Bronwyn Jameson - Diamonds are for Surrender

“Which is it with you, Kim? What motivates you?”

“The work,” she said simply.

“Still?”

“Yes, still.”

He studied her a moment, his blue gaze shadowed in the gathering dusk. “What about that ambition you used to talk about, that craving for a top-floor office at Blackstone Diamonds? You used to see yourself as your father’s successor. What happened to that dream?”

“A dream is all that was ever going to be, Perrini. You know that.”

“No,” he contradicted, “I don’t know that and neither do you. Everything is about to change at Blackstone’s. If you haven’t revisited that dream lately, then it’s about time you did.”

Kimberley’s heart was beating hard. She hadn’t revisited those old dreams, old ambitions, the stuff of her childhood, in more than a decade. Since her return she hadn’t looked beyond the directorship proposition and the chance to end the old feud that had rent the two branches of her family apart.

Did she want to be part of the family company?

Did she harbour that leadership ambition anymore?

The chime of the doorbell broke the intense moment. Perrini straightened, lifting his head. “That will be dinner. Roberto’s food is too good to keep waiting. Let’s continue this discussion after we eat.”

Ric kicked himself savagely for bringing up business prematurely and destroying the relaxed ambience established on the balcony. Dinner provided a temporary distraction. While they enjoyed the simply prepared but stunningly flavoured food, they talked about Roberto’s restaurant, her recent holiday, the frustrating lack of progress with the search, Danielle’s departure—everything but the unfinished business that hovered between them.

Now he watched her put down her spoon and push away the glass dessert bowl. “That’s the best you can do?” he asked, eyebrows raised at her unfinished gelato.

“As hard as it is to believe, yes. Everything was divine but those scallops were my undoing.”

“Would you like coffee?”

She shook her head.

“A liqueur? I have cognac or tokay—”

“Nothing, thank you. Let’s just get on with why I’m here.”

Ric inclined his head at her blunt request. It was time to get down to business, but not here at the dinner table. “Let’s go through to the lounge. You can put your feet up and relax while we talk.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” she said softly, bringing a smile to his lips. But she set her serviette aside and pushed back her chair. “Still, let’s do this away from the crockery. Just in case the discussion gets heated.”

With that in mind, Ric suggested she sit at the far end of the sofa. “That lamp is damn ugly but it cost a fortune. Best keep it out of your reach.”

Amusement softened the curve of her mouth as she took the proffered seat. “Wise decision. The base looks solid enough to make quite a dint.”

“This doesn’t have to be a confrontation,” Ric said evenly.

“No, although our history suggests there is that possibility. Especially when the subject of Blackstone Diamonds enters the discussion.”

Ric couldn’t argue with that claim; he couldn’t even say it was all bad. When they’d worked together on the business plan for Blackstone Jewellery, their heated debates had been more than intellectual foreplay, they’d sparked new angles and creative solutions. They’d complemented each other in the office, as well as the bedroom, and that’s what he wanted again. That heat, that spark, that connection.

That’s what he wanted and that’s what he would have, but that didn’t stop him wanting to prolong their current harmony.

He didn’t want to wipe that glint of humour from her expressive eyes. But he did, as soon as he settled opposite her on the second of the suede sofas. The smile faded from her face even before he spoke. “Let me at least get my proposal on the table before you arm yourself,” he suggested.

“Would that proposal be the board position or the dream job you dangled in front of me earlier?”

“Let’s start with the directorship.”

She nodded briefly. “I have given that some thought.”

“And?”

“Matt suggests it would be a conflict of interest with my present position at House of Hammond.”

No surprise that she’d discussed his preliminary approach with her boss. Ric had expected as much, but that didn’t stop his jaw tightening in annoyance. “Your boss is right,” he said shortly. “You couldn’t continue to work for him if you took on this directorship.”

“Why would I choose a board position over the job I have—a good job that I love?”

“Because that’s all Hammond will ever offer you. A job. Second in charge,” he stressed, when he saw an objection fire green sparks in her eyes. “But where is the future beyond that? Matt Hammond will never cede power to anyone but another Hammond.”

“Not everyone craves power, Perrini.”

He met the condemnation in her eyes head-on. “You used to. You came back from Europe, your head crammed with ideas and your heart fired with passion. You couldn’t wait to make changes, to put it all into practice, and you couldn’t do that from the sidelines. I recall you saying as much the day you stormed out of your father’s office.”

“I left Blackstone’s for many reasons,” she said tightly. “That was only one of them.”

“You made those reasons crystal clear when you left, but things have changed. You have a personal stake in the company now.”

Her forehead creased with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“When your father’s will is read, you’ll become one of three major stakeholders in Blackstone Diamonds.”

“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “Howard wrote me out of his will. He said—”

“Whatever your father intended when you had that row, a new will was never filed. I checked with Garth, who is executor of his estate. You will inherit a third share of Howard’s stake in the company, and that is significant equity. With it comes the power to implement change. From the forty-third floor you can see dreams through to reality. You can heal rifts. You can right wrongs.”

Ric watched the storm of possibilities flare in her eyes for several long, weighty seconds.

“That’s powerful rhetoric,” she said.

“It’s not just rhetoric,” he responded without hesitation. “This next few months will be a tough time for the company. The share price is already taking a beating on the back of this week’s negative publicity. We can’t sit tight and ride this out. We need to play the game smarter. We want you working with us to generate positive press, Kim. We want you back at Blackstone’s.”

“We?”

“Senior management. Ryan, Garth, myself.”

“‘Generating positive publicity’ sounds more like a PR specialist’s dream job than mine,” she countered after a moment’s consideration. “Why don’t you hire a consultant?”

“We don’t want a slick consultant. We want you and your sharp brain and your industry knowledge and credentials.” He leaned forward, hands linked loosely between his knees, but there was nothing casual about the insistent strength of his gaze. “We want to present a united front, Kim, to show we’re not dwelling on the past but moving forward with the next generation. And we want your name quoted in the papers, your face in front of the cameras.”

Her brows arched with a hint of derision. “I thought you were using Marise’s supermodel sister as the ‘Face of Blackstone’s’.”

“Briana Davenport is the ‘face.’ We’re proposing you as the ‘mouth’, a role for which you’re eminently qualified.”

Unexpected amusement sparkled at the back of her eyes. “Aren’t you concerned that my mouth will create more trouble?”