Who Wants To Marry a Millionaire?

Intrigued by her forwardness, he nodded. ‘Which is?’

‘I want you to hire me for the Portsea project.’

‘And I want to buy the island next to Richard Branson’s—but, hey, we don’t always get what we want.’

Her eyes narrowed at his levity.

‘I’m the best in the business. Give me a month on the project and I’ll ensure every home you build is energy-efficient while maintaining viability in the surrounding environment and ensuring the beach is protected.’

‘I’ve already had consultants look over the project—’

‘Hacks.’

She leaned forward and planted her palms on his desk, her chest temptingly at eye level.

‘You’re a smart man. You know in the construction business it’s the bottom dollar that counts. That beach? Last on the priority list. Which is why you need me. I incorporate scientific knowledge with environmental nous.’ She straightened, shrugged. ‘I’m a specialist in the marine field. You’d be a fool not to hire me.’

After the public debacle his father had made of the Port Douglas project, the company and himself, if there was one thing guaranteed to push his buttons it was being seen as stupid.

He stood so fast his chair slammed into the filing cabinet behind him, and he leaned across his desk—within strangling reach.

‘I can assure you, Miss Shultz, I’m no fool. You’ve had your say. Please leave.’

She didn’t recoil or flinch or bat an eyelid and his admiration notched further.

‘Not till you’ve interviewed me.’

She sat, crossed her legs and rested her clasped hands on one knee.

‘You promised me an interview so start asking questions.’

Stunned by her audacity, he shook his head. ‘I can call Security.’

‘You won’t.’

Her blue eyes grew stony as she met his stonewalling gaze head-on. ‘I’ve done my research too. You’re new to this job. You want the best for Devlin Corp. Let’s cut the small talk and use my remaining minutes here wisely.’

He fell into his seat and rubbed his forehead, where the beginnings of a headache were stirring.

Fine, he’d play this her way. He’d go through her little game for the next five minutes, then he’d personally escort her out and slam the door on headstrong, pushy women once and for all.

‘Why don’t you go ahead and tell me why a successful, headhunted, environmental scientist who has worked around the world wants to work on a Devlin Corp project?’

For the first time since she’d strutted in he glimpsed uncertainty as she tugged on an earring, before she quickly masked it with a toss of her hair.

‘I like to diversify. The size of a project isn’t important to me. It’s the probable impact on the surrounding environment. And the Portsea project captured my attention for that reason.’

Her eyes glittered with unexpected fervour as she sat forward, her hands waving around to punctuate her words. ‘Portsea’s a gorgeous spot. Beaches along the Mornington Peninsula are special. You can’t just dump a fancy-schmancy housing development in the middle of it and hope for the best.’

Increasingly frustrated that she saw him as some dollar-grabbing corporate raider, he had to cut this short.

‘Contrary to your belief, Devlin Corp doesn’t dump anything. When we take on a project of this magnitude we do extensive environmental studies—’

‘Done by consultants. So you’ve said.’

She waved away his explanation, leaving him gobsmacked for the second time in twenty-four hours.

‘I’m not besmirching your company’s reputation. All I’m asking for is forty-eight hours to head out to the site, collate my findings and present them to you.’

‘That’s all?’

She ignored his sarcasm, beaming as if he’d agreed to share CEO duties with her.

‘I promise you won’t regret it.’

‘I already do,’ he muttered, thinking he must be mad to contemplate giving in to her demands.

But something she’d said rang true: he’d hired consultants previously used by his dad, and while he couldn’t fault their findings he had to admit environmental outcomes weren’t his area of expertise.

The consultants presented their findings, he went ahead with the project regardless, and while no red flags had jumped out at him, how well had the consultants studied how the land lay, so to speak?

He had an expert in the field sitting in front of him, offering her services for two days. Businesswise, he’d be a fool to pass up expertise of that magnitude. Personally, he wanted to boot her out before she coerced him into anything else.

‘What do you say?’ She held up two fingers. ‘Two days is all I’m asking for.’

‘If I agree to this—’ her grin widened and he held up a hand to rein her in ‘—and it’s a big if at this stage, how much are you charging?’

She leaned forward as if to impart some great secret.

‘For you? Free.’

He reared back. He’d learned from a young age that if something looked too good to be true it usually was.

‘What’s the catch?’

She shrugged. ‘No catch.’

He glimpsed a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the pinch around her mouth, the fiddle with her earring.

‘Here’s the deal. If you tell me the truth about why this is so important to you, I’ll give you two days.’

She paled and he almost felt guilty for holding her over a barrel. Almost. For all the grief she’d put him through he should rejoice he’d finally gained the upper hand. No one got the better of him, but in twenty-four hours this woman had come close.

Indecision warred with yearning, before she finally sagged into her chair, the fight drained out of her.

‘My family owned that land.’

There she went again, flooring him without trying.