Claiming His Wedding Night. Lee Wilkinson
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grass and the beds of early summer tulips.
A dark blue limousine was drawn up by the kerb with a uniformed chauffeur waiting to open the door. As she crossed the pavement, he said a cheerful, ‘Good morning, miss.’
Perdita returned his greeting and, trying not to feel like someone about to try and successfully negotiate a minefield, climbed in and fastened her seat belt.
Traffic was very heavy and the journey seemed to be taking so long that she began to worry about being late. If she missed this appointment, the consequences would be disastrous.
On tenterhooks, she breathed a cautious sigh of relief when they finally reached the airport environs and a few minutes later drew up in an area she didn’t immediately recognize.
A smartly dressed sandy-haired young man was waiting for them.
Before turning to lead the way into the terminal building, he greeted her with a smile and a courteous, ‘Good morning, Miss Boyd. My name’s Richard Dow and I work for Salingers.
‘I’m pleased you were able to make it in time,’ he went on as they crossed the VIP lounge. ‘The traffic seems to get worse.’
To her surprise, Perdita found herself escorted through heavy glass doors and out onto the tarmac apron where a private executive jet stood close by, its immaculate white and blue paintwork gleaming in the bright sunshine.
As though sensing her surprise, Richard Dow said, ‘Didn’t Mr Calhoun’s secretary mention that Salingers executives usually have breakfast on the plane?’
‘No. No, she didn’t…Not that it matters,’ Perdita added hastily. ‘It’s just that I was expecting…’ The words tailed off as they reached the plane and she was ushered up the steps.
A white-coated steward was waiting in the doorway to welcome her aboard. ‘Good morning, Miss Boyd. My name is Henry. If you’d like to follow me?’
Short and nimble, his black slicked-back hair gleaming, he led the way through to a small but luxuriously furnished lounge where a table was set for breakfast with damask linen, crystal glasses, a bottle of Krug on ice and a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice.
Pulling out a chair, he deftly settled her at the table. ‘If you would like a glass of champagne and orange juice while you’re waiting? Or a coffee, perhaps?’
Her head still aching and intent on keeping a clear brain, Perdita said, ‘A cup of coffee would be nice, thank you, Henry.’
Having assembled brown sugar and cream, the steward took a glass jug of coffee from a hotplate and filled her cup.
Then, indicating a nearby bell push, ‘If you require anything further, Miss Boyd, just ring for me.’
She thanked him and, silent-footed, he disappeared through a sliding door in the bulkhead.
Relaxing a little now that she was sure the meeting was going ahead, she sipped her coffee and surveyed the quiet luxury that surrounded her.
There were two soft leather armchairs, several bookcases, a comprehensive in-flight entertainment centre and a small leather-topped desk.
Salingers did their top men proud, she thought, taking in the sumptuous carpeting and the two striking paintings by Joshua Lorens that she recognized as originals rather than prints.
With this kind of money at their fingertips, they should have no trouble bailing out half a dozen struggling companies. So all she had to do was persuade them that buying into JB Electronics would be a good investment in the long run…
Deep in thought about the coming meeting, it was a moment or two before she realized that the plane was moving, taxiing slowly across the apron.
Perdita had half risen to ring for the steward before it occurred to her that the area was getting busy and the pilot was probably just moving up to accommodate another plane.
Sinking back into her seat, she picked up her cup and was about to take a sip when the bulkhead door slid aside and a well dressed man walked in. A tall, broad-shouldered, handsome man with crisp dark hair and silvery-grey eyes.
Every trace of colour draining from her face, leaving the blusher standing out like a circus clown’s make-up, she set down the cup with a clatter, splashing coffee into the saucer.
Staring at him, wide-eyed and speechless, she wondered wildly if all the strain of her father’s heart surgery and the company’s financial problems, coupled with the little scene outside the Arundel, had affected her brain and she was imagining the whole thing.
‘Hello, Perdita,’ he said softly.
Though she hadn’t heard him speak for three years, she would have known that deep, attractive voice anywhere. It could have called her from the grave.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked hoarsely.
‘Standing in for Sean Calhoun.’ Jared’s tone was neutral, almost pleasant, but his grey eyes were as cold as the Atlantic in winter. ‘So, if you want to save your father’s company, you’ll have to negotiate with me.’
Chapter Two
PERDITA jumped to her feet and, her heart racing, scarcely able to breathe, stammered, ‘I…I don’t understand. Do you mean you work for Salingers?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Then what is this?’ she demanded raggedly. ‘Some kind of joke?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘I don’t believe you. If you don’t work for Salingers—’
‘I don’t actually work for them, but you could say I’m here on their behalf,’ he broke in smoothly.
She shook her head. ‘No, no…Even if it means waiting, I’d prefer to deal with Mr Calhoun. I don’t want to talk to you.’
‘I’m afraid you have no option. As I said before, if you want to save your father’s company you’ll have to negotiate with me.’
Clutching her bag, she moved a step or two towards the door, desperate to escape. But, tall and dark and dangerous, he was effectively blocking her way.
Hearing the panic in her own voice, she said, ‘I want to leave.’
‘Giving up so easily?’ he taunted.
‘Not at all,’ she denied jerkily. ‘I’ll talk to Salingers. Explain to them. Ask to see someone else.’
‘I’m afraid it won’t be any use.’
‘Why won’t it?’
‘Because I own the company.’
‘You own Salingers?’ she said through dry lips.
‘That’s right.’ Smiling a little at her shocked face, he went on, ‘So I suggest you sit down again and we’ll talk over breakfast, as planned.’
Shaking her head, she insisted, ‘No, I want to go now. There’s absolutely no point in staying. I know perfectly well that you’ve no intention of helping.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. I’m quite sure we could come to some kind of agreement that would satisfy both of us.’
It was a trick, and she knew it.
‘No, I don’t trust you.’
‘You can’t afford not to,’ he pointed out laconically. ‘Without my help JB will go under, and you know it.’
It was the truth. But she couldn’t believe that he really intended to help.
There was a series of slight bumps, and part of her mind registered that the plane was still moving away from the terminal building.
Getting more anxious by the moment, she repeated