Who Wants To Marry a Millionaire?

As if.

‘I’m not playing this game with you.’

He used his frostiest, most commanding tone. The one he reserved for recalcitrant contractors who never failed to delay projects. Predictably, it did little for the pest threatening to derail his evening.

She merely smiled wider.

‘Why? Games can be fun.’

Exasperated beyond belief, his fingers tingled with the urge to throttle her.

Dragging in deep, calming breaths, he stared at the model of Portsea Point, the largest project he’d undertaken since assuming CEO duties.

He needed this project to fly. Needed it to be his biggest, boldest success to push the company back to its rightful place: at the top of Australia’s luxury property developers.

If he could nail this business would flood in, and Devlin Corp would shrug off the taint his father had besmirched the company with in his short stint as CEO.

Failure was not an option.

He glanced at his watch and grimaced. The unveiling would take place in less than ten minutes and he needed to get rid of this woman pronto.

Thrusting his hands into his pockets and out of strangling distance, he squared his shoulders and edged back to tower over her.

‘What do you want?’

‘Thought you’d never ask.’

His gaze strayed to her glossed lips again and he mentally kicked himself.

‘I want a little one-on-one time with you.’

‘There are easier ways to get a date.’

Confusion creased her brow for a second, before her eyes widened in horror.

‘I don’t want a date with you.’

She made it sound as if he’d offered her some one-on-one time with a nest of vipers.

‘Sure? I come highly recommended.’

‘I bet,’ she muttered, glancing away, but not before he’d seen the flare of interest in her eyes.

‘In fact, I can give you the numbers of half the Melbourne female population who could verify exactly how great a date I am and—’

‘Half of Melbourne?’ She snorted. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

Leaning into her personal space, he savoured her momentary flare of panic as she eased away.

‘You’re the one who wanted one-on-one time with me.’

‘For an interview, you dolt.’

Ah … so that was what this stunt was about. An out-of-work environmentalist after a job.

He had two words for her: hell, no. But against his better judgement he admired her sass. Most jobseekers would apply through an agency or harass his PA for an appointment. Not many would go through this much trouble.

He crooked his finger and she warily eased forward. ‘Here’s a tip. You want an interview? Don’t go calling your prospective boss nasty names.’

‘Dolt isn’t nasty. If I wanted nasty I would’ve gone with bast—’

‘Unbelievable.’

His jaw ached with the effort not to laugh. If his employees had half the chutzpah this woman did Devlin Corp would be number one again in next to no time.

‘What do you say? Give me fifteen minutes of your time and I’ll ensure you won’t regret it.’

She punctuated her plea with a toss of her shoulder-length blond hair and once again the tempting fragrance of spring outdoors washed over him.

He opened his mouth to refuse, to tell her exactly what he thought of her underhand tricks.

‘I don’t want to disrupt your Portsea project. I want to help you.’

She eyeballed him, her determination and boldness as attractive as the rest of her.

‘In the marine environmental field, I’m the best there is.’

Worn down by her admirable persistence, he found himself nodding.

‘Fifteen minutes.’

‘Deal.’

Her triumphant grin turned sly. ‘Now, if you don’t mind fishing the key out of its hiding spot, I’ll get out of your way.’

‘Hiding spot?’

Her gaze dropped to her cleavage.

Jeez, could this evening get any crazier?

‘Uh … okay.’

He’d reached a tentative hand towards her chest when she let out a howl of laughter that had him leaping backwards.

‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it.’

With a few deft flicks of her wrists she’d slipped out of her chains and kicked the ones around her ankles free.