Contract To Marry. Nicola Marsh
lately, trying to raise his floundering business out of a financial quagmire?
Just another day at the office, he thought, before sinking into his leather chair and scrutinising the latest batch of reports on his desk.
Despite the business acumen of his staff, the profit margins he’d predicted for the company had continued to fall at an alarming rate, leaving him in a quandary. He’d tried team-building exercises, personal pep talks and a bonus incentive scheme but nothing had worked and the strange lethargy that plagued most of his employees was starting to have disastrous consequences on the company’s bottom line.
Rubbing his forehead, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The image of Fleur Adams popped into his head and he wondered if he was doing the right thing in considering hiring her to save his company. He’d been impressed—hell, he’d been downright flabbergasted—at the services she’d advertised in her brochures, as if she’d read his mind and known exactly what he needed to make this work.
OK, the brochures hadn’t been the only things that had impressed him. Once he’d taken the time to look at the woman whose head collided with his elbow, he’d been pleasantly surprised. A pair of worldly brown eyes had stared at him, almost startling in their clarity for one so young. He’d guessed her age to be early twenties, which was why he’d questioned her ability to deliver everything her brochures said. How could anyone so young be that experienced?
You were.
He grimaced, hoping that the lovely young woman he’d been lucky enough to bump into today hadn’t learned life’s lessons the hard way, as he had. His view of the world was far too jaded for a man of thirty-eight and there wasn’t one damn thing he could do about it. Growing up too quickly did that to a person.
Shaking his head, he resumed reading the reports on his desk and hoped that Fleur would call. If not, he’d have to come up with some other brilliant idea to make his company a viable proposition again. And hope to bump into another lady who piqued his interest as much as she had.
Fleur’s heels clicked against the polished parquetry floor as she strode towards the front desk of Innovative Imports, keeping pace with her pounding heart. She’d done at least thirty of these presentations by now and should be feeling more confident. However, she knew that her nervousness had more to do with whom she was pitching to today rather than her own material.
Strangely, the receptionist barely looked up as Fleur approached the desk. ‘Excuse me, I’m Fleur Adams and I’m here to see Darcy Howard.’
The girl glanced up, appearing harassed yet bored at the same time, if that was possible. ‘Take a seat and I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.’
Fleur smiled her thanks and received a polite nod in return before the receptionist turned away and punched numbers into a console. So much for first impressions. If this girl was any indication of the calibre of staff that the company employed, she’d have her work cut out for her. If Darcy Howard hired her, that was.
She’d barely sat down before the man in question opened a nearby door and beckoned to her. ‘Come in, Ms Adams. I’ve been expecting you.’
Fleur stood up, grabbed her portfolio and followed him into his office, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl being summoned to the principal’s office. If she thought Darcy Howard had looked intimidating the first time they’d met, it was nothing to the vibes he exuded now. Little wonder the receptionist didn’t have any spark in her; the poor thing was probably too scared to show any signs of life.
‘Please, have a seat.’ He waved towards an over-stuffed leather chair that didn’t look comfortable. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?’
‘No, thanks. And please, call me Fleur.’ She perched on the edge of the chair; as predicted, it threatened to eject a person from its shiny, over-filled surface rather than encourage sitting back and relaxing. Heck, she’d barely been here five minutes and already knew that this man needed her services to revamp every aspect of his business, from furniture to personnel.
He sat behind a monstrous mahogany desk and rested steepled fingers on his chest, reminding her once again of her old high-school principal. Next she’d be hearing, ‘Miss Adams, have you been smoking behind the shed?’ Or better still, ‘Miss Adams, your dress is far too short. Let that hem down at once!’
‘Is something funny?’
Trying to control the twitching of her lips, which threatened to break into a full-blown grin at any second, she schooled her face into a mask of professionalism. ‘Not at all. Now, where would you like me to start?’
He smiled, a small movement involving an upturning of his lips rather than a genuine happy gesture. ‘I’d like to hear what you can do for my company.’
‘That depends on you.’
‘Oh?’
How he managed to instil so much disapproval into one tiny syllable, she’d never know. However, far from being daunted, she launched into her spiel and hoped he’d buy it.
‘Mr Howard, I need to know your company’s strengths, weaknesses, opportunities and threats before I can give you an in-depth analysis of what I can offer you. Let’s begin with the stakeholders and key result areas—’
‘Let’s not,’ he interrupted, sitting forward and fixing her with a probing stare.
‘Pardon?’
He stood up and started pacing the office, drawing her attention to the designer suit encasing his toned body. For a businessman, he obviously found time to work out. Pity he couldn’t improve his personality to go with the body.
‘I don’t need some generic spiel about what you can offer the company. I’ve already read all that in your brochure and it’s exactly what I’m after.’ He stopped for a moment and sat on the corner of the desk, looking down at her. ‘Tell me about you.’
Surprised at his change of subject, Fleur tried to focus her attention on giving him a brief yet professional outline of her qualifications. However, the harder she tried to focus, the more her attention shifted to the man sitting in front of her with his crotch at eye level.
Wrenching her gaze away, she looked up at him, only to find him looking at her with those all-seeing, all-knowing blue eyes. And if she didn’t know any better, she could’ve sworn she glimpsed amusement in their depths.
Clearing her throat, she gave him the abbreviated version of what she assumed he wanted to know. ‘I’m an accountant by profession but found the job too restrictive. I completed a degree in psychology for kicks, anything to break out of the staid accountancy mould. And here I am, trying to combine the two.’
He fixed her with yet another piercing stare. ‘So what was so restrictive?’
‘Everything,’ she answered too quickly, before composing herself. ‘I mean, some people just aren’t cut out for that type of work and I’m one of them.’
He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Why?’
‘I like to live outside the box. I’ll try anything once and being an accountant, surrounded by conservative types who try their utmost to stay inside that box, just didn’t do it for me.’ The interview had taken a decidedly personal turn and, rather than being insulted, Fleur was strangely flattered that he wanted to know what made her tick.
‘Anything, huh?’ He leaned towards her and for one, insane moment she thought he might kiss her.
She nodded, wondering if she’d lost her mind and mentally cursing Liv for filling her head with romantic notions from those damn novels she read.
He stood up and extended his hand. ‘Good. In that case, you’re hired.’
Fleur managed a smile as she placed her hand in his, more prepared this time for the little jolt of electricity that shot up her arm. ‘Thanks for the opportunity. I won’t let you down.’
She wasn’t sure if he held her