
Tense silence fell as she sat watching him, challenging him with her deep, blue, disapproving eyes. “You did bring it, didn’t you?”
No point in playing games. Ryan took the book out of his coat pocket and set it on the table.
Her mouth tightened as she stared at it. “I suppose you’ve read every word.”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”
She shot him a sharp, doubtful look, bristling with disbelief, and then, with an impatient cry, she reached for the book. Almost instinctively Ryan’s hand closed over hers. Why? He couldn’t quite explain.
Simone gasped and Ryan felt a fine tremor pass through her, through him. She dropped her gaze and he saw the thick half-moons of her lashes and the faint golden-brown dusting of colour on her eyelids, the pink gloss on her lips.
“Why don’t you believe me, Simone?”
She wouldn’t look at him.
He persisted. “If our roles were reversed, would you have read my diary?”
For a split second she looked up, her blue eyes momentarily bewildered, shining with a suspect sheen. Her pink mouth tightened. “Why do you want to know that? Do you keep a diary?”
“No,” he admitted. “But that’s not the point.”
For the first time she smiled, but her smile was cool and intensely sceptical. “I think the point is that you’re trying to sidetrack me with hypothetical arguments.”
Sighing, he let go of her hand. It was very clear that it didn’t matter what he said; she would never believe him, had no intention of trusting him. Crazy how much that bothered him.
Simone pulled the diary across the table towards her, flipped through its pages, casting frantic glances here and there, and then snapped it shut. Looked worried.
Their meals arrived and she put the diary in her handbag and busied herself pouring green tea into tiny white cups for both of them. The food looked delicious, smelled divine.
Hoping to defuse the tension, Ryan picked up his chopsticks and clicked them together. “I guess you’re an expert at using these now.”
Ignoring him, Simone stabbed her sticks nervously into her fish. “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Take it easy, Simone. I’m not here to drag a story out of you.”
She shot him a doubtful, dark-lashed glance. “Don’t, for one moment, imagine you can charm it out of me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of anything so low.”
“Then why are you here? Why couldn’t you have simply dropped the diary off at my office?”
“I wanted to meet you.”
She lifted a sceptical eyebrow.
Ryan shrugged and offered the fail-safe smile that worked on every female he’d ever known, from old ladies to three-year-olds. “This food smells great. Let’s enjoy it.”
“I can’t eat.” She looked suddenly pale and pushed her bowl to one side. “Let’s not play games. Give it to me straight. You did read my diary and now you’re after more details. You’re going to print my story, aren’t you?”
So there was a story.
Ryan couldn’t help being intrigued. But he tried to reassure her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
With a huff of impatience, Simone stood, collected her handbag.
Ryan jumped to his feet. She couldn’t leave now. The food smelled sensational.
She motioned for him to sit. “Enjoy your lunch. It’s on me.”
“That’s not necessary. You’re overreacting. Surely we can talk about this, Simone.”
But she’d already turned and, with her back very straight, she marched across the restaurant to the front desk, handed the cashier her credit card.
Stunned, Ryan was slow to follow her, was only halfway through the maze of tables when she turned again and sent him a look.
Other diners were watching them and Simone’s look was defiant, hard and sharp enough to cut Ryan in two.
Another step and he’d create a public spectacle. Damn. He’d really stuffed this, and chasing after her now would serve no purpose.
Lifting his hand in a curt half-salute, he flashed a final smile, turned and walked casually back to his table.
He lunched alone, without enjoyment, knowing all the time that Ms Gray had made a right royal fool of him.
But what it pointed to, of course, was the inescapable fact that there was something in her diary that was more dangerous and more distressing than he’d realised.
She was frightened of him.
Simone was still shaking when she got back to the office.
Closing her door, she collapsed into her chair with the diary clutched to her chest. She felt ill—and annoyed with herself for getting frightened and running away like that. But she’d been rattled from the moment RyanTanner had arrived at the restaurant and she’d realised he was the same guy she’d seen in the taxi queue at the airport!
She’d felt shocked and foolish. Last week she’d thought he was smiling at her, and she’d actually smiled back. In reality, Tanner was more likely to have been smirking than smiling. And she’d been silly enough to think he was hot-looking.
What an idiot she was!
Since when had she been taken in by a hot body, a suntan and soulful brown eyes? She let out a long, exhausted sigh. At least she had the diary now. And Ryan Tanner hadn’t followed her.
It was a hollow victory.
Tanner might not have come after her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t publish her story—or Belle’s and Claire’s stories for that matter.
Oh, cringe.
With an angry little cry, she reached down and opened the bottom drawer of her desk, dropped the diary into it and then locked it, slipped the key into a pocket inside her handbag.
Then she swivelled in her chair to face her desktop computer. She had to send emails to Belle and Claire. To confess what had happened and to warn them.
Would they ever forgive her?
Next morning brought no relief for Simone. She stared at her computer screen and felt so on edge her teeth almost severed her lower lip. She’d spent a restless, sleepless night, racked with dread. She scanned this morning’s newspapers and could find no sign of a story about her, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before Ryan Tanner published everything.
How would she ever survive? What would her friends and colleagues think of her? Her grandfather?
She would try ringing Murrawinni again to warn her grandfather, but just thinking about his reaction roused a frantic mass of butterflies in her stomach.
And, to make matters worse, she had to worry about Belle and Claire too. Overnight, emails had arrived from them and, although both girls had been remarkably cool and very understanding, not blaming her at all for losing her diary, she knew they were worried.
Claire had written:
I can’t say I’m happy to know my dirty laundry will soon be hanging out to dry on the public line, but I certainly don’t blame you, Simone.
It’s not your fault that jerk has decided to make a name for himself at our expense. Don’t beat yourself up over it. If anyone deserves a good thrashing, it would be Ryan Tanner.
In the meantime, I can’t keep waiting for Ethan to return my phone calls. I think a little trip is in order.
Belle had been equally sympathetic.
But, although her friends were kind and supportive, Simone knew they were upset. There was no way they wouldn’t be. They were both high profile women, sure to attract huge media attention if their stories were leaked to their local press. The girls would be mortified! Belle’s career as a breakfast show host would be ruined. Claire’s famous family would be outraged.
And, perhaps even more importantly, if the beans about their Himalayan pacts were spilled, their missions would be in jeopardy. She mustn’t allow that to happen. Belle really, really needed to track down her sister, Daisy, and Claire desperately wanted to find Ethan, her ex-husband.
Simone couldn’t let the loss of her diary ruin their plans. She mustn’t; she wouldn’t.
She typed two words—Ryan Tanner—into her favourite Internet search engine and pages of links flashed on to her screen. She knew that some of the links would be false leads, but there were sure to be one or two that related to the Ryan Tanner she’d met. With luck, she would find something she could follow up…something she could use to her advantage…to keep him quiet.
She had to find a way to stop Tanner.
He deserved this.
Didn’t he?
Fifteen minutes later, she grinned at her computer screen, delighted with what she’d discovered. While it was true that Ryan Tanner was a journalist who’d worked for The Sydney Chronicle and a couple of London papers, it was what he had not told her that excited her now.
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