Snowbound Surprise for the Billionaire

She stared at her glass when it was set down in front of her—her very tall glass. ‘Uh, Flynn, you ordered me half a litre of beer?’

‘We could’ve ordered it by the litre if you’d prefer.’

Her jaw dropped as a barmaid walked past with three litre tankards in one hand and two in the other.

‘Bottoms up!’

He sounded younger than she’d ever heard him. She raised her glass. ‘Cheers.’

She took a sip and closed her eyes in bliss. ‘Nectar from the gods. Now tell me what we’re drinking to?’

‘This—’ he gestured around ‘—is what we’re doing here.’

It took a moment. When she realised what he meant she set her glass down and leaned towards him. ‘You’re buying the beer hall?’ A grin threatened to split her face in two. That had to be every Australian boy’s dream.

How perfectly perfect!

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_cf610759-92b7-557e-9665-85bf2ae21b2b)

Dear Daisy

Munich is amazing. Gorgeous. And so cold! After a couple of hours out my face burned when I came back inside as if it were sunburned. Everything here is so different from Mudgee. I know it’s not Paris, but it’s marvellous just the same.

You know, it got me thinking about starting the blog back up, but...I’d simply be searching for something I can’t have. Again.

You should be here in Europe with me. You should... Sorry, enough of that. Guess what? I finally found out what we’re doing here. The perfectly perfect F is buying a brewery that has its own beer hall! How exciting is that?

We have our very first business meeting at eleven o’clock this morning. I’m going to wear that gorgeous garnet-coloured suit I bought in Sydney when we went to see Cate Blanchett at the theatre that time. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do in said meeting, but in that suit I’ll at least look the part!

Wish you were here.

Love, Buttercup

ADDIE EXITED HER Till the Cows Come Home Word document, closed the lid of her laptop and resisted the urge to snuggle back beneath the covers. It was only seven a.m. She could sneak in another hour of shut-eye. Flynn had said he didn’t need to see her until quarter to eleven in his room, where the meeting was scheduled to take place, but...

She was in Munich!

She leapt out of bed, smothering a yawn. A brisk walk down by the River Isar would be just the thing. She wanted her body clock on Munich time asap. What she didn’t want was any more of the crazy disturbed sleep like that she’d had last night.

A walk in Munich would wake her up, enliven her and have her bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for Flynn’s business meeting.

Perfect.

* * *

Addie tried to stifle a yawn as the lawyer droned on and on and on about the conditions of probate and the details of the contract negotiations that were under way, plus additional clauses that would need to be considered, along with local government regulations and demands and...on and on and on.

Did Flynn find this stuff interesting?

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He watched the lawyer narrowly, those blue eyes alert. She sensed the tension coiled up inside him as if he were a stroppy King Brown waiting to strike, even as he leaned back in his seat, the picture of studied ease. She wondered if the lawyer knew.

She shivered, but she couldn’t deny it only made him seem more powerful...and lethal, like a hero from a thriller. It must be beyond brilliant to feel that confident, to have all of that uncompromising derring-do. One could save small children from burning buildings and dive into seething seas to rescue battered shipwreck victims and—

‘Make a note of that, will you, please, Adelaide?’

She crashed back into the room, swallowing. She pulled her notebook towards her without glancing at Flynn and jotted on it.

Am making notes about nothing so as to look efficient. Listen in future, Addie! Pay attention.

She underlined ‘listen’ three times.

Biting back a sigh, she tried to force her attention back to the conversation—the negotiations—but the lawyer was droning on and on in that barely varying monotone. If he’d been speaking German she’d have had a reason for tuning out, but he was speaking English with an American accent and it should’ve had her riveted, but...

For heaven’s sake, the subject matter was so dry and dull that he could’ve had the most gorgeous and compelling voice in the world and she’d still tune out. She mentally scrubbed property developer off her list of potential future jobs. And lawyer.

She glanced at Flynn again. He wore a charcoal business suit and looked perfect. Didn’t he feel the slightest effect from jet lag? Perhaps he really was a machine?

She bit back another sigh. Perhaps he was just a seasoned world traveller who was used to brokering million-dollar deals.

The figures these two were bandying about had almost made her eyes pop. She’d wanted to tug on Flynn’s sleeve and double-check that he really wanted to invest that much money in a German brewery.

Sure, he was an Aussie guy. Aussie guys—and girls, for that matter—and beer went hand in hand. But there were limits, surely? Even for high-flying Flynn.

Still, she knew what it was like to have a childhood dream. Good luck to him for making his a reality.

She had a sudden vision of him galloping across the fields at Lorna Lee’s on Blossom. She leaned back. Did he really prefer this kind of wheeling and dealing to—?

‘Record that number, please, Adelaide.’

She started and glanced at the lawyer, who barked a series of numbers at her. She scribbled them down. Was it a phone number or a fax number? For all she knew it was a serial number for... She drew a blank. She scrawled a question mark beside it.

In her pocket her phone vibrated. She silently thanked the patron saint of personal assistants for giving her the insight to switch it to silent. She slid it out and her lips lifted. A message from Frank. She clicked on it, eager for news from home.

This man of Flynn’s wants to get rid of Bruce Augustus.

Her hand clenched about the phone. She shot to her feet. ‘Over my dead body!’

The lawyer broke off. Both he and Flynn stared at her. She scowled at Flynn. ‘This foreman of yours and I are going to have serious words.’

He cocked an eyebrow.

She recalled where they were and what they were supposed to be doing and cleared her throat, took her seat again. ‘Later,’ she murmured. ‘We’ll have our serious words later.’

But she messaged back to Frank.

If he does he dies. Text me his number.

Flynn stretched out a long leg, leaning further back in his chair, reminding her even more vividly of a King Brown. Addie pocketed her phone and kept a close eye on him.