The Billionaire Boss's Innocent Bride. Lindsay Armstrong
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stay confidential.’ He handed her a pen.
Alex signed the document with a flourish. ‘Of course.’
‘And they faxed through the programme of engagements you’ll be required to attend.’ He pushed another piece of paper across the desk to her.
‘Cocktail party tonight, lunch tomorrow at the Sovereign Islands, then a three-day break until a golf day at Sanctuary Cove, a day out on a boat on the river, a day at the races and finally a dinner dance—Sovereign Island again,’ Alex read and ticked off her fingers.
Simon looked a question at her.
‘I have seen this—Mrs Winston went through it with me. I was just going through the outfits we got for each occasion,’ she explained and added, ‘I think I’m going to enjoy the three-day break after tomorrow’s lunch. But what’s at Sovereign Island?’ she asked.
‘It’s on the Gold Coast. He has a house down there—make that a mansion.’ Simon looked wry, then opened a drawer and produced a gold badge with her name in navy enamel letters and the company logo artfully inscribed on it. ‘What do you think? Quite classy.’
Alex ran her fingers across the surface. ‘Yes.’ She put it in her bag.
‘So—’ Simon sat back and looked at her narrowly ‘—you reckon you can handle this, Alex?’
‘Have I ever let you down, Simon?’
‘No, but telephone interpreting and document translation is not the pressure thing on-site interpreting is.’
‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘But I spent a couple of hours last night immersing myself in a Mandarin DVD—I feel quite ready.’
He gazed at her. ‘Well, it’ll be mostly small talk, I imagine, but—good luck! You do realize this could bring us a lot of work?’
Alex rose. ‘Simon, that must be the sixth time you’ve told me that—I do. And if you don’t mind I’m off to smell the roses, metaphorically speaking, so—’
‘What’s he like? Max Goodwin?’
Alex turned back to him and searched her mind. ‘Very—clever, I would say. Very used to getting his own way. Very rich.’ She turned towards the door.
‘That I never doubted,’ Simon said dryly. ‘It’s an old family and there’s been a lot of wealth in it for a long time. His grandmother was the daughter of an Italian count and his sister is married to an English baronet. Still, there’s a rumour going round town that a son he never knew existed has made an unexpected appearance in his life.’
Alex turned back again and blinked at her boss. Simon Wellford had a sister, Cilla, who had married rather spectacularly and he often shared titbits of celebrity gossip with his staff.
‘Never knew existed?’ she repeated. ‘How on earth can that happen?’
Simon shrugged. ‘Who knows? There’ve been a few women in Max Goodwin’s life. But word has it, he was, to put it mildly, not amused.’
Alex sat down again. ‘How could you be “not amused” about your own child?’
Simon drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Don’t ask me, Alex. Cilla is a bit piqued because she hasn’t, to date, got any further details.’ He pulled a face as if struck by a sudden thought. ‘And if I were you I wouldn’t put the question to him either.’
Alex sat back. ‘As if I would,’ she said tartly.
‘Well, I don’t know about that. I’ve got the feeling you’re something of a—’ Simon Wellford hesitated ‘—a “do-gooder”.’
‘I’m not. I am,’ Alex corrected herself, ‘but in a strictly non-meddling way. And this has nothing to do with me, although I still can’t understand it.’ She frowned.
Simon sat up and pushed his fingers through his gingery hair. ‘I’m sorry I ever told you! Look, don’t let it affect your dealings with Goodwin,’ he requested urgently.
‘Of course I won’t. I intend to be entirely professional about this, Simon,’ she told her boss, ‘believe me.’
‘Good.’
At five-thirty, as the autumn dusk was gathering, Alex arrived at the penthouse and her jaw dropped at what she saw.
The last time she’d visited the curtains had been closed on the side of the lounge that led to a pool deck. Now they were open and the pool sparkled with underwater lighting. Not only that, the deck had been screened from the cool night air and bore a startling resemblance to what could be a set of the musical South Pacific.
There was a dugout canoe bobbing on the pool, there was a small sandy beach, tropical foliage—real palm trees and hibiscus bushes. There were waiters and waitresses wearing leis, sarongs and grass skirts, there was the lovely music playing softly in the background. The tables that bore the canapés and drinks were covered in palm thatch and strewn with frangipani blooms.
It was all so professionally done, so real, you could imagine yourself on an island in the South Pacific.
Alex closed her mouth and turned to find Margaret Winston at her elbow. ‘This is just brilliant,’ she breathed.
Margaret smiled. ‘We do our best. Now, let me look at you.’
Alex looked down at herself. She wore a filmy black blouse dotted with coin spots of pale grey over a black camisole and a fitted black skirt that came to just above her knees. Her legs gleamed smooth and long beneath sheer stockings and she wore black suede pumps.
It was a restrainedly elegant outfit, she felt, and, although she’d been amazed at her hair, she had no real idea of the remarkable transformation she’d undergone.
But before Margaret got a chance to comment, Max Goodwin came up to them.
He made a fleeting but comprehensive study of Alex, stifled an expletive and said instead with obvious dissatisfaction as he turned to his secretary, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Margaret! What’s this?’
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS Margaret Winston who saw Alex freeze with a trapped look in her eyes like a deer caught in headlights.
It was Margaret who protested, ‘But, Mr Goodwin, she looks wonderful!’
‘Wonderful?’ Max Goodwin grated. ‘She looks—’
He didn’t get to finish because Alex came alive and whirled on her heel and ran for the lift.
He caught her with her finger on the button and took hold of her elbow. ‘If you’ll allow me to finish, Alex,’ he said tersely, ‘I was about to say you look drop-dead gorgeous.’
Alex’s head came up and she looked at him incredulously. ‘You’ve just made that up,’ she accused huskily. ‘Please let me go.’
‘No. Come with me.’ The pressure on her elbow increased and he steered her out of the foyer into a side room, a smaller, more informal sitting room with comfortable armchairs done in restful shades of green. He closed the door behind them. ‘I meant it,’ he said.
‘But that doesn’t make sense.’ Alex clasped her hands in front of her and prayed she wouldn’t burst into tears. ‘Why would you be angry about that?’
He shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Because it’s the last thing I need at the moment, an interpreter who’s going to steal the show. Not only that, I can’t allow for anyone to believe that we are on more intimate terms as well.’
Alex’s colour fluctuated, but she said steadfastly, ‘I don’t think there is the slightest chance of that!’
‘My dear…’ Max Goodwin stood back from her and allowed his dark blue gaze to sweep her from head to toe again ‘…believe me, it would occur to me if I saw you with someone else. You look wonderfully