Just One Night...: Fiancée For One Night / Just One Last Night / The Night That Started It All. Trish Morey
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had made her pick up the phone in the first place when it would have been far more productive to rescue her washing than risk losing the best client she was ever likely to have. ‘I’m sorry. Clearly I misunderstood your message. What is it that I can do for you?’
‘Simple.’ His liquid voice flowed down the line now she was so clearly back on task. ‘I just need you to find me a wife.’
‘Are you serious?’
So far this call was going nothing like he’d anticipated. It wasn’t just her jumping to the wrong kind of conclusion about his earlier call that niggled at him, or her obvious disapproval of his sleeping habits—most PAs he’d met weren’t that openly prudish; in fact, most he’d encountered had been too busy trying to get into his pants—but there was something else that didn’t sit right about his indignant PA. She didn’t sound at all like he’d expected. Admittedly he was out of practice with that demographic, but since when did middle-aged women—any woman for that matter—ask their employer if they were serious?
‘Would I be asking if I weren’t? And I need her in time for that dinner with Culshaw tonight. And she probably doesn’t have to be a pretend wife—a pretend fiancée should do nicely.’
There was silence on the end of the line as the car climbed the sweeping approach to the Western Gate Bridge and for a moment he was almost distracted by the view of the buildings of Melbourne’s sprawling CBD to his left, the port of Melbourne on his right. Until he realised they’d be at his hotel in Southbank in a matter of minutes and he needed to get things moving. He had to have tonight’s arrangements squared away before he got tied up with his lunchtime meeting with the government regulators due to sign off on the transfer of ownership when it went ahead. He’d dealt with those guys before and knew it was likely to be a long lunch. ‘Evelyn?’
‘I’m here. Although I’m still not quite sure I understand.’
He sighed. What was so hard to understand? ‘Culshaw’s feeling insecure about the deal. Wants to be sure he’s dealing with solid family people and, given the circumstances, maybe I don’t blame him. Culshaw and Alvarez are both bringing their wives to dinner tonight, and I don’t want to do anything to make Culshaw more nervous by having me turn up alone, not when we’re so close to closing the deal. So I want you to increase the number at dinner to six and find me someone who can play my fiancée for a night.’
‘I can certainly let the hotel know to cater for six,’ she said, sounding like she meant to go on before there the line went quiet again and he sensed a ‘but’ coming.
‘Well?’ he prompted, running out of time and patience.
‘I can see what you’re trying to do.’ Her words spilled out in a rush. ‘But is taking along a pretend fiancée really wise? I mean, what if Culshaw finds out? How will that look?’
Her words grated on both his senses and his gut. Of course it was a risk, but right now, with Culshaw feeling so vulnerable, so too was turning up alone. ‘Choose the right woman,’ he said, ‘and that won’t be an issue. It’s only for a night after all. Are you anywhere near your email? I sent you an idea of what I’m looking for.’
‘Look, Mr Zamos—’
‘Leo.’
‘Okay, so, Leo, I appreciate that I got the wrong end of the stick before, but finding you someone to play fiancée, that’s not exactly part of the service I offer.’
‘No? Then let’s make it part of them.’
‘It’s not actually that simple.’
‘Sure it is. Find an acting school or something. Tell whoever you find that I’m willing to pay over the odds. Have you got that email yet?’
‘I’m opening it now,’ she said with an air of resignation, her Australian accent softened with a hint of husky sweetness. He decided he liked it. Idly he wondered what kind of mouth it was attached to. ‘Charming,’ she read from the list of characteristics he’d provided, and he wondered. Surprisingly argumentative would be a better way to describe his virtual PA right now.
‘Intelligent. Classy.’ Again he mused. She was definitely intelligent, given the calibre of work she did for him. Classy? Maybe so if she’d worked as a corporate PA for several years. It wasn’t a profession where you could get away with anything less than being impeccably groomed.
‘And I’ve thought of something else.’
‘Oh, goodie.’
Okay, so maybe charm wasn’t her strong point, but so long as she got him the perfect pretend fiancée, he would overlook it for now. ‘You might want to brief her on both Culshaw and Alvarez. Only the broad-brush stuff, no details. But it would be good if she wasn’t completely ignorant of the players involved and what they do and can at least hold a conversation. And, of course, she’ll need to know something about me as well. You know the kind of stuff…’
And then it suddenly occurred to him what had been bothering him. She said stuff like ‘Are you serious?’ and ‘goodie’ in a voice threaded with honey, and that put her age years younger than he’d expected. A glimmer of inspiration told him that if she was, maybe his search for the perfect pretend fiancée was already over…
‘How old are you, Evelyn?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I had you pegged for middle-aged, but you don’t sound it. In fact, you sound much younger. So how old are you?’
‘Is that entirely relevant right now?’
‘It could be.’ Though by the way she was hedging, he was pretty certain his question was unnecessary. At a guess he’d say she wasn’t a day over thirty-five. It was perfect really. So perfect he was convinced it might have occurred to him earlier if he hadn’t assumed his virtual PA was a good ten years older.
‘And dare I ask…?’ Her voice was barely a whispered breath he had to search for over the sounds of the city traffic. ‘Why would that be?’
And he smiled. ‘Because it would be weird if my fiancée looked old enough to be my mother.’
There was silence on the end of the line, a silence so fat with suspicion that it almost oozed out of the handset. Then that husky, hesitant Aussie drawl. ‘I don’t follow you.’
‘It’s quite simple,’ he said, his blood once again fizzing with the heady buzz of a plan coming together beautifully. ‘Are you doing anything for dinner tonight?’
‘No. Leo—Mr Zamos. No!’ This could not be happening. There was no way she was going to dinner with Leo Zamos and pretending to be his fiancée. No way!
‘Excellent,’ she heard him say through the mists of her panic. ‘I’ll have my driver pick you up at seven.’
‘No! I meant yes, I’m busy. I meant no, I can’t come.’
‘Why? Is there a Mr Carmichael I need to smooth things over with? ‘
‘No, but—’
‘Then what’s the problem?’
She squeezed her eyes shut. Tried to find the words with which to give her denial, words he might understand, before realising she didn’t have to justify her position, didn’t have to explain she had an infant to consider or that she didn’t want to see him or that the idea simply sat uncomfortably with her. She simply had to say no. ‘I don’t have to do this. And neither do you, for that matter. Mr Culshaw knows you’ve only just flown in from overseas. Will he really be expecting you to brandish a fiancée at a business dinner?’
‘But this is why it’s so perfect, Evelyn. My fiancée happens to be Australian and she’s already here. What could be better?’
She shook her head. For her own benefit maybe, but it made her feel better. ‘It won’t work. It can’t. This is artifice and it will come unstuck and in grand style.’