Bella Bucannon - Unlocking The Millionaire's Heart

‘Yes—if it’s going to be rough and take that long.’

Brian laughed. ‘It all depends on how determined you are to have a successful publication.’

He followed Nate into the well-appointed corner office, waved at the four comfy leather armchairs round a long low table and went to the coffee machine on a built-in cabinet.

‘Strong and black, right?’

‘Please.’

Nate sat and studied the view of nearby commercial buildings: hundreds of glass pane eyes, letting in sunlight while hiding the secrets of the people behind them. He’d need to be a heap of floors higher to get even a smidgeon of a harbour view.

‘How was the journey down? Ah, excuse me, Nate.’ Brian walked over to answer the ring from his desk phone, said ‘Thank you, Ella,’ then hung up and went to the door.

‘I won’t be a moment, then we can get started. Your coffee should be ready.’

Spooning sugar into the mug, Nate added extra, figuring he was going to need it. He heard Brian’s muted voice, and a quiet female answer. Distracted by the sounds, he drank too soon, letting out a low curse when the hot brew burnt his tongue. This day wasn’t getting any better.

‘Come in—there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’

A second later he was experiencing the same reaction as he had a few moments ago on the ground floor. The woman who’d caused it stood in the doorway, her stunning eyes wide with surprise. And some other, darker emotion.

The absence of her raincoat—presumably hanging up with his jacket—revealed a slender form in a hip-length, blue-patterned, long-sleeved garment with no fastening at the front. The black tights drew his gaze to shapely legs and flat black laced shoes.

This close, he appreciated the smoothness of her lightly tanned skin, the blue of her irises and the perfect shape of her full lips. Not so acceptable was her hesitation and the glance behind her. An action that allowed him to make out the nuances of colour in her hair—shades of his teak table at home.

One look at his agent’s satisfied expression and his brain slammed into full alert. This young woman seemed more likely to be a problem for his libido than a resolution for his fictional characters’ relationship. What the hell did Brian have in mind?

* * *

With Brian urging her in, Jemma Harrison had no choice but to enter the room, pressing the tips of her left-hand fingers into her palm. The man from the lobby seemed no more pleased to see her than she felt about him. Down there, with the length of the foyer between them, his self-assured stance and the arrogant lift of his head had proclaimed his type. One she recognised, classified and avoided.

She’d dismissed the blip in her pulse as their eyes met, swinging away before her mind could process any of his features. Now, against her will, it memorised deep-set storm-grey eyes with dark lashes, thick, sun streaked brown hair and a stubborn jaw. Attractive in an outdoor, man-of-action way. The tan summer sweater he wore emphasised impressive pecs and broad shoulders. He’d teamed it with black chinos and sneakers, and she knew her socialite sister, Vanessa, would rate him as ‘cool.’

‘Jemma, meet Nate Thornton. Nate, Jemma Harrison.’ Brian grinned, as if he’d pulled off an impossible coup.

Jemma stepped forward as Nate placed his mug on the bench and did the same. His cool eyes gave no indication of his thoughts, and his barely there smile vanished more quickly than it had formed.

For no fathomable reason her body tensed as he shook her hand, his grip gentle yet showing underlying strength. A man you’d want on your side in any battle. A man whose touch initiated tremors across her skin and heat in the pit of her stomach. A man she hoped lived a long way from her home town.

‘Hello, Jemma. From your expression, I assume Brian didn’t tell you I’d be here, so we’re both in the dark.’

Against her will, she responded to the sound of his voice—firm and confident, deep and strong, with a hint of abrasion. The kind of voice that would stir sensations when whispering romantic phrases in a woman’s ear.

Oh, heck, now she was thinking like one of her starry-eyed heroines, and feeling bereft as he let go and moved away.

‘Brian invited me to come in any time I was in Sydney. He didn’t mention anyone else being here today.’

‘I’ll explain once you have a drink,’ Brian said. ‘Coffee, tea or cold?’

‘Flat white coffee with sugar, please.’

She settled into one of the chairs. Nate retrieved his mug and dropped into the one alongside. She was aware of his scrutiny as she scanned the office she’d been too nervous to admire during her first appointment here. It was furnished to give the impression of success with moderation—very apt for the occupant himself.

Average in appearance, and normally mild-mannered, Brian let his passion surface when speaking of books, of guiding authors on their journey to publication and the joy of sharing their triumphs. In assessment he was never condescending, highlighting the positives before giving honest evaluation of the low points, and offering suggestions for improvement.

Why had he invited Nate Thornton to join them? She’d bet he had no idea of the romance genre, and wouldn’t appreciate any relevant cover if she held it up in front of his face.

Brian placed a mug in front of her, sat down with his and smiled—first at her, then towards Nate.

‘We have here an agent’s dilemma: two writers with great potential for literary success, both with flaws that prohibit that achievement.’

Jemma turned her head to meet Nate’s appraising gaze and raised eyebrows and frowned. Why wasn’t he as surprised as she was at this announcement?

Brian regained her attention and continued.

‘Discussions and revision attempts haven’t been successful for either of you. But, as they say in the game, I had a lightbulb moment after Jemma told me she was coming to Sydney.’

He took a drink before going on, and Jemma’s stomach curled in anticipation—or was it trepidation? She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear any solution which meant involvement with this stranger by her side.

‘Nate has a talent for action storytelling—very marketable in any media. Regrettably, the interaction between his hero and heroine is bland and unimaginative.’

That was hard to believe. Any man as handsome as he would have no trouble finding willing women to date and seduce. She’d seen the macho flare in his eyes when they’d been introduced, and her body’s response had been instinctive.

‘Jemma’s characters and their interaction make for riveting reading. But the storyline between the extremely satisfying emotional scenes has little impact and won’t keep pages turning. So, as a trial, I’m proposing we combine your strengths in Nate’s manuscript.’

* * *

Nate’s protest drowned out the startled objections coming from the woman on his right. It took supreme effort not to surge to his feet and pace the room—a lifelong habit when agitated or problem solving.

‘Oh, come on, Brian. You know the hours and the effort—physical and mental—that I’ve put into that book. I can understand bringing someone else in...could even accept an experienced author...’

He struggled for words. Huh, so much for being a great writer.

‘You expect me to permit an unproven amateur to mess with my manuscript? Her hearts and flowers characters will never fit.’

‘Isn’t your “amateur status” the reason you’re here too, Mr Thornton? I doubt you’ve ever held a romance novel, let alone read the blurb on the back.’

The quiet, pleasant voice from minutes ago now had bite. He swung round to refute her comment, so riled up its intriguing quality barely registered.