She Devil. Christy McKellen
go to the kitchen and pour myself a cold drink, trying to get the image of her out of my mind. But it determinedly stays there as I close my eyes and tip back my head to drink the ice-cold water. All I can see is her hair streaming behind her in the breeze and the magnificent swell of her breasts pressed against the soft material of her blouse as it plasters itself to her body. She’s wearing a white trouser-suit, for Christ’s sake, and she looks incredible in it.
Fuck.
I’m really going to have to watch myself around her. The last thing I need is to allow myself to indulge in some stupid fucking fantasy where we re-form the connection we once had. After the way she’s treated me over the years, I know that’s impossible. That I can’t trust her for a second.
It’s ten long minutes before there’s a loud, assertive knock on the front door—so very April—and I’m finally able to pace through to the hallway and swing the door open to admit her.
She stands on the doorstep for a moment, her cool blue eyes assessing me, as if trying to figure out my game plan before she enters.
Good luck with that, sweetheart.
‘April, good of you to come all this way.’
She raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow, then gives me a wry smile. ‘You didn’t exactly give me a choice. Your broker made it clear you were only interested in seeing prospective buyers here on your island.’
I nod. ‘This is where I run my businesses from now.’
The look in her eyes is discerning, as if she suspects she’s been brought here on false pretences.
Shrewd woman.
‘So you’re really serious about selling your father’s company?’ Her eyebrows twitch upwards. ‘I have to admit, I’m surprised you’re happy to potentially sell to DH Worldwide, considering our history.’ She moves her finger between the two of us to make it plain she means us personally.
I shrug. ‘I just want the best deal I can get for it. I can’t let my personal feelings get in the way of the most intelligent business decision to make.’ I lean against the doorjamb and fold my arms. ‘But, before you get too excited, I have to point out that you’re up against some stiff competition, so there’s a good chance I won’t be selling to you anyway. Unless you can offer me a deal I can’t refuse.’
I can tell she’s trying not to frown at that, but I don’t allow the smile that’s pushing at my mouth to surface. I want her to think I’m deadly serious about selling De Montfort Software and that she’s in with a real chance of securing the sale.
‘I know you won’t want to lose out, though, April. And I’m damn sure your father won’t either. I’m guessing it’ll put a real dent in his confidence in you taking over the CEO role full-time if you can’t close this deal. Am I right?’
She doesn’t answer this, but I can tell from a slight, momentarily unguarded expression of worry that flashes in her eyes that I’ve hit the nail on the head. I’d specifically made sure her father heard about me putting up my father’s business for sale so she’d be forced to respond to it. I knew Maxim Darlington-Hume wouldn’t be able to pass up an opportunity to take another of my family’s businesses from us. Especially one that would be so beneficial to his company’s portfolio. And it appears I was right.
She glances over my shoulder as if looking for something—or someone—inside the house.
‘Have my rivals arrived yet?’
‘They’ve been and gone already.’ I keep my expression blank so as not to give away my ruse. ‘You’re the last one to turn up.’
In reality, the others haven’t actually been invited to come yet. I’m still trying to decide whether I actually want to sell my father’s business right now, or try running it myself for a while first, but she doesn’t need to know that.
She frowns and it’s clear the idea of being last to the table frustrates her. ‘Oh, I see. Well, I’m here now, so perhaps we should get straight down to business, then.’
‘I’d expect nothing less from a professional such as yourself,’ I say, waving her inside with a sarcastic flourish.
She gives me a stiff sort of nod—I can tell it’s killing her, having to try and be so unnaturally friendly towards me—stalks past me, then pauses in the middle of the hallway, waiting for me to close the door and show her in which room we’re going to be doing business.
I lead her towards the library, which is my favourite room in the house. I’ve had it stocked with hundreds of books, both fiction and non-fiction—a lot of which I’ve read and enjoyed over the years I’ve lived here.
Her face is a picture as she gazes around the room, clearly surprised I would own such intellectual things as books.
‘Don’t tell me, you had no idea I could read,’ I tease her.
She visibly tenses, as if I’ve hit a nerve, then holds up a hand in supplication.
‘Look, Jamie. I know we’ve not exactly had the best of relationships over the years, but can we put that aside for the time being? What happened the last time we saw each other was a mistake, I’m sure you’ll agree. It was clearly a time of heightened emotions and a culmination of a lot of pent up anger which I think we’re both mature enough to move on from now.’
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