The Platinum Collection: An Australian Conquest: The Incorrigible Playboy / His Most Exquisite Conquest / His Bought Mistress. Emma Darcy
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office furnishings—filing cabinets, a couple of chairs for visitors, a coffee table with brochures fanned out on top of it, framed photographs of celebrities who had stayed here hanging on the walls.
On the larger section of the desk, which faced the entrance doors to administration, was a telephone attached to an intercom system with numbers for all the villas, the staff quarters and the restaurant. Beside it was a notepad and pen for writing notes or messages. On the top page were two reminders which had been ticked. Chocs to 8. Gin to 14. Obviously she had to deal with all requests from guests as well as handle bookings and coordinate the staff for whatever was needed.
Directly in front of her was a spreadsheet, detailing the occupancy of the villas this week—arrivals and departures. Three couples had left this morning. Their villas were vacant until another three couples arrived tomorrow. One of them was only staying three days, the other two for five. Most of the bookings were for five, only a few for a whole week. She would have to have her wits about her, coordinating the turnovers, personalising the welcomes and the farewells, memorising the names of all the guests. Wealthy people always expected that courtesy and respect.
She was matching names to the occupants of each villa when she heard the distinctive sound of a helicopter coming in. The door behind her opened and Harry led Sean, who was loaded up with luggage, out of the apartment, waving him to go ahead, pausing at the desk long enough to say, ‘Hold the fort, Elizabeth. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.’
He didn’t wait for a reply, intent on escorting Sean to the helipad, wherever that was. The glass entrance doors to the office opened automatically for ease of access and Harry caught up with Sean as he made his exit. There was no verbal exchange between them. The ex-manager was going quietly.
Elizabeth watched Harry until he moved out of sight. Her heart was hammering again. Experiencing a completely different side of Harry Finn to the flirtatious tease she was used to was having a highly disturbing impact on her. It was impossible now to dismiss him as a lightweight playboy. The man had real substance, impressively strong substance, powerful substance, and it was playing havoc with her prejudice against him.
Michael had said this morning that Harry’s mind was as sharp as a razor blade and he had his thumb on everything to do with his side of the business. That description could no longer be doubted. She’d had evidence enough today of how accurately he could read her thoughts—something she would have to guard against more carefully in the future—and she would never again underestimate how capable he was of being master of any situation.
His attraction was all the stronger for it. Dangerously so.
Nevertheless, that still didn’t make him good relationship material.
He was a dyed-in-the-wool flirt with women.
And that wasn’t just her judgment. Michael had said so.
Regardless of what Harry Finn made her feel, she was not going to have anything to do with him apart from the business of managing this resort for a month. He could flirt his head off with her but she would stand absolutely firm on that ground.
He was not what she wanted in her life.
She had to look for someone steady, solid, totally committed to her and the family they would have together.
Not like her father.
And not like Harry, who probably treated women as though they were a carousel of lollipops to be plucked out and tasted until another looked tastier.
WHEN Harry returned he was accompanied by a middle-aged woman with whom he appeared to be on very friendly terms. They were smiling at each other as they entered the office. She had short, curly dark hair, liberally streaked with grey, a very attractive face set in cheerful lines and merry hazel eyes that invited people to enjoy life with her. Of average height, her trim figure declared her fit to tackle anything, and she exuded positive vibes at Elizabeth as Harry introduced her.
‘Sarah Pickard, Elizabeth.’
‘Hi! Welcome to Finn Island,’ the woman chimed in.
‘Thank you.’ Elizabeth smiled back as she rose from the desk to offer her hand at this first meeting. ‘I’ll have to learn a lot very fast and I’ll appreciate any help and advice you can give me, Sarah.’
She laughed and gave Elizabeth’s hand a quick squeeze. ‘No problem. I’m only ever a call away. Harry tells me you’ve been Mickey’s PA. I’m sure you’ll fit in here very quickly.’
Mickey? The familiar use of Harry’s name for his brother struck her as odd.
‘Go into the apartment with Sarah, look around, see what you need,’ Harry instructed. ‘I’ll man the desk.’
‘Okay. Thank you,’ Elizabeth replied, gesturing to Sarah to lead the way.
It was a basic one-bedroom apartment, spotlessly clean and pleasantly furnished with cane furniture, cushions brightly patterned in tropical designs. The floor was tiled and an airconditioner kept the rooms cool. The kitchenette was small, and its only equipment appeared to be an electric kettle, a toaster and a microwave oven.
‘You won’t need that for much,’ Sarah explained. ‘Meals will be brought to you from the restaurant. Just tick what you want on each menu. You’ll find tea, coffee and sugar in the cupboard above the sink, milk and cold drinks in the bar fridge.’
Elizabeth nodded, thinking the gourmet meals provided here were a wonderful perk—no shopping for food, no cooking and no cleaning up afterwards.
‘The bed linen was changed this morning so everything’s fresh for you apart from these towels.’ Which she’d collected from the bathroom as she’d showed Elizabeth the facilities. ‘I’ll send clean ones over for you. Plus a hair-dryer and toothbrush. Harry said he’d whipped you off Mickey with no time to pack anything.’
Again the familiar name usage. Elizabeth frowned quizzically. ‘He’s always been Michael to me. I’ve only heard Harry calling him Mickey. And now you.’
She laughed. ‘I’ve known those two since they were teenagers. Jack and I looked after their parents’ place in those days. I guess I was like a second mother to them. Never had kids of my own. Good boys, both of them. You couldn’t be connected to better men, Elizabeth, as employers or people.’
It was a high recommendation, though probably a biased one, given Sarah’s obvious fondness for them. ‘They’re very different,’ she commented, wanting to hear more.
‘Mickey’s more like his dad, a seriously driven achiever. It’s in his genes, I reckon. Harry’s nature is more like his mum’s. She had a very sunny disposition, radiating a joy in life that infected everyone around her. It was a wicked shame when...’ She heaved a deep sigh. ‘Well, I guess we never know the day or the hour, but I tell you, those boys are a credit to their parents. Losing them both when they did, they could have run off the rails, plenty of money to spend, but they took on the business and pushed forward. And they looked after everyone who could have been hurt by the loss. Like me and Jack.’
She paused, grimaced. ‘Here I am running off at the mouth but you know Mickey. Harry said you’ve been working closely with him for two years.’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘You’ll find Harry good to work for, too. Just a different nature, that’s all.’
Sunny...like his mother...like Lucy. Was that why Michael was so attracted to Lucy? But why wasn’t Harry? Why did he have to plague her with his endlessly provocative attention?
‘I’ll only be here for a month, Sarah. I’m the fill-in until Harry finds a replacement for Sean.’
‘Whatever...’ She waved airily. Obviously it was not something that weighed on her mind. ‘I’ll send over sets of the island uniform with the towels etc. Do you want short shorts, Bermuda length or three-quarters?’