The Tycoon's Instant Family. Caroline Anderson
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TWO
SHE WAS right. Good strong coffee, a glorious view—and Georgie.
She’d changed out of the dreadful rigger boots and put on a rather less blinding jacket, and suddenly she was just a pretty young woman with black smudges of exhaustion under her red-rimmed and fabulous green-gold eyes.
They’d ordered two of her BLT baguettes, and while they were cooking the waitress had brought them their coffee. He took his black, but Georgie had poured the whole pot of cream into hers, and now her hands were cradling her cup almost reverently and her nose was buried in it, savouring the aroma with almost tangible pleasure. He watched her inhale and sigh, a contented smile playing over her lips.
‘Gorgeous,’ she said, and he couldn’t have agreed more.
‘Talk to me about the plans,’ he said, dragging his attention from the full, soft lips and hoping his confidence in her father’s firm didn’t prove misplaced.
Her nose wrinkled up. ‘What about them?’
‘What do you think of them?’
She met his eyes thoughtfully, then shrugged, the little snub nose wrinkling again. ‘Too dense. Too pedestrian. The architect is dull as ditchwater.’
‘So what would you have done?’
‘Employed a better architect?’
‘Such as?’
She shrugged and laughed. ‘Me?’
That stopped him in his tracks. ‘You’re an architect?’
‘Uh-huh—and before you ask, I am old enough.’
He felt a twinge of guilt, and winced apologetically. ‘Sorry. I guess I had that coming to me. So tell me, why are you running your father’s site?’
‘Hobson’s choice. He collapsed, and I was—what is it they say in the acting world?—resting. Between roles. Actually I was taking time out and thinking about my future, and thus available at zero notice. He needs a triple bypass, and he’s in Ipswich Hospital waiting to be transferred to Papworth for the operation. I’m sure it was worry as much as anything that pushed him over the edge in the end. This project’s been nothing but trouble since it started. Rubbish specification, no answers, nobody in control, nobody taking responsibility, but they put us on a hefty penalty clause because they thought it would speed things up.’
‘Because they needed results fast to bail them out.’
She shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t have worked. The design’s awful—the planners passed it, but I don’t think they were happy. It’s just a series of boxes. As it stands, even with the view, I don’t think the individual units on the site will sell well at all. They don’t deserve to.’
‘So what would you do differently?’ he asked, getting back to his original question. ‘You must have given it some thought.’
She laughed again, the sound sending heat snaking through his veins. ‘Endless, but none of it really formulated.’
‘That’s fine,’ he said, forcing himself to concentrate. ‘Just think out loud.’
‘Now? Really?’
‘Now. Really.’
She tipped her head on one side and grinned, and those gold flecks in her eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm that was infectious. ‘Halve it,’ she said. ‘Far fewer houses, much better quality, and get rid of that hideous extension for starters. It needs a wrecking ball through it. Here—I can’t describe it, I need to show you.’ Grabbing a napkin, she rummaged in her pocket, and he held out a pen.
She flashed him a smile as infectious as her enthusiasm, and started to doodle and talk at the same time, and as she did so he found himself smiling. She was amazing. A tiny powerhouse, full of clever and interesting ideas, a lateral thinker.
And gorgeous. Utterly, utterly gorgeous.
Cradling his coffee in one hand, Nick hunched over her doodles and found himself totally distracted by the tantalising smell of shampoo drifting from her softy, glossy hair. Pretty hair. Nothing remarkable, just a light mid-brown but subtle rather than dull, threaded with fine highlights in palest gold and silver and swinging forwards as she bent her head, the blunt cut just above her shoulders giving it freedom.
Absently, she tucked it behind her ear and a strand escaped, sliding free and hanging tantalisingly close to his hand. His fingers itched to sift it, to see if it was really as soft and as sleek as it seemed, and it took a real effort to lean back, to shift away from her a little and force himself to watch the swift, decisive movements of the pen and see her vision take shape.
And then, once he’d managed to concentrate, he was riveted.
‘It’s all going to be OK, Dad.’
Her father’s brows furrowed. ‘But I don’t understand—where did he come from?’
She laughed. ‘I don’t know—heaven, maybe? I wasn’t going to question him too deeply. He’s put money into the account, and I’ve checked with the bank and it’s certainly there. We’re even in the black.’
The furrows deepened. ‘So what’s the catch?’
‘No catch. He’s buying Andrew out, for whatever reason, and we’re now dealing with him. And he hates the plans, and wants me to come up with some other ideas. He’s put everything on hold—’
‘But the penalty clause—’
‘Gone. He’s deleted it—doesn’t believe in them. Dad, it’s OK. Truly. Trust me.’
His eyes searched her face for any sign of a lie, but for once there wasn’t one, not even a tiny white one, and with a great sigh he lay back against the pillows, closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, an unexpected tear oozing out from under one eyelid and sliding down his grizzled cheek. ‘I really didn’t think we’d get out of this one. I’m not sure I believe it.’
Georgie could understand that. She was still having trouble coming to terms with it herself.
‘Believe it,’ she told him firmly, and bent over to kiss the tear away, a lump in her throat. ‘You just concentrate on getting better and leave it to me. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
His eyes flickered open. ‘You going already?’
‘I’ve got work to do—plans to draw.’
He held her eyes for a while, then smiled and patted her hand. ‘Good girl. You’ve been itching to get at it for weeks. Go and do your best.’
‘I will. Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll do you proud.’
‘You always do,’ he said, his eyes sliding shut again, and with the lump in her throat growing ever bigger, she left him to his rest and went home. The light was blinking on the answering machine, and she pressed the button and a voice flooded the room. Her heart jiggled. Nick.
‘Georgie, tried your mobile but it was off. You were probably at the hospital—hope everything’s OK. Just wondering when we can meet up and go over your ideas. I’m going to be stuck in the office for the next few days, but if you can manage to get down to London in the next day or two we could get together here one evening. I’ve got a spare room, so if it’s easier you can stay the night or I can book you into a hotel, whatever you prefer. Just give me an idea of when—the sooner the better really. I’d like to get this thing underway ASAP.’
Stay the night? Stay the night? Her heart jiggled again, and she pressed the flat of her hand over it and forced herself to breathe. In, out, in, out—
Stay the night?
In the spare room.
‘Keep saying that,’ she advised herself, and, putting the kettle on, she nudged the thermostat on the boiler, grabbed a packet of biscuits and settled down at her