Singapore Fling with the Millionaire Page 8

  Now that she’d actually had experience at being a small business owner, though, the reality was vastly different. As a small business owner she was responsible for all the things. It’d come as a shock to discover she didn’t want to be responsible for all the things. All she wanted to do was design.

  What was more, she sure as heck didn’t have the business skills to take Beach Monday to the next level.

  So hire someone.

  She didn’t want to hire someone! She wanted...

  What? she mocked herself. A magic solution? Yeah, like that was going to happen.

  So sell the company!

  Exactly. She had to sell Beach Monday. But it wasn’t as simple as accepting the highest bid. She started to push her hands through her hair, her fingers tangled in the curls, and it took her a moment to untangle them. All the while she was aware of the way Jamie watched her. It made her feel like a worm on the end of a hook.

  She couldn’t sell without a lot of guarantees—and provisions written into the contract—binding whoever bought her company to the village co-ops she did business with in Ecuador, China and Somalia. The villagers’ livelihoods depended on the work her orders generated. She wasn’t abandoning them, especially not after taking such pains to initiate and foster those connections in the first place. If she couldn’t get a company like MA to honour those commitments then...

  She swallowed. Then, she couldn’t sell. It was as simple as that. She’d be letting people down and she couldn’t bear that thought. She didn’t doubt that Jamie meant what he’d said about changing the culture at MA. He’d described the business world as ruthless and cut-throat, but she had a growing suspicion that, while Jamie was wound as tight as a torsion spring, he was also honest.

  And he was kind. She was starting to suspect that he wasn’t some corporate shark out to take advantage of little fish her. She just wasn’t convinced his vision for MA was something he could achieve, despite his best intentions. MA’s business model was ingrained into every aspect of the company. Sure, things could change, but not at the click of the fingers—regardless of whose fingers did the clicking.

  And she wasn’t risking the livelihoods of those who relied on Beach Monday to such a gamble.

  ‘You don’t have to answer the question if you don’t want to, Christy.’ One strong shoulder lifted, sending a ripple of something restless through her. ‘It was a personal question—nosy,’ he added, giving her an out.

  She couldn’t drag her gaze from those shoulders. He was wound really tight and she wondered what it’d be like to unloose all of that barely contained tension, to spur him to reckless abandon.

  Her mouth dried. She’d bet it’d defy anything she’d ever experienced before and—

  What are you doing?

  She spun away from him, hands gripped together. It took three deep breaths before she could regulate her breathing. Dear God, had he noticed? She had to get a grip. Quick—think. Say something.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  She turned back, flashed him a smile. ‘Of course.’ He’d been asking why she’d wanted to run her own company. Answer the question.

  She prayed her voice would hold firm and not give her away, because she had no hope of getting her pulse under control. ‘My upbringing was about as far from privileged as you can get, Jamie. My father headed for the hills when I wasn’t quite five, leaving my mother to provide for us both. Which she did. But with him dodging his child-support payments, and her not really having any proper qualifications, it meant there was never much money coming in. There was enough for essentials but not fancy clothes or beach holidays.’ Or art classes.

  As if by some prearranged signal, they pulled to a halt. Leaning on the railing, she stared out at the bay. He leaned on the railing as well, not close enough to touch her, but close enough that she could feel his warmth and inhale the spice of his scent—an exotic blend of sandalwood and amber. It did nothing to slow the racing of her pulse.

  ‘Is that why you created Beach Monday—for all the beach holidays you yearned for as a child?’

  His shrewdness took her off guard. She straightened, her stomach fluttering with a thousand nerves. She pressed a hand there, staring at him. This was a man who hadn’t paid the slightest heed to the Greek islands when he’d been there or to the beaches on the French Riviera or the Costa del Sol. What on earth could he know about the secret yearnings of her childhood heart and the need to try and right what had felt like an innate wrong in her and her mother’s lives?

  He straightened too, staring down at her, and his face gentled. ‘I think, maybe, that’s a yes?’

  She had to swallow before she could speak. And then couldn’t speak anyway so settled for nodding. The light breeze sent a stray curl fluttering across her face and he reached across to tuck it back behind her ear. A whole different set of butterflies stampeded through her then. Dragging in a breath, she said, ‘It’s also why I learned to make my own clothes. Hence, discovering I had a knack for design.’ She shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious. ‘It probably sounds dumb to you.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound dumb. It sounds like you’ve been striving for a better life. It’s admirable.’

  She sent him what she hoped was a wry grin. ‘Just call me Cinderella.’

  As if in sync they leaned on the railing at the same time again—shoulder to shoulder, fractionally closer than the last time.

  Dangerous. The word whispered through her, but she ignored it. They were in a public place. A very public place. And this tiny bit of almost touching was companionable, not flirty. Nothing was going to happen.

  She pulled her mind back on track before it went off the rails again. ‘The thing about not having much money is that you don’t have much power either.’

  He stilled. ‘I never considered it in that light before, but you’re right.’

  She tried to compartmentalise the distraction of his scent and his heat to a faraway part of her brain. ‘I felt that lack of power keenly as a child and I resented it.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘With the kind of passion only a child can feel. I resented the fact that my mother was always at the mercy of her employers and her roster. She worked in an aged care facility as an enrolled nurse and if she didn’t take every extra shift when they asked her to, her hours would be cut to a bare minimum for several weeks afterwards as punishment.’

  He swore softly.

  ‘I don’t doubt it was a hard world for your mother,’ she said, ‘but it was a hard one for mine as well.’

  ‘Mine could walk away any time she wanted. Yours couldn’t.’

  Acid burned her stomach. ‘Her lack of options seemed so unfair, but she...’

  ‘She...?’

  ‘She hardly ever complained. And she made things fun. We mightn’t have been able to afford fancy holidays, but she’d take me to the beach in summer whenever she could—just for the day. And she made those days feel like holidays.’

  ‘That sounds...’ He shifted. ‘It sounds really nice.’

  ‘They’re among some of the happiest memories I have.’ And she cherished them. ‘I used to promise her that when I was queen of the world I’d build her a house on the beach.’

  If she accepted MA’s offer, she could do exactly that. In fact, she’d have enough money that her mother could retire.

  ‘The two of you are close?’

  That made her smile. ‘Very.’ When she glanced up her smile faltered and she wondered if she’d imagined the wistfulness that flashed through his eyes, but he blinked and the expression returned to one of warm interest and she thought she’d been mistaken.

  Or not, she thought a moment later. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t imagine Denise Cooper-Ford taking Jamie to the beach and building a sandcastle with him or teaching him how to swim. She wouldn’t have had the time. She’d have hired staff to do those things. It doesn’
t mean they weren’t close.

  ‘I expect she’s very proud of you.’

  ‘She’s my biggest cheerleader. She’s been my biggest supporter all throughout university and then again when I started up Beach Monday. She’s so happy that I’ve been able to follow my dream.’

  ‘I read somewhere you studied part-time.’

  Ah, so he’d done his due diligence on her too, huh?

  ‘I worked full-time and studied part-time, which is why I didn’t finish my degree until I was twenty-five. I refused to let my mother support me once I’d finished high school. Her emotional support was important, but I figured it was time I became financially independent.’

  He straightened. ‘You’re amazing, you know? You’ve achieved amazing things. I’m in awe.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ She laughed. ‘Anyone could’ve done what I did. And thousands of people do. Every day. It taught me I had the passion to follow through on my dream—and that despite setbacks I can achieve my dreams. It taught me to be focused and determined.’

  ‘And your dream was to create amazing beach umbrellas?’

  ‘Oh, that.’ She waved the praise away. ‘The umbrellas were an accident. A happy accident, mind. Obviously I wanted to make a living doing something artistic—be some kind of designer—but it wasn’t until I took an industrial art class that I found my niche.’

  ‘You’ve overcome amazing odds. You should be proud of yourself.’

  ‘I am.’

  Except she hadn’t been entirely honest with her mother. Her stomach screwed up tight. She hadn’t confided in her about how much she hated the day-to-day running of Beach Monday.

  At first she’d resisted even acknowledging the truth to herself. It’d seemed so fickle of her. She’d worked so hard, had put so many hours into Beach Monday’s success and to not want to do that any more had seemed the height of folly. She’d tried to learn to love it—to make herself love it.

  When she’d no longer been able to lie to herself, she’d had every intention of broaching the subject with her mother. Before she’d been able to do that, though, her mother had fallen ill. Christy had kept putting off telling her, not wanting to worry her. She hadn’t wanted her mother misinterpreting this potential change in direction as some kind of panic on Christy’s behalf. Her mother’s worst fear was that her diagnosis of multiple sclerosis would hold Christy back. As if Christy cared a fig about that even if it should! But it would break her mother’s heart if she thought Christy was sacrificing Beach Monday for her.

  She pressed her hands together, tapping them lightly against the railing. She had to tell her mother the truth. She just needed to find the right words first—ones that would allay her mother’s fears.

  ‘If you’re so close and she’s so proud of you, why are you looking as if you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders?’

  She became aware then that Jamie had angled towards her, still leaning against the railing, but now facing her fully. A frown stretched through his eyes. Oh, those shoulders! And that—

  She wrenched her gaze away. ‘She’s been unwell, and we’ve both been tiptoeing around, putting on brave faces and not wanting to worry each other.’

  He leaned down to look into her face. ‘Is she going to be okay?’

  He looked so genuinely distressed for her she had to tell herself in the most serious terms possible not to hug him. Instead she nodded. Her mother was fine, for the moment at least. ‘She’s been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, but her prognosis is good. Except—’ she grimaced ‘—hyper-vigilance is exhausting, and I’m pretty certain she needs just as much a break from it as I do.’

  ‘That’s why you were so exhausted when you first arrived in Singapore.’ He eased back, pursing his lips. ‘And something like that is bound to have an effect on your creativity.’

  Her shoulders sagged. Her creativity had run screaming for the hills.

  ‘You’ve been having a tough time of it.’

  ‘No tougher than a lot of other people.’

  He ignored that to stare into the middle distance. ‘The thought of selling Beach Monday must feel like you’re giving up your independence and...your power?’

  She shook her head. ‘I thought that’s how I’d feel, but it’s not.’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I don’t feel my independence or power is tied to my business. I’m much more than just my business.’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  But was he?

  The thought came from nowhere.

  ‘I want you to know that if you do sell to me, I’d listen to you. You’d get a say on the direction we should take Beach Monday. Your thoughts would—’

  ‘But not the final say.’ She wouldn’t have any power over the labour force he hired or the suppliers he did business with.

  ‘Your thoughts would matter to me.’

  Yeah, maybe, but would they matter to MA’s board of directors?

  ‘And obviously in return for that, we’d pay you a generous sum.’

  The offer they’d made was generous.

  He suddenly stiffened and swore. ‘What am I doing? I promised myself we wouldn’t discuss business tonight. Sorry.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s hard for me to clock off. Work mode is my default setting.’

  She planted her hands on her hips and stared at him.

  He rolled his shoulders. ‘What?’

  With a shake of her head, she turned back to the water. The laser light show had just started. With coloured lights dancing on the dark surface of the water it looked like a circus. Ooh...a circus-themed beach umbrella could be a lot of fun. A circus would be good for Jamie. ‘I’m thinking you should look a whole lot unhappier about your default setting being work mode.’

  She glanced across to find him staring at her. Her gaze lowered to his mouth, and things inside her tightened up. He had an absolutely perfect mouth—sculpted lips that looked to be the perfect blend of soft and firm.

  Dear God. Look away. Look away! Evidently it wasn’t just her creativity returning, but also her libido. Her lips twisted. How very convenient.

  ‘Was being a big corporate bigwig always your dream?’ She needed to stay on task.

  When he didn’t answer, her stomach took a dive. Did his work define him? Did he feel that his power and sense of self were tied to MA? That’d be an awful way to go through life.

  ‘I can’t say I’ve ever really thought about it,’ he finally said. ‘It was taken for granted that I’d join the company and eventually become CEO. Molto Arketa is the reason I’ve lived such a privileged life. I feel...bound to it.’

  She noticed his hesitation, but didn’t understand it. Any more than she understood his hooded gaze or the way his lips twisted. ‘Unlike you, the path was made easy for me.’

  ‘So what, you were lucky. That’s not something you need to feel guilty about.’

  But she was starting to wonder if that really was the case—was he lucky? What if he was a square peg in a round hole and circumstances had conspired to whittle him into a shape demanded by outside forces? Had he ever had a chance to decide for himself what he wanted to do and what he wanted to be? He’d had all of these expectations placed on his shoulders at such a young age. It didn’t seem right somehow. ‘If you couldn’t be CEO of MA, what would you want to do instead?’

  He stared at her as if she’d sprouted another head. ‘Why would I want to do anything else? I’m doing precisely what I want to do. Besides, anything else is unthinkable.’

  ‘Why?’

  He spread his hands. ‘Why would you even ask that question? I have...so much. And the reason I have so much is because of MA.’

  He did. But he didn’t seem to be enjoying it.

  ‘I don’t know. We just discussed how my sense of self isn’t tied to Beach Monday. So I guess I’m wondering if your se
nse of self is tied to MA.’

  He blinked as if the thought had never occurred to him. As if the concept was totally alien. Something inside her started to cry then and she touched his arm. ‘Jamie, if MA went under, what would you have in your life?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘I mean, you’d have your mother, of course.’

  His bitter laugh had her head rocking back. ‘I doubt that very much. Losing MA would kill her.’

  The conviction in his voice chilled her. He turned then with icy eyes. ‘Surely being committed to MA is a tick in my favour?’ He gestured at the bay. ‘You’re missing the laser show.’

  She resisted the urge to shake him. ‘I’m not questioning your commitment to MA. Any fool can see how hard you work. I just—’

  He raised a supercilious eyebrow. If she’d been its target yesterday it would’ve shrivelled her to the size of one of the tiny little beads she kept in her workbox, but today she was impervious to it. She’d seen beneath that perfect business exterior and glimpsed the man beneath. He was the kind of man who sent a distressed employee home to recover from a nasty shock. He was a man who’d listened to Christy’s practically incoherent ravings yesterday evening and had talked her off a ledge rather than ridicule her or make her feel small. He’d done it all without judgement. This man was innately kind. Couldn’t he see he was so much more than his job too?

  ‘You’re more than your company, Jamie. I don’t care how big and important MA is. You’re a human being who’s allowed to have any number of passions and quirks, interests and hobbies outside of your work life. In fact, I think it’s a prerequisite.’

  ‘A prerequisite for what?’

  ‘For being a fully rounded human being.’ His expression didn’t change, her words clearly not striking a chord. She lifted her chin. ‘For being a fully rounded and effective leader.’

  His eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘And how did you reach that conclusion?’