- -
- 100%
- +
It had been a coping mechanism, and when the pacing had eventually stopped she’d thought Coral had finally adjusted to sleeping alone, but considering the early hour and the fact her mum was fully dressed, maybe her sleep patterns had been permanently shot?
‘Coffee?’
Gemma nodded. ‘Please.’
‘Have you come straight from a work site?’
There it was: the first foray into critical territory, a territory Gemma knew too well. How many times had she borne her mum’s barbs after her dad died?
Have you washed your hair?
Can’t you wear a dress for once?
No boy’s going to ask a tomboy to the graduation ball.
She’d learned to tune out, and with every dig she’d hardened her heart, pretending she didn’t care while wishing inside she could be the kind of daughter Coral wanted.
‘I actually got in last night.’
Coral’s hand stilled midway between the sugar bowl and the mug. ‘Why didn’t you stay here?’
‘I did. I bunked down in Dad’s workshop.’
Horror warred with distaste before Coral blinked and assumed her usual stoical mask. ‘You always did feel more comfortable out there.’
‘True.’
Gemma could have sworn her mum’s shoulders slumped before she resumed bustling around the kitchen.
Why did you do it? It buzzed around her head, the question demanding to be asked, but she knew better than to bail Coral up before her first caffeine hit of the day. She’d clam up or storm off in a huff, and that wouldn’t cut it—not today. Today she needed answers.
‘How long are you here for?’
As long as it takes to whip Rory Devlin’s butt into shape.
Devlin’s butt … bad analogy.
An image of dark blue eyes the colour of a Kimberley sky at night flashed into her mind, closely followed by the way he’d filled out his fancy-schmancy suit, his slick haircut, his cut-glass cheekbones.
At six-four he had the height to command attention, but the rest of the package sold it. The guy might be a cold-hearted, infuriating, corporate shark who cared for nothing bar the bottom dollar but, wow, he packed some serious heat.
She hated the fact she’d noticed.
‘I’m here for a job.’
She sighed with pleasure as the first tantalising waft of roasted coffee beans hit her.
Watching her mum carefully for a reaction, she added, ‘Out at Portsea.’
Coral’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with fear. ‘You know?’
‘That you sold out? That you got rid of the one thing that meant everything to Dad?’
To me?
She slid off the bar stool and slammed her palms on the island bench. ‘Of course I know.’
‘I—I was going to tell you—’
‘When? When I returned to Melbourne to build my dream home on that land? The home Dad helped me plan years ago? The home where I’d planned on raising my kids?’
Okay, so the latter might be stretching the truth a tad. She had no intention of getting married, let alone having kids, but the inner devastation she kept hidden enjoyed stabbing the knife of guilt and twisting hard.
Coral’s lips compressed into the thin, unimpressed line she’d seen many times growing up. ‘Sorry you feel that way, but you can’t bowl in here every few years, stay for a day, and expect to know every detail of my life.’
Shock filtered through Gemma’s astonishment. She had every right to know what happened to her dad’s land, but she’d never heard Coral raise her voice above a cultured tsk-tsk if they didn’t agree.
‘I’m not asking for every detail, just the important ones—like why you had to sell something that meant the world to me.’
Fear flickered across Coral’s expertly made-up face before she turned away on the pretext of pouring coffee.
‘I—I needed the money.’
She spoke so softly Gemma strained to hear it.
Coral—who wore the best clothes, used the most expensive cosmetics and lunched out daily—needed money?
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ she muttered, sorrow and regret clogging her lungs, making simple inhalation impossible.
She wanted to explain why this meant so much to her, wanted her mum to understand how she’d travelled the world for years, never feeling as sheltered as she did at Portsea.
She wanted her mum to truly comprehend the vulnerabilities behind her tough-girl exterior, the deep-seated need for approval she’d deliberately hidden beneath layers of practised indifference.
She wanted her mum to realise her anger was about the loss of another childhood security rather than not being consulted.
She opened her mouth to speak but the words wouldn’t come. Not after all this time. Not after the consistent lack of understanding her mum had shown when she’d been growing up. Why should now be any different?
When Coral turned around to face her she’d donned her usual frosty mask.
‘I don’t question your financials; I’d expect the same courtesy from you.’ Coral handed her some coffee with a shaky hand, making a mockery of her poise. ‘You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, no questions asked, because this is your home. But I won’t tolerate being interrogated like a criminal.’
Instinctively Gemma bristled—until she realised something. She valued her independence, lived her own life and answered to no one. Including the mother she rarely visited. How would she feel if Coral landed on her doorstep demanding answers to sticky questions? She’d be royally peed off.
Some of the fight drained out of her and she gave a brisk nod, hiding behind her coffee mug. Besides, the damage was done. The land was sold and nothing could change that. She’d be better off focussing on things she could control, like ensuring Devlin Corp respected the beach while they built their mansion monstrosities.
‘There’s a spare key behind the fruit bowl.’ Coral patted her sleek blond bob, an out-of-place, self-conscious gesture at odds with her air of understated elegance. ‘I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, Gemma, but I’m glad you’re here.’
By the time she’d recovered from her shock and whispered, ‘Thanks …’ Coral had sailed out of the room.
CHAPTER THREE
RORY flipped the rough-textured business card between his fingers. Recycled paper, no doubt, but there was nothing second-hand about the information staring him in the face.
He’d had the company’s PI run a background check on Gemma Shultz last night, after she’d thrust her business card in his hand and exited his display like a queen.
He had to admit the results of the investigation surprised him as much as the woman had last night. She wasn’t some crackpot lobbyist, hell-bent on delaying his project or, worse, ruining it.
Gemma Shultz was the real deal.
He ran his finger down the list: qualified as an environmental scientist at Melbourne University, spent a year at a major fishing company in Western Australia, specialising in marine conservation, two years working for a beachside developer in Spain, and the last few years freelancing for seaside construction companies keen on energy-saving and protecting the planet.
Impressive.
Not a hint of scandal among the lot: no throwing herself in front of bulldozers, no chaining herself to trees, no arrests for spray-painting corporate headquarters or flinging paint at fur-wearers.
Thank goodness. Bad enough she’d blackmailed him into giving her an interview. The last thing he needed was for the media to get a whiff of anything untoward.
His dad had done enough while he’d been in charge, gracing the covers of magazines and the front pages of newspapers with a constant parade of high-profile women while living the high life.
It was a pity Cuthbert Devlin—Bert, to his friends, and there had been many hangers-on—had been more focussed on squandering money than on running the company entrusted to him.
Rory shuddered to think what would have happened if Bert hadn’t abdicated in favour of chasing some model to Europe, though he had a fair idea.
Devlin Corp would have been driven into the ground and his grandfather’s monumental efforts in building the company from scratch would have been for nought. And what he’d been trained to do from his teens would have meant nothing.
He still couldn’t understand why Bishop Devlin had handed the reins to his recalcitrant son—not when he’d been groomed for the job for so long. Until his grandfather had explained he needed to give Bert a chance to prove himself, to see if his son was made of sterner stuff.
Rory loved his dad, faults and all, but he couldn’t understand why anyone would pass up the opportunity of a lifetime to run a major company.
A small part of him had been glad his dad had botched the top job, because he’d known it was only a matter of time till he got his chance. Now he had that chance no way would he let anything derail him—including a smart-mouthed, intelligent environmental scientist with seawater in her blood.
His intercom beeped and he hit the answer button. ‘Yes, Denise?’
‘Gemma Shultz to see you.’
‘Send her in.’
He threw her business card into the dossier and snapped it shut. Armed with more information than last night, he was prepared for a confrontation: on his terms. When the sassy blonde sauntered through his door he’d be ready.
Until the moment his door opened, she stepped into his office and his preparation of the last few minutes evaporated.
His gut inexplicably tightened at the sight of her in a staid black trouser suit and a basic white business shirt. Nothing basic about the way she wore it, though. The top two buttons were undone to reveal a hint of cleavage, and her fitted trousers accentuated her legs. Legs that ended with her feet stuck into work boots.
And what were those God-awful dangly things hanging from her ears? Dolphins? Whales? Burnished copper fashioned into cheap earrings that did nothing for her plain outfit.
His mouth twisted in amusement. Gemma Shultz was nothing if not original. She wore an off-the-rack outfit, no make-up, ugly shoes and horrid earrings. Yet she intrigued him.
He couldn’t fathom it.
She’d blackmailed her way into this interview and that had had his back up from the start. He didn’t like having his authority questioned, didn’t like some upstart environmentalist bulldozing her way in with unethical tactics, but what made it infinitely worse was he couldn’t for the life of him fathom why he’d agreed to this meeting.
What was it about this woman that had him so tetchy?
‘We meet again.’
Rather than offering her hand for him to shake, she surprised him again by shrugging out of her jacket and draping it over the back of a chair, making herself completely at home. And making his hands clench with the effort not to yank it off the chair and insist she put it back on again, so he wouldn’t have to notice the faint outline of a lace bra beneath the semi-transparent white cotton of her blouse.
Weren’t environmentalists supposed to wear hessian sacks and hemp bracelets and dreadlocks?
Annoyed at his reaction, he mentally slashed her interview allotment by five minutes. The sooner he got rid of her, the sooner he could get back to what he did best. Building the best luxury homes Melbourne had ever seen.
‘Considering your tactics last night, you left me no choice.’
A smug smile curved her lips, and in that moment he knew that whatever came of this meeting Gemma Shultz could become the bane of his existence if he let her.
‘I half expected you not to follow through on your promise of an interview.’
‘I always keep my promises.’
He crossed his arms, recognised his defensiveness, and immediately uncrossed them. Only to find his hands itching to reach across the desk and see if her hair felt as silky-soft as it looked.
Damn, what was wrong with him?
She was nothing like the perfectly polished women he dated, with their trendy fashions and manicures and cleverly highlighted hair. Women who wouldn’t be caught dead in a cheap suit and work boots. Women who wore diamonds for earrings, not copper marine life. Why the irrational buzz of attraction?
‘Your fifteen minutes has been cut to ten. Start talking.’
Unfazed by his curtness, she pointed to his computer. ‘By now I’m sure you’ve researched me and found a virtual plethora of information. So how about we skip the formalities and cut to the chase?’
Intrigued by her forwardness, he nodded. ‘Which is?’
‘I want you to hire me for the Portsea project.’
‘And I want to buy the island next to Richard Branson’s—but, hey, we don’t always get what we want.’
Her eyes narrowed at his levity.
‘I’m the best in the business. Give me a month on the project and I’ll ensure every home you build is energy-efficient while maintaining viability in the surrounding environment and ensuring the beach is protected.’
‘I’ve already had consultants look over the project—’
‘Hacks.’
She leaned forward and planted her palms on his desk, her chest temptingly at eye level.
‘You’re a smart man. You know in the construction business it’s the bottom dollar that counts. That beach? Last on the priority list. Which is why you need me. I incorporate scientific knowledge with environmental nous.’ She straightened, shrugged. ‘I’m a specialist in the marine field. You’d be a fool not to hire me.’
After the public debacle his father had made of the Port Douglas project, the company and himself, if there was one thing guaranteed to push his buttons it was being seen as stupid.
He stood so fast his chair slammed into the filing cabinet behind him, and he leaned across his desk—within strangling reach.
‘I can assure you, Miss Shultz, I’m no fool. You’ve had your say. Please leave.’
She didn’t recoil or flinch or bat an eyelid and his admiration notched further.
‘Not till you’ve interviewed me.’
She sat, crossed her legs and rested her clasped hands on one knee.
‘You promised me an interview so start asking questions.’
Stunned by her audacity, he shook his head. ‘I can call Security.’
‘You won’t.’
Her blue eyes grew stony as she met his stonewalling gaze head-on. ‘I’ve done my research too. You’re new to this job. You want the best for Devlin Corp. Let’s cut the small talk and use my remaining minutes here wisely.’
He fell into his seat and rubbed his forehead, where the beginnings of a headache were stirring.
Fine, he’d play this her way. He’d go through her little game for the next five minutes, then he’d personally escort her out and slam the door on headstrong, pushy women once and for all.
‘Why don’t you go ahead and tell me why a successful, headhunted, environmental scientist who has worked around the world wants to work on a Devlin Corp project?’
For the first time since she’d strutted in he glimpsed uncertainty as she tugged on an earring, before she quickly masked it with a toss of her hair.
‘I like to diversify. The size of a project isn’t important to me. It’s the probable impact on the surrounding environment. And the Portsea project captured my attention for that reason.’
Her eyes glittered with unexpected fervour as she sat forward, her hands waving around to punctuate her words. ‘Portsea’s a gorgeous spot. Beaches along the Mornington Peninsula are special. You can’t just dump a fancy-schmancy housing development in the middle of it and hope for the best.’
Increasingly frustrated that she saw him as some dollar-grabbing corporate raider, he had to cut this short.
‘Contrary to your belief, Devlin Corp doesn’t dump anything. When we take on a project of this magnitude we do extensive environmental studies—’
‘Done by consultants. So you’ve said.’
She waved away his explanation, leaving him gobsmacked for the second time in twenty-four hours.
‘I’m not besmirching your company’s reputation. All I’m asking for is forty-eight hours to head out to the site, collate my findings and present them to you.’
‘That’s all?’
She ignored his sarcasm, beaming as if he’d agreed to share CEO duties with her.
‘I promise you won’t regret it.’
‘I already do,’ he muttered, thinking he must be mad to contemplate giving in to her demands.
But something she’d said rang true: he’d hired consultants previously used by his dad, and while he couldn’t fault their findings he had to admit environmental outcomes weren’t his area of expertise.
The consultants presented their findings, he went ahead with the project regardless, and while no red flags had jumped out at him, how well had the consultants studied how the land lay, so to speak?
He had an expert in the field sitting in front of him, offering her services for two days. Businesswise, he’d be a fool to pass up expertise of that magnitude. Personally, he wanted to boot her out before she coerced him into anything else.
‘What do you say?’ She held up two fingers. ‘Two days is all I’m asking for.’
‘If I agree to this—’ her grin widened and he held up a hand to rein her in ‘—and it’s a big if at this stage, how much are you charging?’
She leaned forward as if to impart some great secret.
‘For you? Free.’
He reared back. He’d learned from a young age that if something looked too good to be true it usually was.
‘What’s the catch?’
She shrugged. ‘No catch.’
He glimpsed a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the pinch around her mouth, the fiddle with her earring.
‘Here’s the deal. If you tell me the truth about why this is so important to you, I’ll give you two days.’
She paled and he almost felt guilty for holding her over a barrel. Almost. For all the grief she’d put him through he should rejoice he’d finally gained the upper hand. No one got the better of him, but in twenty-four hours this woman had come close.
Indecision warred with yearning, before she finally sagged into her chair, the fight drained out of her.
‘My family owned that land.’
There she went again, flooring him without trying.
‘We bought it from the Karl Trust.’
She gnawed on her bottom lip. Her vulnerability was softening the hard shell he’d erected around his heart. Not from any grand passion gone wrong but for the simple reason he didn’t have the time or inclination for a relationship.
He dated extensively, squiring women to corporate events and charity balls and the theatre. But dating and getting involved in a relationship were worlds apart and he liked to keep it that way. He had one love in his life—Devlin Corp—and it suited him fine.
‘Karl Shultz was my dad. The land had been in his family for a few generations, in trust. It meant a lot to us—him.’
Her slip-up told him all he needed to know. This land had personal value to her, which made him wonder why she’d let it be sold in the first place. Financial liability, most likely, but it wasn’t his place to question her personal status.
‘I get it. This land meant something to you and you want to ensure it’s treated right.’
She clasped her hands so tight her knuckles stood out. Her reluctance to discuss anything deeper than superficialities was obvious.
‘Something like that.’
She clamped her lips shut to stop herself from saying more but he’d heard enough.
‘I’m a stand-up guy, Miss Shultz, and I value honesty. Especially in business.’
He held out his hand for her to shake. ‘You’ve got yourself forty-eight hours to do your worst.’
Her answering smile made something unfamiliar twang in his chest.
‘Thanks, you won’t regret it.’
She placed her hand in his, her callused fingers skirting along his palm and creating a frisson of electricity that disturbed him as much as the urge to hold on longer.
‘And call me Gemma. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other before this project is through.’
He opened his mouth to correct her, to reiterate it was two days only, but as she shook his hand and smiled at him as if he’d announced she’d won the lottery he couldn’t help but think seeing more of her might not be such a bad thing after all.
CHAPTER FOUR
AS THE elevator doors slid open on the ground floor, and Gemma stepped into the elaborate glass-and-chrome foyer of Devlin Corp, she wrinkled her nose. The place was lit up like a Christmas tree, despite the gorgeous sun outside, and she’d hazard a guess those lights weren’t dimmed at night. What a waste of electricity.
Not to mention the fancy flyers lying in discreet piles on strategically placed tables—way to go with conserving trees—and enough water coolers to irrigate an entire African village.
Maybe once she’d finished with the Portsea project good old Rory would let her overhaul his business.
Considering his perpetually bemused expression whenever she was around, she doubted it.
Exiting the glass monstrosity, she skipped down the marble stairs onto bustling Collins Street.
She’d hustled her way into that interview using bold tactics, and she intended on continuing to bombard Mr Conservative from left field.
He’d read up on her, from that folder sitting in front of him that he’d tried to slide under a pile of documents when she’d entered.
She’d expected nothing less from a go-get-’em businessman in his position, but he’d surprised her with his intuition. He’d picked up on why the land was important to her and laid out a little blackmail of his own.
He’d left her no choice but to come clean about her reasons for wanting to be involved, but rather than criticism she’d seen understanding in those perceptive blue eyes.
He’d understood. Surprising. It made her like him a tad. Enough to wonder why a rich, successful, good-looking guy in his early thirties—her research had been thorough too—wasn’t engaged or married or in a relationship.
She’d seen only a few internet hits of him in the glossies or newspapers. A guy like him should have had loads printed in the gossip columns, but there’d been surprisingly little bar a few pictures of the requisite arm-candy blondes/brunettes/redheads—stick-thin women in haute couture accompanying him to various corporate events.
For the CEO of Australia’s biggest luxury property developer, she’d expected more enlightening hits. Interesting.
As she threaded her way through the corporate suits rushing down Collins Street, with everyone in a great hurry to get where they needed to be, she took the time to look around. It had been years since she’d strolled through her home city. Her flying visits usually consisted of work and a quick obligatory visit with her mum.
As much as she loved Melbourne’s beautiful gardens and trams and café culture, she’d never really felt at ease here. Attending a private girls’ high school had exacerbated her alien feelings. She’d had few friends once the girls had discovered she enjoyed windsurfing and rock-climbing and camping more than sleepovers and manicures and make-up.
Throw in her love of physics and chemistry over art and literature, of participating in soccer games rather than tittering on the sidelines watching the local boys’ school, and her classmates’ shunning had been ensured.
She’d pretended she didn’t care—had blissfully retreated to Portsea on the weekends, where she could truly be herself in a non-judgemental environment that nourished rather than criticized. But after her dad died and her relationship with her mum went pear-shaped, the insecurities her mother fed at home had festered at school, leaving her emotionally segregated from everyone.
She’d learned to shelter her emotions and present a blasé front to the world. A front that thankfully had held up in Rory Devlin’s intimidating presence and gained her an opportunity to pitch. She had complete confidence in her abilities and knew once he’d heard her presentation he’d hire her.