Needed: Her Mr Right. Barbara HannayЧитать онлайн книгу.
a male with a beautifully modulated, deeply sexy voice.
He’d said his name was Tanner…Ryan Tanner…
She didn’t think she’d met him, but couldn’t be sure. The only Tanners she could think of offhand were billionaires who owned vast tracts of mining land in Western Australia and the Northern Territory. No one in that family would want to work as a journalist.
“Thank you, Mr Tanner. It’s kind of you to take the trouble to call me.”
“No trouble.”
She waited a beat.
“But there is something else, Simone…”
He paused again and in the silence she decided there was something undeniably sexy about the way he said her name—warming it with his voice, touching a chord deep inside her.
It occurred to her that if this guy was as smooth as his voice suggested, he might be going to ask her on a date. He wouldn’t be the first man to make contact after seeing her photo in a magazine. Her mind raced ahead, planning a quick exit strategy.
Ryan Tanner’s deep voice rumbled silkily down the phone line. “I have something of yours that I’d like to return.”
“Something of mine?”
“You lost a book at the airport last week.”
A blast of fear exploded in her chest.
Crash.
The phone receiver slipped from her hand, clattered on to her desk.
“Simone?”
Her vital organs collided. She’d convinced herself that her precious diary had been dumped by a sullen taxi driver, or had been swept up and pulped by one of those noisy street sweeping machines. Last week, she’d rung the taxi company countless times with no luck and had decided it was safe enough to publish the Himalayan article. Had decided that even if someone had found the diary, the chances of that person reading City Girl and putting two and two together were negligible.
But now, only one day after City Girl had hit the news-stands, her worst fears were realised.
And of all people to have found the diary and make the connection, it had to be another journalist!
Her hand shook as she picked up the receiver again and held it to her ear.
“Ms Gray, are you there?”
She didn’t answer.
“Ms Gray, are you OK?”
Ryan Tanner sounded concerned, but she didn’t trust him.
Her mind raced in crazy panicking circles. His faux admiration of her article was a front, of course. The only reason he’d rung was to let her know he had the diary.
The sickening question was: what else did this guy know about her? And how did he plan to use it? Her stomach heaved and sweat trickled down her back as she imagined her diary entries and her innermost secret fears splashed across some grubby tabloid newspaper. Ridiculously, she even pictured her story flashed on a television news bulletin. Nausea rose from the pit of her stomach.
She had to get a grip, had to think like an editor, not a panicking victim. It was time to think in terms of crisis management.
As calmly as she could, she said, “Tell me one thing, Mr Tanner. We’re not on air, are we?”
“Of course not. There’s no need to panic. I only work with print media.”
A huff of relief escaped her. “OK…RyanTanner…I’m trying to remember if I’ve seen your byline.”
“Used to be with The Sydney Chronicle, but I’ve been in London for the last year and a half.”
“And you believe you have something that belongs to me?”
“You must know what I’m talking about, Simone. Your diary.”
Thinking fast now, she realised she had to play for time, needed space to think, to work out a suitable response.
“Mr Tanner—uh—Ryan, I have people queuing up in the office here. I’ll have to call you back. Say in fifteen minutes?”
“OK, no problem.” He gave her his number.
“This is your private number?”
“Mine and only mine.”
Dropping the receiver, she sank back into her chair, cowered with shock for a second or two, then jumped to her feet and began to pace the office, her mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. What could she do? How on earth was she going to handle this nightmare?
There was only one answer: very carefully.
She wished she knew how her diary had ended up in Ryan Tanner’s hands. Had someone sold it to him? How many people had read it?
Fighting panic, she tried to unscramble her thoughts. She had committed the sordid details of her secret to paper and she’d exposed Belle and Claire too. And she’d recorded the pact she’d made with Belle and Claire—their commitments to find important people from their past, to right past wrongs.
How could she have been so thoughtless? So careless?
Oh, help.
Oh, hell!
Keep calm, girl.
Yes, she had to stay calm. If she kept her head, she might be able to find a way to deflect Ryan Tanner, to wriggle out of this. But she had to handle things very carefully, had to get him answering her questions, not the other way round.
She waited twenty-seven minutes, twenty-seven nerve-racking, nail-biting, agonising minutes before she rang him back.
“Hello, Mr Tanner.”
Her heart thumped so loudly it filled her ears and she could hardly hear his reply.
“Simone, thanks for calling back.”
“I’m rather busy, so I can’t speak for long, but I do appreciate your willingness to return my lost property.” Cringe. She sounded way too prim and uptight. She tried again, more casually. “Perhaps you could drop the book off at our front desk? Any time that’s convenient would be fine.”
“Well…Simone.”
She did her best to ignore the totally annoying coiling sensation deep inside her when he said her name, warming it with his dark midnight voice.
“There are a couple of things I’d like to speak to you about.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Tanner. I’m not interested in talking to you. Certainly not before I verify that this book is mine.”
“It’s yours, Simone.”
She clenched the receiver so tightly it should have snapped in two.
Ryan Tanner could be planning anything—even blackmail.
“How—” Her voice came out squeaky and scared. She paused, tried again. “How did the diary come into your possession?”
“Rainy day. Sydney Airport. Lovely girl waiting for a taxi. A backpack with a side pocket. Any of that ring a bell?”
Simone stifled a cry. This guy had been there? He’d been watching her at the airport?
Her frantic fingers twisted the phone cord. Was he stalking her?
She thought of the hot-looking guy she’d caught checking her out. Surely he wasn’t Tanner? He hadn’t looked like a stalker.
“So…so what are you saying, Mr Tanner—Ryan? You want to meet?”
“Why not? What about lunch?”
She needed more time, needed to find out as much as she could about this guy. “I—I’m busy today. How about tomorrow? Can we meet somewhere