Tempting the Negotiator

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE

TRYING TO IGNORE the high thrum of the airplane engine, Sass leaned back against her seat and shut her eyes. She’d forced her shoulders into a semblance of relaxation but her hands remained clenched in her lap. Only another ten minutes.

“Feeling sick?”

Sass opened her eyes and looked into the sympathetic face of the woman across the tiny aisle. She tried to smile.

“I don’t like flying too much.”

Sass Walker was a terra firma kinda gal. She liked to feel the earth beneath her feet, preferably with a comforting layer of asphalt. She also liked maps and lists. Fine print was her forte, which made her great at her job. She liked order and control. Especially control. And right now this tin can of an airplane didn’t feel at all controlled. Neither did her life.

The woman smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s really very safe.”

The six-seater sure didn’t feel it. Sass bet that if she punched the side, her fist would go right through.

“Besides, we’re nearly there,” the woman continued. “See, there’s the harbor coming into view right now.”

Every one of the six passengers had a window seat, and Sass forced herself to look out. Most people, she knew, would have been spellbound by the generous antipodean harbor surrounded by shaggy green mountains, but she was horribly jet-lagged and still smarting from life’s unfairness.

“American?”

Sass nodded. She saw the woman’s gaze travel down her caramel Prada suit to her black Christian Louboutin pumps with their trademark red soles.

“I know who you are! You’re the lawyer come to set up the tourist resort in Aroha Bay.”

The heavy-jowled man diagonally in front of Sass spun around. “Come to destroy the bay, more like!”

“Oh, come off it, Reg, the town could do with a boost to its economy and you know it.”

Inwardly Sass groaned. It was starting already, the dissidence she was here to calm. Kurt the Incompetent had ballsed up big-time, rushing in with multimillion-dollar schemes without consultation, without checking the facts, and now she’d been sent in to clean up the mess. And while she was exiled here at the Back-of-Beyond at the bottom of the world, Kurt would be smarming his way into the promotion she’d been killing herself with eighty-hour weeks, years on end, to win. All her frustration, her fury, now turned on New Zealand, though Sass was careful to smile.

“I’m just here to listen to what all you folks have to say. My company is concerned to discover there’s local opposition to what they thought would be a wonderful business opportunity for Whangarimu.”

“And it is!” the woman agreed.

The man scowled. “We don’t need Americans coming in and taking over. It’s a bloody disgrace. Did you see the plans? Amazon ruins in the middle of New Zealand forests? What did he call it—Jungle Paradise? Utter tosh.”

The man had a point. Sass herself had been speechless when Kurt had unveiled his brainchild back in New York. Paradise Resorts prided itself on its theme-based holiday locations, and Kurt had seen the New Zealand forest as the perfect setting for a Mayan complex topped by a large “temple” casino.

The plane’s shrill engine changed tone as it began its descent. Sass was deeply relieved to see the airport below; grateful not to have to continue the discussion any longer, grateful that this interminable trip of nearly thirty hours was over. She craved the silence of a hotel room, a hot shower and a glass of chilled white wine. Most of all she craved a cigarette.

Touchdown was soft, and within seconds the pilot had flung open the door of the plane and lowered the stairs.

“Welcome to Whangarimu!”

Knees wobbly, she stepped out of the plane. The brilliant late afternoon sunlight was like a slap in the face. She walked across the small runway toward a one-level building she assumed was the airport. Several people were gathered, waiting to greet the arrivals, and she searched for someone holding up a card with her name on it, Kurt having assured her she’d be met. Nada. Great, just great. She began to make her way to the counter when a hand on her arm waylaid her.

“Sass Walker?”

She didn’t know who she’d been expecting, but certainly hadn’t pictured a man who could tower over her, even when she was wearing her highest heels. She also hadn’t expected such breadth of shoulders under his faded T-shirt or the green eyes, so startling against the tanned face.

“Yes?”

“I’m Jake Finlayson.”

Surprised and very wary, she asked, “As in one of the Finlayson brothers spearheading the protests?”

“That’s right.”

She took in his battered surf shorts, his tawny, salt-encrusted curls. His long legs. He must be the one who’d upended the scale model Kurt had presented at a town meeting three weeks earlier. The one who’d thrown Kurt out of the hall. The reason she’d been sent in Kurt’s place.

“An act of lunacy,” Kurt had explained to The Boys. “This Finlayson is a deadbeat surfer who rents a house on Aroha Beach. Nothing to worry about, he’s a nobody.”

Though it was amazing how quickly this nobody and his lawyer brother had whipped together enough ecological concerns to keep Paradise Resorts tied up in legal battles for months if not years. Was this guy here to bundle her back onto the airplane?

“I’m here to take you to your accommodation.”

His voice betrayed no emotion, but he radiated hostility, and Sass was damned if she was going anywhere with a man who’d threatened to emasculate her colleague—however much he deserved it.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Finlayson,” she said brightly, “but don’t you worry, I can manage by myself. If you tell me the name of my hotel, I’ll take a cab.”

The Kiwi raised one eyebrow. “Hotel? We were informed that you were insistent on staying out at Aroha Bay, despite the lack of facilities. Of course, seeing as your company owns the land now, you are entitled to be there.”

Kurt! He was really out to get her on this trip. Already he’d failed to give her the files, with apologies for a crashed computer. He’d briefed her quickly, of course, but she knew he’d been holding out on her. He wasn’t about to let her succeed where he’d failed.

Sass smiled tautly. “Seems like wires got crossed somewhere over the Pacific, Mr. Finlayson, but hey, no problem. I’ll book into whichever hotel has a vacancy.”

“Call me Jake. We don’t stand on ceremony in New Zealand. I don’t see what the problem is. Branston,” he said, making the name sound like a swearword, “was explicit that you would be staying in the sleep-out at my house. It’s right on the beach where you want to build your resort. He said you were very keen on getting the full ambience of the place.”

Sarcasm and accusation were equally balanced. For a second Sass could only stare as the full extent of Kurt’s perfidy dawned on her. He was sending her straight into the lion’s den. Looking up at the implacable face in front of her, Sass saw that Kurt had, at the same time, revenged himself on his enemy, too. As low-down, dirty tricks went, it was pretty inspired.

Jake frowned. “Look, if you’ve changed your mind—”

“No, not at all.”

She couldn’t afford to seem indecisive, would have to bluff through for the moment, the best she could. Just wait till she got her hands on that conniving son of a bitch, though.

“That’s fine,” she added. “Of course it is. Great. Now, where’s the baggage claim?”

“It’s in the shed out back. I’ll take you.”

He led her around the tiny airport building to a shed where, in the gloom, she saw the other passengers sorting through the pile of luggage on a trolley.

“Which one’s yours?” he asked. She pointed and he swung the large suitcase off easily. “Good, follow me.”