Who Wants To Marry a Millionaire?. Nicola MarshЧитать онлайн книгу.
got to be kidding me,’ she muttered, sorrow and regret clogging her lungs, making simple inhalation impossible.
She wanted to explain why this meant so much to her, wanted her mum to understand how she’d travelled the world for years, never feeling as sheltered as she did at Portsea.
She wanted her mum to truly comprehend the vulnerabilities behind her tough-girl exterior, the deep-seated need for approval she’d deliberately hidden beneath layers of practised indifference.
She wanted her mum to realise her anger was about the loss of another childhood security rather than not being consulted.
She opened her mouth to speak but the words wouldn’t come. Not after all this time. Not after the consistent lack of understanding her mum had shown when she’d been growing up. Why should now be any different?
When Coral turned around to face her she’d donned her usual frosty mask.
‘I don’t question your financials; I’d expect the same courtesy from you.’ Coral handed her some coffee with a shaky hand, making a mockery of her poise. ‘You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, no questions asked, because this is your home. But I won’t tolerate being interrogated like a criminal.’
Instinctively Gemma bristled—until she realised something. She valued her independence, lived her own life and answered to no one. Including the mother she rarely visited. How would she feel if Coral landed on her doorstep demanding answers to sticky questions? She’d be royally peed off.
Some of the fight drained out of her and she gave a brisk nod, hiding behind her coffee mug. Besides, the damage was done. The land was sold and nothing could change that. She’d be better off focussing on things she could control, like ensuring Devlin Corp respected the beach while they built their mansion monstrosities.
‘There’s a spare key behind the fruit bowl.’ Coral patted her sleek blond bob, an out-of-place, self-conscious gesture at odds with her air of understated elegance. ‘I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, Gemma, but I’m glad you’re here.’
By the time she’d recovered from her shock and whispered, ‘Thanks …’ Coral had sailed out of the room.
CHAPTER THREE
RORY flipped the rough-textured business card between his fingers. Recycled paper, no doubt, but there was nothing second-hand about the information staring him in the face.
He’d had the company’s PI run a background check on Gemma Shultz last night, after she’d thrust her business card in his hand and exited his display like a queen.
He had to admit the results of the investigation surprised him as much as the woman had last night. She wasn’t some crackpot lobbyist, hell-bent on delaying his project or, worse, ruining it.
Gemma Shultz was the real deal.
He ran his finger down the list: qualified as an environmental scientist at Melbourne University, spent a year at a major fishing company in Western Australia, specialising in marine conservation, two years working for a beachside developer in Spain, and the last few years freelancing for seaside construction companies keen on energy-saving and protecting the planet.
Impressive.
Not a hint of scandal among the lot: no throwing herself in front of bulldozers, no chaining herself to trees, no arrests for spray-painting corporate headquarters or flinging paint at fur-wearers.
Thank goodness. Bad enough she’d blackmailed him into giving her an interview. The last thing he needed was for the media to get a whiff of anything untoward.
His dad had done enough while he’d been in charge, gracing the covers of magazines and the front pages of newspapers with a constant parade of high-profile women while living the high life.
It was a pity Cuthbert Devlin—Bert, to his friends, and there had been many hangers-on—had been more focussed on squandering money than on running the company entrusted to him.
Rory shuddered to think what would have happened if Bert hadn’t abdicated in favour of chasing some model to Europe, though he had a fair idea.
Devlin Corp would have been driven into the ground and his grandfather’s monumental efforts in building the company from scratch would have been for nought. And what he’d been trained to do from his teens would have meant nothing.
He still couldn’t understand why Bishop Devlin had handed the reins to his recalcitrant son—not when he’d been groomed for the job for so long. Until his grandfather had explained he needed to give Bert a chance to prove himself, to see if his son was made of sterner stuff.
Rory loved his dad, faults and all, but he couldn’t understand why anyone would pass up the opportunity of a lifetime to run a major company.
A small part of him had been glad his dad had botched the top job, because he’d known it was only a matter of time till he got his chance. Now he had that chance no way would he let anything derail him—including a smart-mouthed, intelligent environmental scientist with seawater in her blood.
His intercom beeped and he hit the answer button. ‘Yes, Denise?’
‘Gemma Shultz to see you.’
‘Send her in.’
He threw her business card into the dossier and snapped it shut. Armed with more information than last night, he was prepared for a confrontation: on his terms. When the sassy blonde sauntered through his door he’d be ready.
Until the moment his door opened, she stepped into his office and his preparation of the last few minutes evaporated.
His gut inexplicably tightened at the sight of her in a staid black trouser suit and a basic white business shirt. Nothing basic about the way she wore it, though. The top two buttons were undone to reveal a hint of cleavage, and her fitted trousers accentuated her legs. Legs that ended with her feet stuck into work boots.
And what were those God-awful dangly things hanging from her ears? Dolphins? Whales? Burnished copper fashioned into cheap earrings that did nothing for her plain outfit.
His mouth twisted in amusement. Gemma Shultz was nothing if not original. She wore an off-the-rack outfit, no make-up, ugly shoes and horrid earrings. Yet she intrigued him.
He couldn’t fathom it.
She’d blackmailed her way into this interview and that had had his back up from the start. He didn’t like having his authority questioned, didn’t like some upstart environmentalist bulldozing her way in with unethical tactics, but what made it infinitely worse was he couldn’t for the life of him fathom why he’d agreed to this meeting.
What was it about this woman that had him so tetchy?
‘We meet again.’
Rather than offering her hand for him to shake, she surprised him again by shrugging out of her jacket and draping it over the back of a chair, making herself completely at home. And making his hands clench with the effort not to yank it off the chair and insist she put it back on again, so he wouldn’t have to notice the faint outline of a lace bra beneath the semi-transparent white cotton of her blouse.
Weren’t environmentalists supposed to wear hessian sacks and hemp bracelets and dreadlocks?
Annoyed at his reaction, he mentally slashed her interview allotment by five minutes. The sooner he got rid of her, the sooner he could get back to what he did best. Building the best luxury homes Melbourne had ever seen.
‘Considering your tactics last night, you left me no choice.’
A smug smile curved her lips, and in that moment he knew that whatever came of this meeting Gemma Shultz could become the bane of his existence if he let her.
‘I half expected you not to follow through on your promise of an interview.’
‘I always keep my promises.’