Marion Lennox - One Night With The Billionaire - Sparks Fly with the Billionaire / The Nanny Plan / Second Chance with the Billionaire

She stopped on an angry sob.

‘The paramedics said it was only a faint.’

‘So they did,’ she managed. ‘So why should I worry? But I’m worrying, Mr Bond, and not just about Grandpa’s heart. How dare you threaten our circus? Give me one good reason.’

There was no easy way to do this. By rights, this was between Bond’s Bank and Henry, but Henry was in hospital and this girl had proved conclusively that she was fundamental to the running of Sparkles Circus. More, she was Henry’s granddaughter.

She had a right to know.

He had the file in his car, but he hadn’t brought it in with him. He’d thought he’d come quietly and put the facts to Henry, facts Henry must already know. But he had a summary.

He reached into his back pocket and tugged out a neatly folded slip of paper, unfolded it and handed it over.

‘This is your grandfather’s financial position with Bond’s Bank,’ he told her. ‘The balances for the last ten years are on the right. We’ve been as patient as we can, but no capital’s been paid off for three years, and six months ago even the interest payments stopped. The circus’s major creditor is winding up his business and is calling in what he’s owed. We can’t and won’t lend any more, and I’m sorry but the bank has no choice but to foreclose.’

She read it.

It made not one whit of sense.

She’d done financial training. One thing Henry and Bella had insisted on was that she get herself professional qualifications, so that she had a fallback position. ‘In case you ever want to leave the circus. In case you want to stay in one place and settle.’

They’d said it almost as a joke, as if staying in the same place was something bred out of the Miski family generations ago, but they’d still insisted, so in the quiet times of the circus, during the winter lay-off and the nights where there weren’t performances, she’d studied accountancy online.

It’ll be useful, she’d told herself, and already she thought it was. Henry left most of the bookkeeping to her. She therefore knew the circus’s financial position from the inside out. She didn’t need this piece of paper.

And it didn’t correlate.

She stared at the figures and they jumbled before her. The bottom line. The great bold bottom line that had her thinking she might just join Henry in his ambulance.

It didn’t help that Mathew was watching her, impassive, a banker, a judge and jury all in one, and maybe he’d already decided on the verdict.

Enough.

‘Look, I need to contact the hospital,’ she told him, thrusting the sheet back at him, then hauling the tie from her hair to let loose a mass of chestnut curls around her shoulders. She had a stabbing pain behind her eyes. The shock of seeing Grandpa collapse was still before her. These figures … She couldn’t focus on these figures that made no sense at all.

‘Of course,’ Mathew said quietly. ‘Would you like me to come back tomorrow?’

‘No.’ She stared blindly ahead. ‘No, I need to sort this. It’s stupid. Go back to Grandpa’s van. It’s not locked. I’ll ring the hospital, then come and find you—as long as everything’s okay.’

Mathew dealt with corporate high-flyers and usually they came to him. His office was the biggest in the Bond Bank tower. It had a view of the Sydney Opera House, of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, of the whole of Sydney Harbour.

Allie was expecting him to sit in a shabby caravan among mounds of sequins and calmly wait?

But Allie’s face was bleached under her make-up. With her hair let down, she suddenly seemed even less under control. The pink and silver sparkle, the kohl, the crazy lashes seemed nothing but a façade, no disguise for a very frightened woman.

Her grandpa was ill. Her world was about to come crashing down—as his had crashed all those years ago?

Not as bad, he thought, but still bad.

So … the least he could do was take off this crazy outer jacket, fetch the file from the car, turn back into a banker but give her time to do what she must.

‘Take as long as you need,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait.’

‘Thank you very much,’ she said bitterly. ‘I don’t think.’

‘The doctor says he’s sure he’ll be okay.’

Allie’s grandmother, Bella, sounded tremulous on the other end of the phone, but she didn’t sound terrified, and Allie let out breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. ‘Did the circus go on?’ Bella asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Without Henry?’

‘We used the banker.’

There was a moment’s silence and then, astoundingly, a chuckle. ‘Oh, Allie, you could talk anyone round your little finger. See if you can talk him into lending us more money, will you, love?’

Allie was silent at that. She thought of the figures. She thought … what? Why did they need to borrow?

‘Gran …’

‘I have to go, dear,’ Bella said hurriedly. ‘The nurse is bringing us both a cup of tea. The doctor says your grandpa should stay here for a few days, though. He says he’s run down. He hasn’t been eating. I wonder if that’s because he knew the banker was coming?’

‘Gran …’

‘I gotta go, love. Just get an extension to the loan. It can’t be too hard. Banks have trillions. They can’t begrudge us a few thousand or so, surely. Bat your eyelids, Allie love, and twist him into helping us.’

And she was gone—and Allie was left staring at her phone thinking … thinking …

Mathew Bond was waiting for her in Grandpa’s caravan.

Twist him how?

Twist him why?

SHE CHANGED BEFORE she went to meet him. For some reason it seemed important to get rid of the spangles and lashes and make-up. She thought for a weird moment of putting on the neat grey suit she kept for solemn occasions, but in fact there’d only ever been one ‘solemn’ occasion. When Valentino’s mother died, Valentino—or Greg—had asked them all to come to the funeral in ‘nice, sober colours’ as a mark of respect.

Allie looked at the suit now. She lifted it from her tiny wardrobe—but then she put it back.

She could never compete with that cashmere coat. If she couldn’t meet him on his terms, she’d meet him on her own.

She tugged on old jeans and an oversized water proof jacket, scrubbed her face clean, tied her hair back with a scrap of red sparkle—okay, she could never completely escape sparkle, and nor would she want to—and headed off to face him.

He was sitting at her grandparents’ table. He’d made two mugs of tea.

He looked … incongruous. At home. Gorgeous?

He’d taken off his ringmaster coat but he hadn’t put his own coat back on. Her grandparents’ van was always overheated and he’d worked hard for the last three hours. He had the top couple of buttons of his shirt undone and his sleeves rolled up. He looked dark and smooth and … breathtaking?

A girl could almost be excused for turning tail and running, she thought. This guy was threatening her livelihood. Dangerous didn’t begin to describe the warning signs flashing in her head right now.

But she couldn’t turn and run.

Pull up those big girl panties and forget about breathtaking, she told herself firmly, and she swung open the screen door with a bang, as if she meant business.

‘Milk?’ he said, as if she was an expected guest. ‘Sugar?’

She glared at him and swiped the milk and poured her own. She took a bit longer than she needed, putting the milk back in the fridge while she got her face in order.

She would be businesslike.

She slid onto the seat opposite him, pushed away a pile of purple sequins, cradled her tea—how did he guess how much she needed it?—and finally she faced him.