It Started With A Proposition: Blackmailed into the Italian's Bed / Contract with Consequences / The Passion Price

‘An engagement!’ Gino exclaimed, before he could think better of it.

‘Yep. If that thought upsets you, then perhaps you shouldn’t go at all.’

Upset him?

Already a tidal wave of fury was building up on his horizon. If Jordan had lied to him…

A boyfriend was bad enough. But if she’d willingly had sex with him, then gone home to her fiancé, he wasn’t sure how he’d handle it.

‘No, no,’ Gino said with pretend nonchalance. ‘No sweat. It’s been years since Jordan and I were an item. But I wouldn’t mind seeing her again, having a chat about old times.’

Plus a chat about very recent times, Gino vowed darkly. Namely last Friday night.

‘In that case be discreet. Chad Stedley came across as the controlling type. He might not like his girl’s ex showing up in her life again.’

‘He sounds delightful.’

‘He’s super-rich.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Women will put up with a lot to marry a super-rich guy.’

‘Is that the voice of experience talking?’

‘Hell, no. I’m rich, but not super-rich. Yet. Still, you must have come across a few gold-digging types. The Bortellis were listed as one the richest one hundred Australian families last year.’

‘Ahh,’ Gino said. ‘You looked us up?’

‘I always like to know who I’m doing business with, Gino. I steer well clear of the entrepreneurial type who has to borrow squillions, or relies on selling off the plan for his cashflow.’

‘Very sensible.’

‘If you do come to Sydney you could drop by and have a look at my preliminary plans.’

‘I haven’t decided whether I’ll come yet. I might go to the snow instead.’

‘That might be a wiser course of action.’

‘Yes,’ Gino said slowly ‘It might.’

But Gino wasn’t feeling wise.

If Jordan had lied to him…

There was only one way to find out in advance of Saturday night. He would put Confidential Investigations back on the job. That gave them three and a half days to find out if Jordan had broken up with this Chad Stedley or not.

More than enough time, he would imagine. He would also see if they could find out if Jordan would be attending this dinner.

At the same time he would send an e-mail to the RSVP address, accepting Mr Frank Jones’s invitation to the dinner.

CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_76c30d95-b697-56e6-8594-2326e935d791)

JORDAN reluctantly went through the motions of getting ready: same little black dress as last time, same shoes and jewellery.

Her hair she didn’t have to do, thank goodness. She’d been to the hairdressers that morning, and had it shampooed and gently blowdried, giving her slightly wayward waves some control, but not straightening them too much. Her make-up took her less than ten minutes: just foundation, a touch of blusher, lipgloss and two coats of mascara.

Jordan rarely wore much make-up. Never had.

By half-past six she was ready—or as ready as she was ever going to be. Her taxi had been booked for seven, which left thirty minutes to do what? Watch half of an hour-long television show? Or have a glass of white wine and try to relax?

The second option won, hands down.

There was an already opened bottle of reisling in the door of her fridge—a fruity, slightly sweet wine, which Chad would have despised, but which Jordan liked. She poured herself a small glass and carried it through her living room, heading for her front balcony.

Jordan slid back the glass door, giving a small shiver as she stepped into the cool evening air. Fortunately it wasn’t too windy, the sea breeze quite gentle. Darkness had fallen some time back, the lights giving a magical quality to Sydney’s two most famous icons, which were both visible from her seventh-floor apartment. The bridge on her right looked like a huge jewelled coat-hanger, whilst across the harbour the sailed roof of the Opera House resembled the set from a sci-fi movie.

Jordan sighed as she leant against the railing and sipped her wine, her mind swiftly distracted from the lovely view to the evening ahead.

She didn’t want to go to this month’s new client dinner.

But she simply couldn’t get out of it. Not unless she had a very good reason.

When she’d told Chad during his early-morning call that she didn’t want to go, not without him, he’d been flattered but insistent.

‘You’ve taken on a new client this month, haven’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she’d admitted. An angry young man who wanted to sue his employer for unfair dismissal after the boss had discovered he was a homosexual.

‘Then you have to go, darling. Rules are rules. Just make sure you wear your engagement ring. Let all the men there know you’re taken.’

Jordan had come away from that phone call just a tad unsure of her decision to marry Chad.

During his calls this week he’d become quite bossy with her. And demanding. He really seemed to think she was going to give up working once they were married and living in the States.

As if she would!

She’d also been quite put out when he’d been less than effusive in his congratulations over her winning all that compensation money for Sharni Johnson. He hadn’t sounded as if he cared about her success at all!

Yet she was expected to rave over how his ‘wonderful’ friends had thrown him all those welcome home parties. So far he’d gone out somewhere different every night.

Somehow Jordan doubted he’d told any of the females attending these dos that he was taken. Chad liked being the centre of attention.

Jordan wasn’t jealous, but she resented double standards.

Guilt consumed her with this last thought. After all, she hadn’t exactly been Little Miss Innocent since Chad had gone away, had she?

Over a week had gone by since she’d gone to Gino’s hotel room, but the memory of her behaviour still haunted her.