Good Girl or Gold-Digger?

He nodded. ‘So you see the good in people.’

His face was impassive; was he saying that was a bad thing? Maybe it was, where business was concerned. ‘Look, I’m not naïve enough to look at things through rose-coloured glasses, but seeing the good in things is a lot healthier than being cynical and believing that everyone’s out solely for what they can get.’

‘Indeed.’

‘There’s good and bad in everyone. The trick is finding how to maximise the good and minimise the bad.’ She stopped, realising that she was getting carried away. ‘Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to me on my soapbox. You want to see what we have here.’ She took him round each ride, explaining their history as she did so. ‘All the ones before 1935 were built by our family’s firm. Though I couldn’t resist the 1950s dodgems when we had the chance to buy them.’

Felix asked lots of questions as they walked round; each one seemed to be more critical than the last. By the time they reached the last ride—Daisy’s favourite, the old switchback gondola—she’d had enough of his blatant criticism, and her intention of schmoozing him dissolved. She faced him, folding her arms. ‘You seem to have a problem with just about everything I’ve told you, and I get the impression you think that Bill and I are amateurs. Let me tell you, he’s run this place for nearly thirty years, and I’ve been working here for ten of them. He does a damn good job and you’re judging him unfairly.’

‘I’m assessing the business. It’s what I do—and I’m good at it,’ Felix replied, looking completely unfazed.

‘This is what we do, and we’re good at it,’ Daisy countered, lifting her chin and wishing that she was six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. If she were five feet ten and hefty, maybe he’d take her seriously.

‘You might be a brilliant mechanic and understand everything to do with how the rides work and their history, but your business sense leaves a lot to be desired—and so does Bill’s. There are lots of areas where you could be making money and you’re not taking advantage of them, and you’re definitely not using your assets to their full potential. That’s why you don’t have the money to cope with any setbacks, such as the vandalism. Your margins are way too tight.’

‘This is heritage, Mr Gisbourne,’ she said frostily.

‘Felix,’ he corrected.

Daisy deliberately didn’t repeat his first name. ‘The whole point of this place, Mr Gisbourne, is to make our heritage accessible to people. There are so few of these rides left, and even fewer of them are in working order; quite a few of those here were just left to rot, and we’ve rescued them and restored them.’

‘Without enough money to run the place, you’re not going to be able to make it accessible to people or afford the restoration costs. You’ll go under. So you need to compromise.’

‘That’s why we’re looking at sponsorship deals.’ It was the whole point as to why he’d come to see them, wasn’t it? To see what they could offer him and what he could offer them?

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. ‘You’re not a woman who compromises easily, are you?’

Daisy thought of her ex-boyfriends and how the last three had tried to change her. If a man couldn’t accept her for who she was and wanted to make her into a different person, someone she wasn’t, then she wasn’t interested. And the same went for her business. If the price of his investment was changing Bell’s, making it all about the money instead of all about the heritage and fun, then she wasn’t interested. If she had to, she’d take a part-time job to earn extra cash that she could feed into the fairground, to give them a breathing space until they found a sponsor who understood where they were coming from. ‘I’m glad you realise that.’ She lifted her chin a fraction higher. ‘And don’t be fooled by my name. I’m not a delicate little flower.’

‘Daisy.’ He tipped his head on one side. ‘You’re right. “Boots” suits you better.’

‘Boots?’

He indicated her Doc Martens. ‘And then there’s the Cockney rhyming slang.’

Daisy roots: boots. She knew that. Although normally she loved puns, and adored tormenting her brothers with them, it annoyed her that Felix was being clever with her. She was about to say something tart when he spoke again.

‘Have dinner with me at my hotel tonight.’

It sounded more like an order than a request, raising her hackles higher still. Why did he want to have dinner with her anyway? Was he trying to come on to her?

‘A working dinner,’ he clarified.

She could feel the blush staining her cheeks; clearly he’d worked out what she was thinking. Well, of course he hadn’t been coming on to her. Men like Felix Gisbourne dated glamorous women who wore high heels and nail polish and earrings and expensive hairdos. He wouldn’t be interested in the likes of her.

Besides, she wasn’t interested in him as anything more than an investor. Couldn’t be. The fairground was too important.

‘Sure. I think Bill’s free, too.’

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I was thinking just you and me. If you’ve been working as his number two for as long as he says you have, then you’ll have the answers, and I won’t have to drag him away from his family.’

Another assumption: that she didn’t have anyone in her life to be dragged away from. Then again, he was right, so there was no point in arguing; she had no plans to spend her evening with anyone other than Titan.

‘By the way,’ he added, ‘the hotel isn’t really a jeans and boiler suits place.’

For a moment, she thought about telling him to get lost. In a truly pithy manner.

But then she thought of Bill, and the people who depended on them for jobs, and forced her temper to simmer. ‘Just tell me where and when to meet you.’

‘Seven o’clock.’

He named a hotel five miles away, on the coast, the poshest one in the area; its restaurant had two Michelin stars. And it wasn’t really within cycling distance—not with a skirt on, anyway—so she’d better organise a taxi. ‘That’s fine,’ she said coolly. ‘I’ll see you at seven.’

His smile did weird things to her stomach. Oh, this was bad. She had to ignore the surge of attraction. Even if there hadn’t been a business deal in the way, they were too different for it to work, because she wasn’t suitable girlfriend-material.

‘I’ll look forward to it, Boots.’ He sketched a salute, following up with another of those devastating smiles. She’d bet he knew the effect it had on women. ‘I’ll find my own way over to Bill.’

‘I’ll take you.’

‘You’re busy. I wouldn’t want to disturb you.’

Too late. He already had disturbed her.

‘À bientôt,’ he said softly. ‘Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.’

Like she had been for their meeting this morning? That had been an aberration, she thought. As Felix Gisbourne was about to find out.

Chapter Three

DAISY headed back to the workshop and grabbed her mobile phone. She speed-dialled her sister-in-law, willing Alexis to be there; she almost sagged with relief when the line connected and the answering machine didn’t kick in.

‘Lexy? It’s Daisy. I need your help.’

‘Sure, hon. What’s up?’

Before she’d had children, Alexis Bell had been a make-up artist—a seriously good one. If someone could make a silk purse out of the sow’s ear Daisy knew herself to be, it would be her sister-in-law. ‘I need a makeover. And I need it, um, right now.’

‘Excuse me? Am I hallucinating, or have you been drinking?’

‘Neither.’ Daisy explained the situation.

‘He said what?’ There was a dangerous edge to Alexis’s voice.

Daisy repeated it.

‘When are you meeting him?’

‘Seven.’