A surprising proposition!

A binding consequence?

When a bachelorette party challenge means she must kiss a stranger, Gabby Johnson never expects to find herself lip to lip with Zander Grosvenor—her former teenage crush! Soon self-made millionaire Zander is proposing a fake relationship to fend off his well-meaning yet interfering family. But when a romantic trip to Portugal ignites the spark between them, Gabby and Zander must face the unexpected consequences—her pregnancy!

NINA MILNE has always dreamed of writing for Mills & Boon—ever since she played libraries with her mother’s stacks of Mills & Boon romances as a child. On her way to this dream Nina acquired an English degree, a hero of her own, three gorgeous children and—somehow!—an accountancy qualification. She lives in Brighton and has filled her house with stacks of books—her very own real library.

Also by Nina Milne

Christmas Kisses with Her BossClaiming His Secret Royal HeirMarooned with the MillionaireConveniently Wed to the Prince

The Derwent Family miniseries

Rafael’s Contract BrideThe Earl’s Snow-Kissed ProposalClaimed by the Wealthy Magnate

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Hired Girlfriend, Pregnant Fiancée?

Nina Milne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09095-7

HIRED GIRLFRIEND, PREGNANT FIANCÉE?

© 2019 Nina Milne

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

To Clara—for being a fabulous friend and for reading all of my books in a very short space of time!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

WHAT ON EARTH was she doing here? Gabby Johnson forced a smile to her face and her nerves into submission as the word mistake flashed through her mind in neon. Get a grip, Gabby. This was supposed to be fun, for heaven’s sake—a hen weekend, friends together for two days of female solidarity and a good time to be had by all.

The problem was it depended on your definition of a good time.

‘Right!’ The maid of honour, to whom Gabby had just been introduced, a vivacious petite redhead called Lorna, clapped her hands together. ‘Ladies, I have a timetable of fun activities planned to celebrate the upcoming wedding of our very lovely friend Charlotte.’

Gabby relaxed slightly as everyone cheered. She reminded herself that this was a celebration—that it had been kind of Charlotte to include Gabby. They had been friends in college, lost touch and then reignited a friendship of sorts after bumping into each other a few months ago.

‘OK,’ Lorna continued. ‘So here we are in the lovely city of Bath, in this fantastic house right in the centre, and this is our plan for the evening. I promise that cocktails will be involved later. But first, I have a fun activity planned. Before I explain that, it’s time to have a glass of bubbly whilst we all get changed.’ Lorna turned around and gestured to seven luminous pink bags. ‘These are all named, and I hope I have got the sizes roughly right.’

Gabby stepped forward with everyone else and took her designated bag, watching as everyone else peered into theirs, listening to their shrieks of laughter. Panic began to shrivel the edges of her introverted soul.

Come on, Gabby. Woman up. How bad can it be?

The pops of champagne corks as everyone pulled mini bottles from their bags should have reassured her, but then...

‘It’s a bunny suit!’ one of the women exclaimed. ‘I have always wanted to try one of these on.’

A bunny suit? Somehow she’d expected a more low-key affair. Dinner and drinks. Maybe a cocktail. Bunny suits hadn’t figured anywhere in the equation. Now she was going to spend the evening in one.

Why, oh, why couldn’t she be like all the other women in the room, who seemed enthused by the whole idea? She would have sold her rapidly contracting soul in exchange for some of the palpable joie de vivre and confidence that filled the room.

Gazing into the contents of the bag, she forced herself to maintain a smile as she tugged the costume out. A bright pink corset, a pom-pom tail, bunny ears, sheer tights... Now she understood why she’d been asked to bring a pair of pink stilettos.

Ideas streamed through her mind: perhaps she could fake illness, perhaps she could object on the grounds of political correctness...? Get a grip, Gabby. There was nothing worse than a party pooper, so all she could do was exchange her jeans and T-shirt for the bunny outfit.

Somehow she had to loosen up. Her childhood mantra ran through her head—in twenty-four hours it will be over. It came from the times when she’d been scared, hiding in whatever sanctuary she’d been able to find whilst her mother partied.

Even aged three she’d known with chilling certainty that her mother would not be able to keep her safe, would be too far under the influence of drugs and alcohol. So she had always scoped out a place to conceal herself—in a cupboard, under a bed... And wherever she’d been she’d kept telling herself that she would get through it, that at this time tomorrow it would be over. Comparatively speaking, parading the streets in a bunny suit would be a doddle.

‘You OK?’ Charlotte had moved next to her in her bridal bunny costume. ‘I know this probably isn’t your cup of tea, but...’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s a laugh,’ Gabby managed and adjusted her bunny ears with an enthusiasm she hoped came across as genuine.

Time to douse her inner cringe. Irritation threshed at her nerves—why couldn’t she take this in the right spirit and have fun? It wouldn’t be that bad; she was in a group of eight, all dressed the same—she could just fade into the background. After all, that was one of her best skills.

‘OK, ladies. Gather round!’ Lorna called as she produced her next exhibit—a pink top hat. ‘This hat contains eight challenges. Each of us will take one and then off we’ll go to attempt the challenges. We’ll pretty much stick together, but I do require photographic proof that the challenges have been completed!’

Fabulous. Even her fade-into-the-background skills would struggle to provide invisibility in this situation. And what sort of challenge?

Panic began to twist in her tummy. Gabby might chafe against her introvert nature, but she accepted it as a cast-iron personality trait. Acknowledged that it had helped keep her invisible and under the radar when she’d most needed to, and had kept her safe amidst the chaos of her mother’s lifestyle. Then later, after the horror of her mum’s death—the result of an overdose—Gabby’s quietness, her ‘invisibility’, had meant she had been allowed to live with her grandparents despite her social worker’s concerns about their ages.

‘Read it! Read it! Read it!’

The chant pulled Gabby back to the here and now and she realised that someone had pulled the first challenge from the hat.

‘“Exchange an item of clothing with a man you don’t know.”’

Gabby looked on as everyone laughed, and felt anxiety tornado as Lorna held the hat out to her.

Breathe. In twenty-four hours this will be over. Her dignity would be in tatters, but it would be over.

Inwardly praying, she pulled out a slip of paper and looked down at it. Someone, somewhere had to be kidding.

‘Read it! Read it! Read it!’

Stomach hollow, she did just that. ‘“Find a hot stranger and get a kiss on camera.”’

This caused much merriment and Gabby forced herself to join in, etching a smile on her face in a gallant attempt to join in the spirit of the occasion. Time to channel personality trait number two—the art of faking it. Throughout childhood she’d made sure she’d played a part—whatever part she’d needed to play to survive.

A couple of hours later, as afternoon segued into the beginning of evening, her cheek muscles ached and her panic had escalated to the point of a need for a paper bag to breathe into. All around her Kate, Charlotte, Lorna, et al. had danced and spun through their challenges, and soon it would be only Gabby left. She would be the focus of attention.

Moisture sheened her neck, even as she maintained the smile and her brain raced.

At that moment Lorna moved over to her, a friendly smile on her face. ‘Gabby, it’s just you now. How can we help? Or if you want to give it a miss, it’s no big deal. I should have known that this wouldn’t be everyone’s thing. If you want to skip it, then it’s not a problem. We can head straight to the cocktail place.’

For a moment Gabby nearly collapsed in relief at the opt-out clause—but then sheer annoyance at herself surfaced. Did she want to be the one person on this hen do who didn’t complete her challenge? The one person who didn’t provide a photograph for the album Lorna would be putting together for Charlotte to look back on? Dammit—she had to try.

Keeping her lips upturned and her body relaxed, she even managed a laugh that hopefully held insouciance.

‘Actually, would it be OK if I slip off by myself and give it a go? I could meet you at the cocktail place after.’

‘Sure. That works.’

So, challenge in her hand, tugging at the ridiculous bunny suit, Gabby Johnson ventured forth into the dusk.

* * *

Zander Grosvenor looked around the table and reminded himself that he was an ultrasuccessful multimillionaire, not a scrubby schoolboy any more. Yet, as he surveyed the faces of his mother and two elder sisters, it was hard to hold on to that fact.

His father had clearly had the right idea when he’d absconded to the golf course This felt way too reminiscent of those awful sit-down chats from when he had been a schoolboy—and a very unsuccessful one at that. For a moment the remembered burn of frustrated humiliation, the sting of failure, pinged his nerves. He remembered the knowledge of his own stupidity, the knowledge that he couldn’t live up to the bar set by his sisters however hard he tried. Hell, he couldn’t even manage to read a baby book.

Enough. That was the past. And it had been resolved when eventually he had been diagnosed with dyslexia. So simple an explanation, and yet it had occurred to no one. And that was why they were sitting here now—the Grosvenor family.

His mother had been racked with guilt that she hadn’t realised sooner and, once the diagnosis had been made, had supported him every step of the way—as had his father. Julia, his eldest sister—ten years his senior—was now a successful human rights lawyer, divorced with two children, one of whom had just been diagnosed with dyslexia, too. Gemma was a successful surgeon, four years older than Zander, and engaged to Alessio Bravanti, internationally successful racing driver and Zander’s best friend.

The four of them had gathered here to discuss the fundraiser he had organised and would host to raise money for and awareness of dyslexia. For a minute the reminder of his duties as host, the need to make a speech, twanged his nerves with anxiety. Not now, Zander. He’d manage it; he’d tamed his fear of public speaking and it wouldn’t get the better of him at such an important event.

It was an event his family all wanted to be a part of, and he was grateful for that. Yet as he looked around the table he had the distinct impression of a hidden agenda.

‘OK, everyone. It’s a week until the event, so I thought we should go through any last-minute details.’

‘Good idea,’ his mother said breezily. ‘I’ve invited Brenda Davison to the gala. She’s just back from two years in Oz. She had an incredible time there and she is such a well-rounded person. Really interesting. I think you’d like her, Zan.’

Gemma beamed at him. ‘And of course you remember Louise Martin. I asked her to attend the gala, but she’s busy that day so I’ve asked her to the wedding instead. She’s exactly your type.’

Zander blinked. ‘That wasn’t the sort of last-minute detail I had in mind,’ he said sharply. Aware that he might have raised his voice a touch more than necessary, he tried a smile. ‘I’d like to look down the auction list, talk about the caterers—not listen to a staged intervention on my love life.’

‘It’s not an “intervention on your love life” because you don’t have one,’ Julia pointed out gently. ‘We’re not trying to interfere. We want to help.’

‘I don’t need help.’ Reminding himself that his family had the best intentions, that he loved them dearly and that love was mutual, Zander tried to keep his voice even.

His mother let out a small sigh and he could see the worry in her grey eyes. ‘Sweetheart, Claudia wouldn’t have wanted you to never have another relationship. It’s been five years now since she died.’

‘I know that.’ Aware of the tautness of his tone, he tried to soften it. ‘I am fine, Mum. Truly.’

Laura Grosvenor shook her head. ‘We’re not suggesting you remarry or enter into a long-term relationship...’

‘Our suggestion is just to go out there and date... Have some fun,’ Gemma said.

‘When I want to do that, I will.’

Julia leant forward, blonde hair swinging, and touched his arm. ‘We just hate to see you still grieving so much. We know you loved Claudia, and none of us will ever forget her, but we all think it’s time for you to move on.’

For a second he closed his eyes, couldn’t meet his family’s gaze as the guilt stabbed him.

Yes, he had loved Claudia; they had been childhood sweethearts and he had worshipped the ground she’d walked on. They had swept into marriage aged twenty, full of optimism and hope for the future. But it had turned out their visions of that future were polar opposites, and soon Zander had known that they had made a mistake—that he had made a mistake.

It was a knowledge he had never shared—not with Claudia, not with his family, not with anyone. Because he would never have reneged on the vows he had made. Because whilst his feelings had changed, Claudia’s hadn’t. And then illness and tragedy had struck.

And after Claudia’s death what had he done? Zander Grosvenor, grieving widower, had decided to follow his vision of the future, pursued his own dream and achieved phenomenal success. Accomplished a life and found fulfilment he would never have experienced if his wife had lived.

Sensing the heaviness of the silence, he opened his eyes. ‘Look. I appreciate your concerns. I really do. But truly I am happy with my love life as it is.’ As in non-existent. ‘So, please, no more worrying. And no more matchmaking, OK?’

‘OK...’

Three heads nodded, two blonde and one dark, but Zander didn’t believe a word of it. Pushing his chair back, he rose to his feet. ‘I’ll be back soon—I need to go to the shops. Anyone want anything?’

Minutes later, he strode towards Bath’s town centre, hoping the exercise would dispel the fumes of guilt, but knowing they wouldn’t.

His family cared about him, but how he wished they would respect his decision to eschew the world of relationships. In their defence, they didn’t understand the truth. Of course he grieved for Claudia—grieved the loss of life so young, the tragic waste, the loss of the girl he had once loved. But it was a tainted grief, besmirched by the cold, hard knowledge that if Claudia had lived, he wouldn’t be the person he was today.

On impulse he turned towards the abbey, made his way through the throng of people and headed for a place of cool walls and sanctuary. A place to look at the architecture, think of history and seek assuagement of the emotional turmoil that thoughts of Claudia still evoked five years since her death.

As he approached the imposing grandeur of the sandstone spires, touched by the orange rays of the setting sun, a flash of pink distracted him. A woman stood irresolute in the courtyard—a woman clad in a pink bunny suit. Not the usual garb for a visit to the abbey.

In the shadow of the abbey walls he could see her serious expression, her enormous hazel eyes filled with doubt, a straight nose, generous mouth. Glossy chestnut hair topped by pink bunny ears fell in a sleek curtain to her shoulders.

As if deciding to abandon her plan for entry, she turned and recognition jolted his brain. He wasn’t sure why—who was she?

Her gaze met his in a fleeting skim; he saw an answering recognition and then she ducked her head and made to step past him. Just as memory kicked in.

‘Gabby?’ She’d been in the year below him and Claudia at high school.

For a moment he thought she’d deny it, and then she gave a small reluctant nod. ‘Yes. I’m surprised you remember me.’

The memory came back. A young Zander, seventeen years old, walking down the school corridor as a tall slim girl with glossy chestnut hair came towards him, a pile of books clutched to her chest. As she’d passed, the books had cascaded to the floor and he’d automatically bent down to pick them up. He’d recognised the title of one, more from familiarity than an ability to decipher the words, but at least he’d seen the film.

They’d engaged in a conversation. He’d played the cool kid, one who didn’t bother with books because films were way better, and she’d been so earnest in her disagreement that he could still recall her expression. Then Claudia had suddenly appeared. He’d later found out she had been alerted by a ‘well-wishing friend’. Within seconds the chestnut-haired girl had been graciously dismissed and Zander had been swept away.

His attempts at remonstrance had been met with a shake of the head.

Dropped her books by accident? Don’t be stupid, Zan. That girl—Gabby Johnson—likes you. I know I’ve got nothing to worry about, but she’s a bit of a dark horse. No one knows much about her except that she lives with her grandparents. I just wanted her to know you’re taken.

In the here and now, he decided there was little point in reliving the details. ‘I do,’ he settled for saying. ‘So, how have you been?’

‘Fine. I’m sorry about Claudia.’ The words were simple but sincere, and, to his relief, she left it at that. No intrusive questions or additional sympathy.

‘Thank you.’

‘Right, well. Nice to see you again. I’ll leave you to go in.’

As she moved forward, a piece of paper fluttered from her hand and she looked down at it, made to reach for it and then clearly recalled that she was wearing a bunny suit.

‘We must stop meeting like this.’ Zander squatted down and rose. He handed her the paper, his gaze inadvertently taking in the words. Challenge No. 8. The penny dropped. ‘Hen party?’

‘No,’ she said, deadpan. ‘I usually parade around Bath dressed like this.’

‘Lucky Bath.’ OK. That was not what he had meant to say. But somewhere between his brain and his mouth, that was what had come out.

Gabby stared at him. ‘No. Not lucky Bath—and definitely not lucky me. Would you like to parade the streets dressed like this? Or the male equivalent, whatever that is. How about in a pair of tighty-whities?’

There was a silence as they both contemplated the scenario. Her face turned pink and her look of appraisal morphed into one of confusion. ‘And bunny ears,’ she added.

‘Probably not many women’s fantasy.’ Another vocal miscue. ‘Not, of course, that a bunny suit features in my fantasies. At all.’ And that was worse. It was obvious that it had been a long time since he’d interacted socially with a woman. Time for a subject change. ‘Anyway—did you manage the challenge?’

‘Nope. Not yet. I thought I’d come to the abbey and have a bit of time out...maybe come up with a strategy. Or even some courage would do. But I don’t feel comfortable going in dressed like this. It doesn’t seem right. Plus I’m nearly out of time, so I’d better get going.’

‘Maybe I can help?’

This caused her to pause. ‘Why would you want to help?’

‘I’m a nice guy. I wouldn’t like you to fail a challenge. Old times’ sake. Take your pick. So, what is the challenge?’

Reluctance warred with the hope on her face.

‘I need to get a photo of myself kissing a h—a...a stranger.’

Ah. This was what happened when you started a social interaction with a woman dressed in a bunny suit. Not that it was a problem; a simple peck on the cheek and they could both go their separate ways. Yet his awareness of her ratcheted up. His gaze skimmed the smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, the impossible density and length of her eyelashes, the glossy lushness of those kissable lips.

Stop. What was the matter with him? He quite simply didn’t look at women like this—hadn’t done since Claudia. The sooner he got this over with the better.

‘OK. I’ll help. I know we aren’t technically strangers, but it’s close enough.’

Uncertainty touched her features and then she expelled a sigh. ‘OK. Let’s get it over with.’

Despite the echo of his own sentiment, he felt irrational chagrin touch him.

As if she sensed his reaction, she reached out and touched his arm. ‘Sorry. That came out wrong. This is just a highly embarrassing situation for me. I’m a university librarian. An introvert. Being dressed like this... Asking someone to kiss me for a selfie is... I feel like an idiot. That’s what I meant. But what I should have said is thank you—I really appreciate this.’

‘No worries—and it’s not a big deal. Where shall we pose?’

They moved to the side of the entrance.

‘Here is fine.’ Reaching into her small clutch bag, she pulled out her phone. ‘OK. I’m ready.’

Zander leant forward and aimed for her cheek, ridiculously aware of her elusive flower scent, the smoothness of her skin and the glint of the chestnut sheen of her hair. Then at the last second she moved slightly, presumably in an attempt to position the shot, and instead of her cheek, his lips brushed hers.

Of course the right thing to do—the sensible action, the gentlemanly option—would have been to draw back. But that didn’t happen. Instead he froze, caught in a sudden surge of sensation, tantalised, yearning, preternaturally aware.

Gabby drew in the slightest of breaths, and that triggered something else. Did he pull her forward? Did she step towards him? He didn’t know and it didn’t matter. Because all he could think about was the imperative need to deepen the kiss.

Her lips were soft, pliant against his, and somehow—impossibly—it felt as though they were the only two beings bathed in the last rays of sunshine that hazed around them and added magic to the ambience. Strands of desire twined together into a knot of longing in his gut as Gabby gave a small moan, pressed against him, looped her hands round his waist.

Until the spell was broken as a teenager jostled them, then jumped back with an embarrassed muttered apology.

Gabby, too, moved backwards in a jerky movement, hazel eyes wide in shock, her breathing fast. ‘I... I...’

But clearly speech had deserted her, and without another word she spun round and walked away, her pace rapid. For a moment he opened his mouth to call her back—and then closed it again.

Bad idea. Bad move. Since Claudia’s death Zander had eschewed the whole dating scene for a reason. Too complex. Too confusing. Too complicated. Just like that kiss had been.

And so he stood still and watched Gabby walk away.

CHAPTER TWO

GABBY HAD NEVER been so glad to see Monday morning arrive, and as soon as she entered the university library the world felt a better place. The feeling was further enhanced by the fact that she was dressed in cropped navy trousers and a cream blouse, her hair caught up in a ponytail, without so much as a vestige of pink, let alone any bunny motifs, in sight. Even better, she was surrounded by the familiar dense quiet of her workplace—a blanket of calm after the neon pink of the weekend.

Sure, she’d enjoyed herself, but it had been overwhelming, as well. The fact she didn’t really know the other women very well but they knew each other had been an eerie reminder of her early life. As a child she had always been the outsider looking in—too shy, too awkward, too scared to try to join in. Cliques and friendship groups had formed and she’d missed the boat.

But those days were behind her, and as she walked towards her office, the library environment offered a comforting mix of technology and history, computers mingled with shelves of books—all enough to propel the weekend into the dim and dark recess of her memory.

Well, most of it anyway.

It would take a while before that kiss ceased to haunt her—days later she’d swear her lips still tingled. Ironically, the only physical evidence that the kiss had even happened—the sole picture she’d managed to take—had come out so blurry as to be useless. On her way back to the party she’d entered an upmarket fashion store, located a mannequin and he’d been her ‘hot stranger’. If only she’d thought of that earlier.

However, even if she had snapped That Kiss, and had the guts to display it, she’d have been disqualified anyway—kissing your teenage hero probably didn’t count as a ‘hot stranger’.

Back in high school she had liked Zander Grosvenor—but not because of his looks or his rebellious cool kid image or even his prowess on the sporting field. It had never occurred to her that she could have a chance with him and that had been fine with her. Admiration from afar had suited her, because perversely she’d liked him because of his evident loyalty to his girlfriend. True, Claudia had been one of the prettiest, most popular girls in school but nonetheless...he had never so much as glanced at anyone else.

And she’d admired that; the traits she still valued were loyalty and trust. So she hadn’t acknowledged that her interest in him was a crush, even though his presence had always brought on her nerves and she’d had to fight the impulse to try to ‘accidentally’ be wherever he was. The one time she had genuinely bumped into him by mistake had been so nerve-racking she’d dropped her books and actually had a conversation with him.

Enough. That was the dim and distant past and now she needed to banish Zander Grosvenor from her mind—and her lips, for that matter. At twenty-nine she was way too old to crush on anyone, let alone a man like the one Zander had become. Rich, successful...not her type at all. Time to focus on work.

Her day was divided between a reclassification project, a stint on the front desk and work on an online course she was putting together to help students access relevant information—more than enough to absorb her attention. So, apart from the occasional memory lapse to Planet Kiss, she was on her way back to ‘Gabby as normal’. Enough so that at the end of the day she was able to close down her computer and look forward to a quiet evening at home.

The actual library was still open, and as she walked through the book-lined area she exchanged pleasantries with a few of the students. She stopped at one of the tables to pick up a couple of books that had been left, turned—and her sandal-clad feet screeched to a halt. Surely it couldn’t be...? Zander Grosvenor? Her imagination must be messing with her head.

But then, there he was.

‘Hi, Gabby.’

‘Zander,’ she said, and her voice echoed as hollow as her tummy.

For an insane second Gabby considered a dive beneath the table—though what she hoped that would achieve she had no idea. She needed to remember that she was no longer a cowering three-year-old, caught up in her mother’s chaotic lifestyle, nor even a scared nine-year-old, terrified she would be taken from her grandparents. Back then, hiding had been her go-to strategy and she’d built dens wherever she could, cocooned herself away from the world.

But it really was not an option in the present situation, so she forced herself to stand tall and face him. Unfortunately, that necessitated looking at him, and her hormones did a flip before standing at attention.

Today Zander was suited and booted—the suit a faintly pinstriped charcoal grey, the shirt a pristine white. The whole ensemble epitomised wealth and success and a wow factor she really could do without. Dark blonde hair, just a little bit too long, blue-grey eyes that pierced...and suddenly the vast library seemed to shrink around her.

Eventually she located her vocal cords. ‘What a surprise. Were you looking for me?’ Please let this be some strange coincidence.

‘Yes. You mentioned you worked as a university librarian—I did a bit of research and here I am.’

It occurred to her that despite the suave suit, he was uncomfortable; something in his expression indicated that the expensive shirt felt constrictive round his throat and the square jaw held a hint of tension.

‘So, how can I help?’

‘I was wondering if...if you’d have dinner with me.’

For a moment she couldn’t hold back the instinct to smile. She felt a bubble of anticipation at the idea that their encounter had sparked this—a desire to follow up. Though something warned her that her reaction was misplaced and she dialled down the smile—an instinct justified by his next words.

‘I’ve got a business proposition I want to discuss.’

Of course. How foolish of her to think it could be anything else. She could only hope he hadn’t clocked her initial response. Especially idiotic because even if he had asked her on a date she would have refused. Zander was not her type—in so much as she had a type...which she didn’t. But in the unlikely event that she ever figured out love and relationships she’d want someone ordinary, and Zander wasn’t that. Being with Zander would be too much—too intense. He was too gorgeous, too rich, too successful...just too everything.

‘You need a librarian?’ Could he have a collection of books that needed cataloguing? It seemed unlikely.

‘Nope.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It’s complicated.’

The word should have her running for the sanctuary of her apartment. Gabby was a big fan of simplicity. Yet curiosity surfaced—what on earth could he have in mind? Hesitation stretched the silence and then she shrugged. After all, the point was that this wasn’t a date—this was business.

So... ‘OK. I’m intrigued. Dinner sounds good.’

‘Great. Are you finished or shall we meet somewhere later?’

‘I’m good to go.’

* * *

As they exited the university, Zander wondered if he had completely lost every vestige of common sense. Sitting at his desk earlier he had thought his idea made perfect sense, verging on genius. The problem was now he’d seen Gabby again he’d remembered the major flaw in the whole concept. In a nutshell—the Attraction Factor. One second in her presence was all it had taken for any ideas of business to desert him at supersonic speed. To be replaced by a near-overwhelming urge to cross the room and try for a repeat of that kiss.

But now, out in the fresh dusk-laden air, he sought perspective. Reminded himself that the attraction wasn’t a problem as long as he didn’t act on it.

‘I thought we’d eat at Lothario’s.’

One of Bath’s most prestigious restaurants, it would provide a persuasive backdrop to explain his proposition. Yet she didn’t look impressed; in fact she didn’t even look enthusiastic.

‘Unless you’d prefer somewhere else?’

‘Actually, I would rather go somewhere more low-key, if that’s OK with you.’

‘Sure.’ So much for the dazzling-her-into-acceptance plan.

‘There’s a really good pizza place not far from here. How about we go there?’

Ten minutes later they entered a small cosy Italian restaurant from which wafted out the tantalising aroma of tomato, garlic and a hint of oregano. Most of the tables were occupied with an eclectic mix of diners, and the low-lit room exuded a lively ambience without being loud. The tables were a mixture of sizes and shapes and were cheerfully hung with red tablecloths. The chefs tossed pizza bases into the air with verve and pizzazz.

A waiter stepped forward, led them to a table without fuss and left them with a smile and the menus.

Gabby gave hers a perfunctory glance and placed it on the table. ‘I already know what I’m having,’ she explained. ‘Artichokes, capers, goat’s cheese and olives. I always have that.’

‘Always?’

‘Yup. I don’t eat out often, so I like to know for sure that I’ll enjoy it.’

‘But maybe you could swap something out? Have extra mozzarella instead of capers? Ham instead of artichokes? Or why not try the special? You may find something you like better.’

Zander stopped at the sight of Gabby’s frown. For Pete’s sake. What was wrong with him? The answer was not one he liked: discomfort. This was the first time he’d gone out with a woman since Claudia’s death and he was assailed by an onslaught of nerves.

Zander hauled in a breath, reminded himself that this was a business dinner and it was time to put things on to that footing. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so didactic. Especially over pizza toppings.’

‘Apology accepted.’

Zander checked the menu, focused on the words and realised the irony of his own criticism. As a child, restaurants had been a nightmare for him—unable to decode the menus, he had simply pointed randomly to items with a varied degree of success. Or requested a staple generic dish that he knew would be on the menu.

The waiter returned with a long wooden board that held bread and three slender bottles of olive oil. ‘Rosemary, chilli and plain,’ he explained, then took their order and departed.

As she helped herself, Gabby glanced across at him. ‘So,’ she said, ‘I’m intrigued. To be honest, I can’t imagine what kind of business you have in mind.’

A sudden heat touched her cheekbones and she looked down at the piece of bread she held. A flash of insight told him with complete certainty that she had suddenly been hit with exactly the sort of business he currently had in mind.

Say something, Zander. Before the silence stretches so taut it snaps.

‘Before we go any further, I need to know if you are in a relationship.’

‘I can’t see how that could possibly pertain to a business proposition.’

Her voice had a definite chill factor and he couldn’t blame her.

‘Humour me. Please. Just a simple yes or no will suffice. Then I’ll explain.’

Gabby narrowed her eyes but then shrugged. ‘No.’

Out-of-all-proportion relief touched him that his assumption had been correct. It was an assumption based purely on the sheer intensity of the kiss they had shared. Somehow he’d been sure that if Gabby was seeing someone, she wouldn’t have kissed him like that.

‘So explain,’ she said flatly.

‘It all started with that kiss. There were some rather unfortunate repercussions.’

The waiter reappeared with their wine, and the interlude gave him time to gather his thoughts and marshal them into coherence.

She tilted her head, waited for him to continue.

‘You know my circumstances?’

‘Sure. You run a highly successful consultancy company, with offices in London, Germany and Ireland, you made your first million by the time you were twenty-seven, and you started your business from a rented garage whilst you slept in an ancient caravan because you gambled everything.’

Guilt delivered another sucker punch. He’d done all of that. His wife had died and it had kick-started his route to a success she would never see—a success that would not have happened had she lived.

It’s not that I don’t believe in you, Zan. It’s just not worth the risk. What’s wrong with what we have now? If you do something like that, I’ll never see you. I want us to be together, have a family, not risk losing the roof over our heads.

Claudia’s words were so clear in his head, but there was no point pursuing that path. Right or wrong, he’d done what he’d done.

‘All that is correct,’ he said. ‘But I meant my personal circumstances.’ Though he couldn’t blame Gabby for citing his business ones. This was supposed to be all about business.

‘I know that you were widowed. And as I said on Saturday I’m so very sorry. You must have been devastated.’

How to explain it? Explain that he had been blasted with grief—grief at the loss of a life so young, grief that the girl he’d fallen in love with aged sixteen should have been taken, grief at the waste, the sadness, the sheer horror of watching someone you cared about fight and lose, slowly get weaker and fade away.

‘It was difficult,’ he said.

He waited as their pizzas arrived, black pepper and parmesan were dispensed. Then he continued, aware of the intent concentration of her expression, grateful for the lack of question or comment. Gabby was letting him tell the story as he wanted.

‘Since Claudia’s death I haven’t had another relationship, and to be honest I am good with that. I haven’t wanted one and I still don’t. However, my family have different ideas. They are worried about me, think I need to move forward...and they spend way too much of their time trying to set me up.’ He paused to sample the pizza and nodded. ‘You’re right. This is incredible.’

‘Glad you like it.’ She paused to pour chilli oil over her pizza. ‘It’s nice that your family cares.’

For a second he saw wistfulness cross her face.

‘Yes. But on Saturday, after our...encounter, I went back to Mum and Dad’s and everyone fell on me with joy.’

‘Why?’

He sighed. ‘We were spotted by one of my mum’s friends. Edna Harris, if you want to know full details.’ The woman had an uncanny ability to nose out secrets, to be in the ‘right’ place at the ‘right’ time. ‘She headed straight for Casa Grosvenor to share the glad tidings and my family are thrilled.’

Gabby’s face held bemusement. ‘OK. But I’m still not seeing this. All you had to do was explain you were helping out an old schoolmate with a hen challenge. End of.’

‘Given the detail Edna went into about what she saw, it would have been a tricky explanation.’

Gabby speared an artichoke heart and shook her head. ‘Yes, but...’

‘You’re right. I could have explained it. I decided not to.’

‘Because...?’

The artichoke was halted, halfway to her mouth, and for a moment his gaze snagged on her lips. He remembered their feel, the taste of her, the sheer unexpected passion and desire that kiss had evoked...

Deep breath. He decided he might as well go for it. ‘Because I thought it would be a great idea to pretend you are my girlfriend.’

The artichoke heart fell from her fork.

‘That’s why I’m here. I want to hire you to be my fake girlfriend.’

CHAPTER THREE

GABBY WATCHED THE descent of the artichoke heart on to the tomato sauce of her pizza as her brain scrambled for a response to his words...questioned whether she could have heard them correctly. Perhaps this was Zander Grosvenor’s idea of some sort of bizarre joke. Perhaps her tomato-splattering response was being recorded by an unseen camera. If so, the image could be labelled The Personification of Stupefaction. Or maybe she had misheard him?

Trying not to gibber, she surveyed his expression—outwardly calm, with a hint of tension in his jawline.

Eventually her brain decided on a single syllable. ‘Why?’ Immediate hindsight suggested a simple no would have been a better choice, followed by a rapid exit.

Zander sipped his wine, then placed the glass down, his fingers still around the base. For a second she studied his hand—its size, its strength, the very faint smattering of hair, the sturdiness of his wrist—and a funny little thrill shot through her.

Wrenching her gaze away, she looked up. ‘Why would you want to hire a fake girlfriend? If you need a girlfriend, I’m pretty sure you could muster up a real one.’ The man was gorgeous and loaded and—oh, God, had she just given him the wrong idea? ‘Not me, obvs. But I’m sure there would be plenty of women who would go out with you for nothing.’

‘I don’t want a real girlfriend. I don’t want a real relationship. Not right now.’ The words or ever seemed to hover unspoken over the table, implicit in his tone, and Gabby could have kicked herself around the restaurant. The man was a widower, either still in love with his wife or not yet ready to move on. She’d been so inappropriately focused on his damn hand she’d lost the plot.

‘I’m sorry, Zander. I didn’t mean any disrespect to Claudia.’

‘None taken.’

‘But I still don’t get why on earth you would want a pretend girlfriend.’

‘Because it would make my family happy.’ His sigh contained exasperation, but affection and warmth, as well. ‘They were genuinely so thrilled that I might have found someone.’

‘Did Edna Harris mention the bunny suit?’

‘Yup. But I don’t think they would have cared if you were naked.’

Had he really said that? Naked? The two syllables resonated in the air, evoking images he quickly censored. Move along.

‘My sisters were happy I’d lightened up and met someone “fun”. My mum was happy I’d met anyone, because she’s worried I’ll never get over Claudia.’

Do you think you will? She bit back the question. None of her business. God knew she didn’t like discussing her own personal circumstances, her own losses and how she’d dealt with them. So instead she picked up a piece of pizza and contemplated him over the rim.

‘I get that you want to make your family happy.’

Hell, she’d do anything for her grandmother. Anything at all. The familiar twinge of intertwined love, guilt and worry twinged her nerves. Her grandparents had used up their pension, the equity in their house on her—the cost of bringing up a child as they’d entered their seventies had taken a huge financial toll on them. Then, when her grandfather had died, his pension had stopped.

And now... Well, Gabby squirrelled away as much of her salary as she could for the future that she knew was imminent—the time when her grandmother would need more and more help at home to retain her independence. A time when there might be no choice but to find a residential care home. After all, Lucille had turned ninety the previous month.

Gabby would be more than happy to move in with her grandmother right now, but Lucille flatly refused, informing her that she didn’t need to be tied to an old lady—she needed to be living her life and enjoying her youth. Nothing would budge her.

‘Gabby?’

‘Sorry. The thing is that, however much you love your family, faking a relationship is a little extreme. Plus...surely it’s wrong.’

‘Wrong in what way?’

‘Well, it’s an outright lie, for a start. But it’s not only a factual lie. It goes deeper. You want to make them believe that you’re getting over Claudia, that you’re moving forward, when you aren’t.’

‘I have got over Claudia. In the sense that I am not still in love with her or her memory. But my family won’t accept that—they want proof, and the only proof I can offer them is a girlfriend.’

Gabby shook her head. ‘But if you’re over her, why not open yourself up to the idea of a real relationship? With someone you really like as opposed to a virtual stranger whom you kissed to help her out.’

For a treacherous instant the kiss returned to her mind, replayed in full neon pink bunny-suited glory. And in that instant a small voice from the deep recesses of her brain screamed at her to shut up! Questioned why she was having some sort of moral, intellectual discussion about this. Hell, if this man wanted a fake girlfriend, so what? She should take the opportunity and run with it.

Run where? interjected the voice of reason. Towards more kisses? That would be plain stupid.

‘My reasons for not wanting another relationship are personal. My objective here is to combat my family’s worries. And, from an entirely selfish viewpoint, I’d like them to cease their matchmaking efforts, which, frankly, are driving me nuts.’

‘But...it won’t work.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because presumably you don’t want to continue this fiction for ever. So what happens a few months down the line when we split up? They’ll start worrying again. Even more than they are now. Because if you dump the fake girlfriend—FG for short—then they’ll think it’s because of Claudia. And if FG dumps you, they’ll be worried that you’re heartbroken. Lose-lose.’

‘I’ve thought of that. I’d make it clear from the get-go that the relationship isn’t serious for either of us. You or me. It’ll be a bit of fun, an interlude...a first step on the relationship ladder.’

To her surprise she felt a pang of hurt at the implication that that was all she could be. Get real, Gabby—talk about oversensitivity. This was a fictional, hypothetical scenario. Yet the idea of playing the role of ‘an interlude’ didn’t appeal. Shades of her childhood. To her mother she had been an unfortunate interlude, not a commitment.

Aware of his scrutiny, the small crease on his forehead, she shook her head. ‘There is no “us”—this is a hypothetical question about you and FG.’

He raised a hand in mock surrender. ‘Fair enough. But I have thought this through. This fake relationship will be a fun, strings-free one. Me putting my toe back in the relationship waters with someone not after commitment. That way my family won’t try to gather FG into their bosom, but they will feel happy I am “moving forward”. They will also stop trying to set me up with every female of their acquaintance. Win-win. It will work. So I need a real fake girlfriend. I need you. All you have to do is attend a few events with me, some family functions, be seen with me for a few months... And, of course, I’ll pay you. So what do you think?’

‘I think it’s mad and you’re madder.’

Suddenly he smiled. ‘So you’ll do it, then?’

For a moment the smile literally rendered her speechless. The usual gravity of his face had lightened, his eyes seemed flecked with wicked charm, and for a moment she almost entered the bubble of insanity and agreed.

As if he sensed her hesitation, he said, ‘Come on Gabby. It might even be fun.’

Fun. Still under the spell of that smile, her brain was exhibiting interest in the whole ridiculous idea. Perhaps it was a bit like the urge to poke an aching tooth or prod a bruise. Plus he’d said he would pay her—so in truth this would be a job, a business transaction, a chance to put away a little extra money for her grandmother.

‘What sort of events?’

‘My sister is getting married in a couple of months in Bath—at the actual Roman Baths. And I’m hosting a charity gala next week in London. We’ll need to have a few meals out, or other date-like activities in between. Smile for a few photos. There may be an interview or a few questions from reporters.’

The last words were said in such a casual tone that at first she didn’t comprehend their meaning. And then suddenly a whole lot of dots were joined up. ‘Exactly who is your sister marrying?’

‘Alessio Bravanti.’

‘The racing driver?’ Just to be absolutely sure.

‘That’s the one.’

‘And this charity gala—you don’t mean a knees-up in the village hall? You’re talking a full-on function? The type covered in celeb magazines?’

‘Yes.’ He eyed her, no doubt noting the horror that etched her features. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong girl—the wrong candidate for the role.’ Pushing her plate away, she shook her head, aware of a pulse of frustration-tinged regret. ‘I wish I was the sort of woman who would jump at this, but I’m not. The whole thought of being watched and judged makes me come up in hives.’

‘No one will judge you.’

‘That’s not true and you know it. Your family will definitely judge me, and I won’t blame them for that. They care about you. But it won’t only be them. What about all the guests at the wedding and the charity function? The reporters...the public...?’

‘Why does it matter what they think?’

‘Because words can hurt just as much as sticks and stones, and the wounds can take longer to heal.’

Gabby could still feel the pain she’d felt when her mother had been discussing her with her boyfriend du jour.

Yes, the kid’s a pain...a drag. I know. I’ll see if I can dump her with my parents again.

That sting would always be with her—the knowledge that she was nothing more than an encumbrance.

‘And people’s opinions do matter.’

Sometimes they could even be life-changing. Social workers had watched her throughout her childhood, assessed her, assessed her grandparents, formed opinions, and Gabby had made damn sure she’d conformed to whatever they wanted.

She had been the child they’d needed her to be: quiet, invisible, polite, grateful... Whatever it took to jump the regulation hurdles and stay with her grandparents after her mother’s death from an overdose. And she was still that person—the kind who shunned the limelight, the one who had never wanted to be anything like the ‘party girl’ her mother had been, the one who just wanted an ordinary life.

‘So I’m sorry, Zander, but I can’t do this. It wouldn’t work.’

Perhaps she was mad, given that he would pay her and she would love the chance to add to her savings. But it wouldn’t be fair to either of them when she knew she couldn’t pull it off.

‘I’m not the type of person who could act as your girlfriend—someone who goes to glittering events on the arm of a multimillionaire. You’ll have to find someone else.’ He opened his mouth and quickly she stood up. ‘Bathroom break,’ she said.

And on the way to the bathroom she’d pay the bill, say goodbye and leave. Because for some daft reason she felt bad—bad that she was refusing the job and bad that she was too chicken to take on a role that most people would kill for. But she knew it was the right decision. Gabby knew her limitations and this was definitely one of them. This role was beyond her abilities.

* * *

Five minutes later Zander watched as Gabby headed back to the table, her stride purposeful, the doubts he’d sensed earlier clearly dispelled. This was a woman on a mission to say farewell and leave as soon as possible. Well, tough.

She halted, looked down and frowned.

‘I ordered dessert,’ he explained. ‘It’s the house special, and according to the staff it’s what you always have.’

The frown deepened. ‘I... How on earth do they remember that?’

Her surprise was genuine, and Zander realised that Gabby really had no idea how memorable she was. He wasn’t sure he could put his finger on it himself. She was undoubtedly pretty, but it went deeper than that. Perhaps it was the depth of expression in her hazel eyes, a sense of vulnerability...some elusive facet that etched her on people’s memory banks.

‘Anyway, I wasn’t planning on staying.’

‘But it would be a shame to waste it,’ he said smoothly. ‘And also I didn’t have a chance to mention an important part of my proposition.’

There was a hesitation and then she sighed and sat down, picking up her spoon with an expression that indicated a determination to speed eat her way through the tiramisu.

‘I didn’t mention the fee.’

Now she looked up. ‘The fee is irrelevant—because I’m not applying for the role.’

‘I understand that, but if you were to agree to this I’m willing to pay you one hundred thousand pounds plus expenses.’

The spoon clattered to the table. ‘Are you nuts?’

‘Nope.’

‘I guarantee you can get someone a lot cheaper than that.’

‘I don’t want someone else. I want you.’

Silence stretched taut as awareness joined the party—an awareness that swirled itself around them as he realised the truth of the words. He did want her. Right now he wanted to lean across the table and kiss her, taste the chocolate on her lips, entwine his fingers in the glossy sheen of chestnut hair, and then he wanted to...

Stop!

‘You are the obvious choice.’ The words sounded forced, his voice hoarse, and he picked up his espresso. ‘You are the woman I kissed. The woman Edna saw.’

Gabby took her time replying, her cheeks still flushed as if she was able to read his mind. ‘I doubt Edna could pick me out in an identity parade.’

‘Maybe not, but I’d rather not risk it. I get that this isn’t your sort of gig, but think what you could do with the money.’

A dreamy look entered her eyes and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth in clear indecision. Then, ‘You’re right. The money would be great. But I can’t accept the job because it wouldn’t be fair. I couldn’t pull it off. It’s not only the limelight factor.’ Pushing her empty bowl away, she leant forward. ‘In real life I wouldn’t go out with you. So how on earth could I fake it? No one will believe it.’

To his surprise, chagrin punched his chest at her words. ‘Why wouldn’t you go out with me?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes. Because if you tell me then I can work out if we can overcome it or not.’

‘For a start, I would never agree to a temporary, fun, strings-free relationship.’

‘Because you’re looking for a happy-ever-after?’ Try as he might he couldn’t keep the wariness from his voice.

She reached out to cover his arm in an instinctive gesture of comfort. ‘I’m sorry. I know your happy-ever-after ended in tragedy, and I understand why you may want a temporary relationship, but I... I still want a shot at it. One day.’

‘So you won’t embark on any relationship unless it’s with Mr Right?’

‘Let’s say I don’t want to embark on a deliberate relationship with someone who is definitely Mr Wrong.’

‘Fair enough. But you wouldn’t be. This would be a fake relationship.’

‘But I would find it hard to maintain a pretence that goes against my character and my beliefs. That’s hardly going to be easy to pull off, especially when I will be so far out of my depth I’ll be in constant danger of drowning. You’re a “catch.” I’m ordinary and my ideal man is ordinary. You aren’t that.’

A dark memory crossed his soul. Again Claudia’s voice echoed in his imagination.

Why can’t you be happy with what we have, Zan? With what you have? Be happy to be ordinary instead of striving after an extraordinary dream that may ruin us.

As she studied his expression Gabby shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean it as an insult. I just want to explain why you aren’t my type.’

He couldn’t let her get away with that. ‘Don’t you remember that kiss?’

Her lips parted and he wondered if she’d have the gall to deny any memory, to say What kiss? But instead, she shook her hair forward slightly to hide her face.

‘Of course I do. But that didn’t mean anything. It was just an anomaly.’

‘Then why don’t we try it again?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me.’ Zander wasn’t a hundred percent sure where he was going with this but... ‘Why don’t we try it again? Another kiss?’

‘That is a ridiculous idea.’

‘No, it isn’t. Because I don’t think it was an anomaly. On a physical level I think I am your type, and I know you’re mine. And that is exactly why we can pull this off.’

‘Relationships are about more than the physical.’

‘Sure. But without a physical attraction there is no relationship. And in the case of a fun-filled interlude the physical aspect is the most important.’

‘I am not kissing you now.’ Gabby glanced around, then narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I bring my grandma here, for goodness’ sake.’ Her forehead scrunched into a scowl. ‘In fact I am not kissing you ever. If you think you can pay me to—’

‘No!’ How could he, Zander Grosvenor, king of the boardroom, dealmaker extraordinaire, be making such a hash of this? ‘That isn’t what I meant. I don’t want to have a real physical relationship with you.’

Liar, liar, whole suit on fire!

Deep breath. ‘I just want to demonstrate that whether we like it or not, act on it or not, there is a real physical attraction between us—and that means I think we could pull this off. Convince everyone that we are in a real relationship. Even though we won’t be. On any level.’ He leant back. ‘Can you look me in the eye and tell me this attraction is a figment of my imagination?’

Against all odds her eyes scrunched further shut, and then she expelled a sigh. ‘I can’t do that. But believe me, I wish I could.’

Bingo! ‘Then I respect your reservations, and I appreciate your honesty, but I believe we can do this. If I’m wrong that’s my bad—not yours. So what do you think? A few social events and you pocket a hundred grand?’

Indecision hovered on her face, etched her forehead with a crease. She closed her eyes as if picturing the cash.

Finally she opened them and gave a small, decisive nod. ‘OK. I’ll do it. But only if I can tell my grandmother the truth.’

Zander hesitated.

‘She won’t tell a soul. I give you my word. Also, it’s a non-negotiable condition.’

‘Then so be it. You can tell your grandmother. Now, do we have a deal?’

‘We have a deal.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.