The Tycoon's Instant Family

She felt her lips twitch. ‘You could say that. They’ve given me until close of business today.’

‘How much?’

‘Pardon?’

‘How much do you need now to get them off your backs and enable you to clear existing debts?’

She sat down at her desk a little abruptly. Was he seriously going to write her out a cheque for thousands of pounds just like that?

‘A lot,’ she said bluntly. She pulled the figures towards her, did a few calculations and turned, to find he was looking over her shoulder at the calculator.

‘Is that it?’

‘Roughly. For now,’ she said, and he nodded.

‘I’ll round it up a bit, give you some working capital and a bit of breathing room.’

She felt her jaw start to sag. ‘But I thought you were going to decide if we were to complete the build—’

‘I just did.’ He punched buttons on his mobile, spoke briefly to someone called Tory and handed her the phone. ‘My PA. Give her the details of your bank account,’ he instructed. ‘She’ll get the money moved before close of business today.’

She could hardly speak for relief. Her father was lying in hospital waiting for open-heart surgery, worrying himself senseless, the workforce had been fantastic but they were running out of patience, the bank had done all and more that could be expected of them, and she hadn’t drawn any salary for weeks.

With tears threatening, she gave Tory the details she needed, handed back the phone and stared hard out of the window.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and sucked in a huge breath. It was meant to steady her, but it turned into a sob, and after a moment of stunned silence he propped his hips on the desk beside her, pulled her head against his chest and rubbed her back gently.

‘Hey, it’s OK,’ he murmured.

She fought it for a moment, but the scent of his aftershave and the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart were too much for her, and she gave in and let him hold her as the tension of the last few weeks freed itself in a storm of tears the like of which she hadn’t cried since her mother died.

Then, suddenly overcome by embarrassment, she pushed away, stood up and went outside, pausing on the steps and staring at the sea while she sucked in great lungfuls of the wild, salty air and felt it fill her soul.

It was going to be all right. It was. With Nick Barron on board, maybe the project would succeed after all and her father’s whole career wouldn’t go down the pan…

A tissue arrived in her hand, and she blew her nose vigorously and scrubbed her cheeks on the back of her hand. It was going to be all right. She wanted to scream it out loud, to run into the sea yelling it to the gulls screeching overhead—

‘Would this be a good time for that tea?’ he murmured.

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ she said, turning to him with a smile that wouldn’t be held down any longer. ‘There’s a café round the corner—nothing fancy, no barista making designer bevvies, just good, strong filter coffee and the best BLT baguettes in the world. I reckon I owe you that at least—and I haven’t had breakfast yet.’

‘It’s ten to twelve.’

‘I know. My stomach’s well aware.’

He grinned, dumped his hard hat on the desk and held out his hand towards the door.

‘In that case, what are we waiting for?’

CHAPTER TWO

SHE WAS right. Good strong coffee, a glorious view—and Georgie.

She’d changed out of the dreadful rigger boots and put on a rather less blinding jacket, and suddenly she was just a pretty young woman with black smudges of exhaustion under her red-rimmed and fabulous green-gold eyes.

They’d ordered two of her BLT baguettes, and while they were cooking the waitress had brought them their coffee. He took his black, but Georgie had poured the whole pot of cream into hers, and now her hands were cradling her cup almost reverently and her nose was buried in it, savouring the aroma with almost tangible pleasure. He watched her inhale and sigh, a contented smile playing over her lips.

‘Gorgeous,’ she said, and he couldn’t have agreed more.

‘Talk to me about the plans,’ he said, dragging his attention from the full, soft lips and hoping his confidence in her father’s firm didn’t prove misplaced.

Her nose wrinkled up. ‘What about them?’

‘What do you think of them?’

She met his eyes thoughtfully, then shrugged, the little snub nose wrinkling again. ‘Too dense. Too pedestrian. The architect is dull as ditchwater.’

‘So what would you have done?’

‘Employed a better architect?’

‘Such as?’

She shrugged and laughed. ‘Me?’

That stopped him in his tracks. ‘You’re an architect?’

‘Uh-huh—and before you ask, I am old enough.’

He felt a twinge of guilt, and winced apologetically. ‘Sorry. I guess I had that coming to me. So tell me, why are you running your father’s site?’

‘Hobson’s choice. He collapsed, and I was—what is it they say in the acting world?—resting. Between roles. Actually I was taking time out and thinking about my future, and thus available at zero notice. He needs a triple bypass, and he’s in Ipswich Hospital waiting to be transferred to Papworth for the operation. I’m sure it was worry as much as anything that pushed him over the edge in the end. This project’s been nothing but trouble since it started. Rubbish specification, no answers, nobody in control, nobody taking responsibility, but they put us on a hefty penalty clause because they thought it would speed things up.’

‘Because they needed results fast to bail them out.’

She shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t have worked. The design’s awful—the planners passed it, but I don’t think they were happy. It’s just a series of boxes. As it stands, even with the view, I don’t think the individual units on the site will sell well at all. They don’t deserve to.’

‘So what would you do differently?’ he asked, getting back to his original question. ‘You must have given it some thought.’

She laughed again, the sound sending heat snaking through his veins. ‘Endless, but none of it really formulated.’

‘That’s fine,’ he said, forcing himself to concentrate. ‘Just think out loud.’

‘Now? Really?’

‘Now. Really.’

She tipped her head on one side and grinned, and those gold flecks in her eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm that was infectious. ‘Halve it,’ she said. ‘Far fewer houses, much better quality, and get rid of that hideous extension for starters. It needs a wrecking ball through it. Here—I can’t describe it, I need to show you.’ Grabbing a napkin, she rummaged in her pocket, and he held out a pen.