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Adam Tyler and his dreamy, distracting blue eyes did not come into the mantra once, so the bigger the distance between the two of them, the better.
Adam remained seated, debating internally whether it was better to watch her walk away, her lithe hips swinging as she mastered her outrageous shoes, or to watch her from front on, her lovely face so animated, her hands forever moving with nervous energy, and that huge flower bouncing about atop her head.
He dragged his interest away with some regret.
So, it looked as though Chris was going to be The Billionaire Bachelor. He cringed again. But that would have to be the last time. He had no choice. He was going to have to join bloody Chris on the set for the next two bloody weeks and act as babysitter to his bloody best friend.
‘Sex sells,’ Cara had said. He knew she was spot on. And if that feisty employee was anything to go by, he had the unsettling but mounting feeling that this show was going to produce fireworks…and that it would be in Revolution Wireless’s interest to be seen to be lighting the match.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a6e9bc31-cd0a-5dcc-99a2-17ecbf3db0dc)
CARA went home to St Kilda Storeys, her beloved apartment building that would very soon be truly hers. There was a note from Gracie on her apartment door. She took the steps, two at a time, to Gracie’s top-floor apartment and knocked.
Cara heard scuffling and snuffling as Minky got to the door first. Gracie was looking after the fluffy, almost-white, Maltese Terrier while their fellow Saturday Night Cocktails gang member Kelly and her husband Simon were out of town visiting friends in Fremantle.
Gracie finally opened the door with a wriggling Minky in her arms. ‘Well?’ she said.
‘I got the job.’
Cara was lost in hugs from Gracie, and tiny lapping kisses from Minky.
‘I knew it!’ Gracie said. ‘Or at least I wished and hoped super hard!’
Gracie grabbed Cara and steered her toward the small old couch that took up half of the tiny lounge. ‘I have ten minutes before I have to be at work. So tell me all about…everything.’
‘I can’t, actually. It’s all seriously under wraps.’
‘Even to me?’
‘Especially to you.’
Gracie had the good grace to nod. ‘Good plan. I can’t keep a secret to save my life. Keep it to yourself. So tell me something else. Who did you meet? Anybody famous? How about that guy who hosts the movie review programme? He’s a bit of a hottie.’
‘Wrong channel.’
‘Oh, yeah, right. Anyone else I can brag about?’
‘Umm, not really. Though you’ll be pleased to know that I did have an interesting lunch with this one guy…’
Cara went on to fill Gracie in on the important points of her lunch date—no names mentioned, of course: the ominous stare, the powerful grace, the serious good looks worthy of a menswear catalogue.
‘Armani or Target?’ Gracie asked, using their usual scale.
‘Armani, without a doubt.’
Gracie nodded in pleasant surprise. But either way the truth about this guy was immaterial. Cara was going to be holed up in a hotel for the next two weeks with way too much else to occupy her to care.
Adam went back to work.
Dean, the third partner in the Revolution Wireless giant, was pacing behind his desk. Where Chris was the ideas guy, and Adam was the salesman, Dean looked after the day-to-day blood, sweat and tears side of the operation, and it showed. His tie was long gone and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, his hands flying about him as he yabbered away into a telephone head set.
Adam took a seat at the desk and waited for the one-sided staccato conversation to finish.
‘Adam, my man,’ Dean said, giving his friend a hearty handshake, before resuming his pacing. ‘What’s up?’
‘It’s about Chris.’
‘And this dating show deal?’
Adam nodded.
Dean flapped a dismissive hand across his face. ‘Let him be.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Sure. It’s been over a year since he last took a holiday, so think of it that way if it helps.’
‘It doesn’t help. I have worked my backside off to sell Revolution Wireless as a serious company, as serious competition against the giants who have cornered the market for years, and just as we’ve made the leap Chris is about to go and make us all look like amateurs.’
‘Not amateurs,’ Dean said, eyeing Adam down. ‘Human. And human ain’t such a bad angle to give a company this size, if you ask me.’
Adam blinked and Dean cocked an eyebrow at the move.
‘So you back him on this?’ Adam asked.
‘A hundred per cent. I think he’s a brave, brave fellow. He’s putting it all out there and that takes guts. And I don’t see why Revolution Wireless should suffer for showing that one of our leading lights has guts to spare.’
Adam let the idea wash over him. He was being shot down from all angles and he knew it would not do anybody any good if he fought against such diminishing odds.
‘OK, then. If that’s your decision, I want us to sponsor the show.’
Dean stopped his pacing at once. He ran a hand through his sandy hair, though it fell back into the same shambles instantly. ‘You want us to sponsor the show?’
‘Well, it certainly looks like I can’t stop the show, so why not make the most of it? Why not take advantage of the fact that it will be a significantly supported prime-time television event with the opportunity for intensive branding that is set to rake in viewing numbers like none other has done before?’
And that way he could wangle his way onto the set, insist that he be able to stay in the hotel with the cast and crew, because only then could he keep an eye on Chris. Make sure his magnanimous friend did not lose his heart and along with it his wallet to some conniving, manipulative schemer. Because for the life of him he could not see how the whole episode could end any other way.
Dean’s smile dawned slowly. ‘Sure, why not? You’re the marketing guru, my friend, so if you think it will float, you have my vote.’
Adam nodded. Decision made. ‘So will you be OK with the two of us AWOL for the next couple of weeks?’
‘Of course. So long as you’re on the other end of the phone. I mean, if we couldn’t run our business by mobile phone and email we would be in a heap of trouble!’
Adam could not help but smile. ‘Too true.’
Three of Dean’s phone lines lit up almost simultaneously.
Adam stood. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
Dean nodded, and his pacing resumed. He gave Adam a brief wave as he left the room.
Cara had her assistant offload the couple of jobs she had pencilled in for the next fortnight. But she called her main client, Maya Rampling, the editor of Fresh magazine, herself.
‘Cara, darling! I hear congratulations are in order!’
‘Maya, you are the darling. I know you’re half the reason I got this job. Even though it means I have had to pass the styling of your lingerie shoot onto a colleague.’
‘I will miss your light touch, Cara, but don’t give it another thought. This job was simply made for you.’
‘Did they call you or did you call them?’
‘Darling, they would be afraid for me to find out anything after everyone else. Just take this one piece of advice. Watch your back. TV jobs are notoriously precarious. Half the crew will be turned around by the end of the shoot. It’s like the big boys are so scared of losing their jobs themselves, they have to keep everyone else on their toes.’
‘OK…’ Cara felt the brick in her chest grow a kilogram heavier.
‘So be good. Keep your head down. Don’t cause trouble. Do your job with a minimum of fuss and you’ll be fine. Above all have fun, and I’ll see you soon.’
Then Maya hung up.
Have fun? Cara thought. With those last pieces of advice hanging over her she would be afraid to smile at the wrong person in case she did the wrong thing. No. She would keep her head down and do her job. She would keep her job and she would pay off her mortgage. Her mantra well and truly re-established, she felt ready again.
She showered, changed into cut-off denim jeans, a white collared T-shirt and white flat Mary-Janes, closed her suitcase, checked all the electrics at home were shut off, and then left.
A big black limousine awaited her at the front door. She wound down the window so she could have a good look at her old red stucco building. A smattering of coloured perennials swayed lightly in the front garden. Lights shone from most of the windows. Music spilled from a second-floor apartment. The next time she would see it, she would own it outright.
The car took off, its engine humming softly. They drove past girls in G-string bikinis parading the beach. Boys lined the walkways, acting as though they were simply pausing to check out the ships in the distance, but the girls in the G-string bikinis knew better.
It drove Cara to wonder about the mysterious Chris Geyer, putting himself on the line for love. She wondered what it would take for someone to go to that sort of length to find themselves a partner.
She, who had never considered going on a dating show, had never looked up an internet dating agency, had only gone to nightclubs for the dancing with her friends, simply could not see herself in his shoes. When it came down to it she knew she was actually spending a good deal of time not looking to find herself a partner.
Still, no matter what Chris’s reasons were, they had afforded her the opportunity of a lifetime and for that she would be for ever indebted to his romantic nature. So long as the anti-romantic nature of his friend did not turn the idea sour.
As the big car turned towards the city, Cara sank back into the soft seat feeling as if the rest of her life were waiting around the next corner.
‘It’s a done deal,’ Adam said as he shook hands with Jeff of the unironed clothes and the too much hair gel. ‘Revolution Wireless will be the main sponsor of this series of The Billionaire Bachelor and as such I will be allowed access to all areas of the set.’
‘So long as you stay at the hotel,’ Jeff qualified, ‘and are bound by the same rules as the rest of us for the next two weeks, that’s fine.’
Adam shot the younger man a wry smile. ‘Of course. That went without saying.’
‘Yet I said it anyway,’ Jeff said, returning the smile. ‘So if you can be at the hotel by eight o’clock tonight we will have a room for you—’
‘On the same floor as Chris.’
‘You will have the suite next door,’ Jeff agreed. ‘So here is a copy of the schedule, a timetable of the events that will occur within the confines of the show.’
Adam flicked through the document, which had no header and no front page. If anyone on the street found it they would think it a terribly dull, unimportant business memo, not the breakdown of the best-kept secret in Australian television.
‘The Billionaire Bachelor is going to be huge,’ Jeff promised. ‘You won’t regret this.’
No matter that Adam was now officially one of the gang, all the connotations implied by that title still made him fume. Chris sure needed him if he was going to come through this ordeal unscathed. And if Adam had anything to do with it, his friend would come out of this a billionaire and a bachelor still.
The front doors of the Ivy Hotel were guarded with big burly bouncers and a metal detector. They scanned the bar-code on Cara’s pass and let her through the doors. Once inside, a whole other set of security guards searched her luggage for recording equipment and found only a Polaroid camera, which was listed against her name as an allowable item. The place was really locked down tight. And she was being let through to the inner sanctum. Her whole body hummed with excitement and she hoped it had nothing to do with the metal detectors.
And then her suitcase began to ring.
The security guard, whose nametag read “Joe Buck, licence number 2483”, had been about to pass over her case and let her through. But at the ringing he tightened his grip. ‘I’m sorry, Ms Marlowe, but mobile phones are not allowed as per your contract.’
They had a brief game of tug of war before Cara let go. ‘But I didn’t bring my phone,’ she said, sure she had left it at home on her ironing-board.
Her case stopped ringing.
They looked at each other for a moment, both kind of hoping the other would agree that maybe they had imagined it.
‘OK, then, Ms Marlowe,’ Joe the security guard said. He handed the suitcase over again before the ringing resumed. ‘Ms Marlowe, I’m terribly sorry, but—’
Cara felt herself blushing to her toes. ‘I know. I know. I’m sorry. Just give me a second. I really do not remember packing it.’
With Maya’s words—keep your head down, don’t cause trouble, minimum of fuss—ringing in her head, she wanted to get this spectacle over with as quickly as possible. She lobbed her suitcase onto the ground, bent from the waist, unzipped the case, peeked around her neatly folded clothes and found…nothing.
A distinctive murmur invaded her ears. She glanced between her knees and saw a line had formed behind her. What a fantastic first impression she was making on her new colleagues: bum in the air, being searched for contraband.
The ringing stopped. She shook her case and the ringing began all over again. Not having any luck with checking under her clothes with care, she began to scoop them out in a flurry, hanging them messily over her shoulder. Her just-washed hair kept hanging in her eyes and she had to constantly blow it out of her face. Added to that she was getting hot from the unusual lifting movements that felt agonisingly like exercise. She was in first-day-on-the-job hell.
‘Is everything all right here?’
At the sound of the familiar deep voice, Cara stood up so fast the blood took longer than necessary to reach her head. She held out a hand to steady herself as the world turned fuzzy and black. Since Adam Tyler was the closest pillar to hand, he had to do.
Her vision slowly cleared. She looked into her nemesis’s dark blue eyes and bit back a self-effacing groan. He would hardly want to talk seriously about his time as Australian Businessman of the Year with a woman who could barely put one foot in front of the other without something going awry.
It just wasn’t fair that she had to be at her most klutzy around someone so smooth. Her last words to him had been ‘see you ‘round like a rissole,’ for goodness’ sake! Who said that bar eight-year-olds and grown-ups with limited sophistication?
It only made him all the more intimidating and she did not stand for feeling that way with anyone. She was talented. She was sought after. She was focussed. She was ambitious. She was self-made. She was leaning against him, her hand splayed across his unexpectedly sculpted chest, with half her clothes strewn over her shoulder and a pair of plain white cotton panties hanging from her finger.
She whipped her hand away and tucked it behind her, shaking madly until the underwear plopped back into her suitcase.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, reaching out to take her by the shoulder as though he was afraid she might collapse atop his shiny shoes.
Finding herself flummoxed, she pulled away, crouched down and began to pile her clothes back into her suitcase.
‘Low blood pressure,’ she said, frantically shoving her entire collection of cotton pants that had managed to make their way out of her suitcase back into her suitcase. ‘Stood up too fast. Should have known better. Gives me blackouts.’
‘Ah, Ms Marlowe,’ Joe the security guard cut in. ‘Your mobile phone?’
She threw the rest of her clothes atop the suitcase and stepped away. ‘You look for it. Please. Be my guest.’
The guard looked to Adam as though hoping perhaps he would prefer to rifle through her intimates instead. Adam backed behind Cara. But then the ringing sound returned and the guard took a deep breath and went searching.
