Contract To Marry

Fleur hoped the surprise didn’t show on her face. He’d just named one of Melbourne’s stuffiest, pretentious restaurants, usually reserved for regular guests or those hell-bent on making an impression.

‘Formal or cocktail wear?’

‘Whatever takes your fancy.’ His gaze wandered down the length of her body, leaving a trail of goose pimples in its wake. ‘Though I’m sure you’d look great in anything.’

Heat flooded her cheeks, though before she could come up with an appropriate retort he stalked across the room and held the door open for her in an obvious sign of dismissal. ‘See you tonight?’

Clutching her portfolio under one arm and swinging her handbag over the other, Fleur strode past him. ‘See you then. And thanks once again for the opportunity, Mr Howard.’

‘It’s Darcy, remember?’

She managed a polite smile and nod before he shut the door.

It’s Darcy, remember?

His deep voice echoed through her mind along with every word he’d uttered in her bizarre interview. After the impression he’d just made on her, how could she forget?

CHAPTER TWO

IT HAD been a long time since Darcy had taken a woman out for dinner. His ever-increasing schedule put paid to any social life he’d once had, not that any woman had held his interest long enough for him to consider pursuing her.

Until now.

He shook his head, mentally chastising himself for allowing his thoughts to head down that track. Fleur Adams was business, not pleasure, a fact he shouldn’t forget if he wanted his company to survive.

So what if he’d already decided to hire her before the interview? He’d needed to know more about the woman who held the future of his business in her hands, besides the basics. In a way, that was what tonight would be also, another ‘get to know you’ session.

So was that why he’d picked the fanciest place to dine in town? They had to eat and he’d sooner indulge his passion for fine food and wine at a recognised establishment than some poor imitation. God, he sounded like a pompous ass at times! He would frighten the poor woman off if he spoke like that.

Funnily enough, he already had the impression that Fleur thought he was an old fuddy-duddy; that was why he’d paid her a compliment, in the hope she would realise that he wasn’t above admiring a beautiful woman when he saw one, though her reaction had intrigued him. Young women these days rarely blushed and he wondered if her feisty words about ‘trying anything once’ were merely a front of false bravado too.

Maybe he could test her out? And maybe you need your head read!

Pulling up in front of the restaurant, he handed the car keys to the valet and almost bounced up the marble steps. Whoever had invented that stupid rule about not mixing business with pleasure? Tonight, he had every intention of pushing the boundaries.

Fleur took a steadying breath, tilted her chin up and walked into the elaborate dining room of the Potter Lounge, trying not to gawk. Muted chandeliers cast a soft glow on the antique furnishings and reflected off the polished silverware, creating a warm and inviting ambiance, while the crystal wineglasses shone in the flickering candlelight.

So much for keeping her imagination grounded. This place was built for romance, not business, and she had no idea why Darcy had suggested it.

Feeling self-conscious and hoping it didn’t show, she allowed the maître d’ to guide her to their table. Not just any table, it happened to be the cosiest one set in the furthest corner of the room and shielded from prying eyes by an exquisite hand-painted Japanese screen.

‘Great,’ she muttered under her breath, knowing that spending an evening dining with her handsome new boss had just taken on a whole new meaning—in her own head.

To make matters worse, Darcy stood up as she neared the table and her heart did that weird, somersault thing it had when they first met at the café. It had nothing to do with his clothes; he’d gone for the conservative look once again with a dark designer suit, white shirt and striped tie. However, the man inside the clothes exuded some powerful brand of pheromones that called to her; she hadn’t experienced such a strong attraction in ages—if she was completely honest, probably never.

He pulled her seat out for her, a quaint, old-fashioned gesture that made her feel ultra-feminine. ‘You look beautiful,’ he murmured close to her ear as she sat down, raising her pulse another notch.

‘Thanks.’ To her annoyance, she felt heat creeping up her neck towards her cheeks. What was wrong with her? She never blushed, especially not when men paid her compliments.

‘So you decided to go with cocktail attire, huh?’

‘When in doubt, stick with the LBD.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘LBD?’

Was he kidding? Surely he couldn’t be that old?

Fleur grinned, a knowing smile that put her back on the front foot again and restored her confidence no end. ‘Little black dress. The essential of every female’s wardrobe.’

‘Ah,’ he said and nodded, as if he knew exactly what she was referring to, though by the confused look on his face, he had no idea.

‘I thought a man like you would be used to dining with a host of women in LBDs,’ she teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

‘No time.’ He gestured to a waiter hovering nearby and placed an order for champagne—of the French kind.

Something about his assumption that she drank expensive champagne or should be impressed by it grated on her nerves before she reminded herself of the purpose of the night. ‘Tell me about your company. I don’t even know what you import,’ she said.

‘Gift ware, mostly.’

‘There’s a huge market for that type of product. Why isn’t the company turning a profit?’

He shook his head. ‘If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t need to hire you.’

Her eyebrows shot heavenward at his bitter tone.

‘What I meant to say was my staff aren’t as productive as they once were. Everyone seems to be infected with this strange kind of lethargy and, despite our trying a few things, nothing has shaken them out of it.’

Fleur remembered the receptionist and her cavalier attitude and knew exactly what he referred to.

‘They used to have fun when they came to work but not any more.’

Suddenly, an image of Darcy’s stodgy office popped into her mind. ‘Do you have fun at work?’

He stared at her as if she’d spoken in some foreign language. ‘What do you mean?’

She sipped at her recently filled flute and savoured the tingle of bubbles sliding down her throat. ‘You know, the F word that people are scared to acknowledge at work. Is your work fun?’

‘Work is work. If I wanted to have fun, I’d employ a bunch of clowns.’

‘Well, maybe that’s what you need to do.’

He rubbed the bridge of his nose while she sipped at her champagne, as if what she’d said pained him. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

She sat up, suddenly businesslike. ‘No, but I’d like to plant some ideas in yours.’

She took a deep breath and hoped her new boss was ready to hear the truth. ‘OK, listen up. First impressions of your company are, quite frankly, that it’s tame, bland and boring. From the reception area to the furniture, I think you need a major overhaul. Urgently.’

Rather than appearing angry, he leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. ‘So, you think I’m boring?’