Boardrooms & a Billionaire Heir / Jealousy & a Jewelled Proposition

An unfamiliar burst of injustice slammed into him, rendering him momentarily speechless. Sonya Hammond was a mother figure to these people. She was important.

He took a breath, quickly recovering with, “It’s not necessary.”

By the look on Kim’s face he knew his response fell far short of acceptable. Well, hell. This wasn’t exactly his dream situation, either.

Perrini said, “You’ll have access to the internal filing and e-mail systems, plus a master key card to the building.” He punched a number into the phone. “You understand that no files can leave the building, nor are there to be any unauthorised copies made.”

“Naturally,” Jake said smoothly.

Ric continued. “The elevator on the far right is executive use only. It takes you to the basement, so there’ll be no chance meetings with other staff. Your assistant, Holly McLeod, is outside.”

I guess this means the meeting’s over. “I’ll need the current financials.”

“I’ll send them up,” Ryan said curtly. He was the first to rise, striding over to the door and yanking it open. “Welcome to Blackstone’s.”

Holly McLeod waited as everyone exited the boardroom. Ryan, Ric and Garth were deep in discussion as they strode to the elevator. Nothing new there. They lived and breathed Blackstone Diamonds.

Then Jake Vance emerged and the seriousness of her predicament flipped her stomach.

It’s nervousness. That’s all.

He spotted her and gave a brief, humourless smile. “Miss McLeod.”

Her softly murmured name tripped a breath of warm anticipation over her skin, one she quickly covered up by straightening the file in her arms. “Mr Vance—” she held out her hand “—I’m Holly McLeod. I’m to be your assistant for the duration of your stay.”

When his long fingers wrapped around hers, her skin heated with the contact. It wasn’t power he so clearly exuded. It was something much more seductive. Confidence? Control?

Intimacy.

The way his sharp green gaze swept her from head to toe, taking in her hair, her face, her business suit. The way those eyes probed hers until they finally came to rest on the small diamond solitaire at her throat.

She swallowed, withdrew and offered a key card, carefully avoiding his hand. “This will give you access to all the floors, plus the basement car park. You’ve been allocated a parking space for as long as you’re with Blackstone’s. I’ll show you to your office now, if you like.”

“No.”

Holly blinked. “Sir?”

“It’s Jake. I’m not staying.” He stuck his hand in his suit jacket, pulled out a mobile phone and flipped it open. Without a second glance, he pocketed it. “You can give me a rundown of the company history in the car. Get the financials from Ryan Blackstone and I’ll meet you in the basement.”

She hesitated as he made short work of the corridor with his long, devouring strides. So he didn’t want to view his domain, cast an all-encompassing powerful eye over the magnificent Sydney view. Of course. He had the mirror image from his North Sydney complex. Still, she’d anticipated questions, pulled all the relevant files and promotional material and put them on his desk. She’d made tentative meetings with department heads.

“Keep up, Miss McLeod,” Jake said curtly as he pressed the elevator button.

Holly quickly regrouped and moved forward, apprehension giving way to irritation in the face of his cool perusal. “You’re not authorised to remove files from the building, Mr Vance,” she said shortly, refusing to flinch as his sharp eyes met hers. “But I’ll go and personally make sure they’re delivered up to your temporary office.”

He scrutinised her with all the skill of a pro, but she returned his look steadily. Oh, I know how you work, Mr Midas Touch. The stare-down was part of his strategy, along with an emotionless, layout-the-facts style that most men grudgingly admired, despite his ruthless reputation. Men wanted to be him; women just wanted him. Period.

She pushed the elevator button repeatedly, tightening her grip on her file so it crushed up against her breasts like protective armour. “I think now’s a good time to discuss how you’d like to work while you’re here.”

He frowned. “I don’t expect you to be performing any personal assistant duties. I already have one.”

“Holly is a wealth of information about Blackstone’s. We’re fortunate to have her,” Kimberley said, from behind them. Holly ducked her gaze guiltily at the unexpected praise as Kim continued. “Make use of her expertise and gather as much knowledge as you can before deciding to invest with us.”

Holly felt a confusing frisson of adversarial tension crackle between these two, like an argument was in the cards in the next two seconds. She’d never seen Kimberley be anything except utterly polite and professional, even to people she disliked.

Jake Vance, on the other hand, chose to do as he pleased, courtesy be damned.

“I need to speak to you later, Jake,” Kimberley said pointedly.

“I can fit you in tomorrow.”

“I’m flat out with Fashion Week but I can find time. I’ll let Holly know.” She gave up on the elevator and reached for the fire stairs door.

Jake turned to Holly when the door clicked shut, his face a study in controlled irritation. “It looks like I have myself an assistant, Miss McLeod.” She blinked as he added, “As to how I work, it’s quickly. I ask questions. You answer them. Simple.”

She straightened her spine. “Do you have an agenda? A deadline or time frame that—”

“I plan on this taking no more than a week, ten days at the most. Every morning I’ll decide on our timetable and we’ll take it from there. I expect you to start work at eight and stay until everything that needs to get done is done. You need to work around my schedule and be available at my North Sydney office. Do you have other work commitments?”

She shook her head. “You’re my first priority.”

Holly watched in fascination as his sensuous mouth thinned, almost as if he were holding something back. His eyes, on the other hand, glittered for one second before he glanced away. “Let’s start with the building layout and other assets.” As if on cue, the doors pinged open and he swept his hand forward, indicating she go first.

“Our ground level is secured with high-end technology and a security desk, as you’ve seen,” Holly began as they descended. “No employee gets in without their ID and a walk though the scanners. Visitors must be signed in and accompanied by an employee.”

“What about the Blackstones themselves?”

“All executives are located on the forty-third floor with the rest of the board, and use this private elevator. Finance is on the thirty-fifth floor, PR on the twentieth. We also have an employee-only gym and health club, child-care center and cafeteria. We own the whole building, including the grand ballroom, shop fronts, bar and three restaurants that cover the ground, first and second floors facing George Street. Our employees get generous discounts at these and we have a standing table for executive use at each restaurant. We occasionally rent out our ballroom to other companies. Last year it was the B&S and Make a Wish Charity Ball.”

She held out a glossy brochure that she’d helped design, one that detailed the building’s facilities. He just glanced at it, then back at her.

“No company propaganda. I prefer facts.”

Right. Feeling as if she’d failed some kind of test, she tucked the offending material back into her folder. Take a breath, Holly. Work out your strategy and stick with it.

“The rest of the floors are taken up by HR, the press room and our other divisions.”

“Which are?”

“Blackstone Jewellery, International Sales, Mining, Crafting and Design, Legal. I have a fact sheet of the departmental hierarchy and breakdown.”

“I’ll need that e-mailed.”

She nodded and fixed her eyes on the descending numbers.

Jake crossed his arms and studied her profile before ending at the low, elegant sweep of dark hair that brushed past her ears and up into a stylish ponytail.

An unexpected stab of lust hit him low and hard, but with practised ease he stuffed it back. Still, it didn’t stop his gaze from tripping back over her in leisurely study, taking in the navy suit that cinched in her waist, the V-neck shirt revealing a creamy throat adorned with one simple diamond on a gold chain. Down farther, her legs were encased in navy pants, ending in a pair of absurdly high sandals.

He found himself staring at those feet, the nails painted a subtle peach with the second toe sporting a diamond stud toe ring.

When she shifted the file in her arms and glanced over at him, he suddenly realised he’d been staring at the woman’s feet.

He snapped his eyes up to meet hers and it hit him again. It wasn’t the curve of her lips, nor the way her blue eyes tilted up at the corners. It was the tiny birthmark on the left side of her mouth, like some artist had painted it on to tease and tempt. To focus a man’s attention.

A prime kissing target.

When she glanced away, her profile oozed cool professionalism. So why did that calm facade annoy him?

Jake was used to all the tricks when it came to business, but this was definitely a twist. They could’ve given him any old assistant, yet this gorgeous brunette’s presence meant they’d obviously read the reports about Mia.

She was here not only to spy but to distract.

He scowled as his phone rang again. Expert, was she, held in high regard by Blackstone’s? That was enough to give him pause.

He’d learned from his mistakes. If they thought a pair of cat’s eyes and a kissy-mole would divert him from his purpose, they had another think coming. The press called him Mr Midas Touch, the bad boy of business, and if the Blackstones wanted an unfair fight, they would find out how bad he could be.

Two

So that was the great Jake Vance, Mr Midas Touch. Owner of the billion dollar AdVance Corp, corporate shark and Australia’s third richest single man under forty.

Holly quickly dumped the financials on the desk of her temporary office, whirled out the glass doors and back to the elevators.

She’d been prepared for the arrogance, the intolerance of anyone he considered beneath him. He was unconventional, a risk taker. He made business decisions that wiser people labelled career suicide. But somehow he always managed to come out on top. Maybe because he gave the impression he had nothing to lose. Those who had nothing risked nothing.

But the Sunday feature article hadn’t warned of the zing of attraction that had nearly floored her, the aura of power and control that stuck her tongue to the roof of her mouth and turned the words to dust in her throat.

Working at Blackstone’s put her directly in the path of many powerful men. But Jake Vance…It was something in his face, the way his eyes had swept over her even as he tried to keep his perusal impersonal. Call her crazy, but she’d felt the air practically crackle with a weird sort of expectation.

The elevator doors swung open and she pressed the basement button impatiently.

Their gazes had locked just long enough for her to recognise the moment—predatory interest, an almost promissory flame in those deep green eyes. His mouth, a frankly sensual sculpture in warm flesh, had tweaked for a brief second, not enough to be called a smile.

Then he’d shut it down.

The only man in all her twenty-six years who’d forcibly smothered his interest.

No wonder he was at the top of his game. With that much control over his emotions, he was dark, brooding danger in an Italian designer suit. Heaven help a woman if the man ever genuinely smiled.

She curled her lip at the thought. Men in power—those who played God with people’s lives—turned her blood cold.

Like Max Carlton, her soon-to-be ex-boss.

She’d been surprised when he’d approved her temporary transfer to PR eighteen months ago, but she’d had no time to worry if that approval came with strings, not when Blackstone’s ten-year anniversary had been her top priority. Months later she’d been on the team organising Blackstone’s Australian Fashion Week presence. It’d been a chance to show Kimberley Perrini her Blackstone’s-funded studies were paying off, a chance she’d desperately wanted since graduating over a year ago. Then, last week, she’d been pulled from the glamorous event that was the ultimate dream of every Sydney designer to babysit Jake Vance.

She sighed, automatically brushing her hair back from her forehead. If only it were simply a babysitting job.

She finally arrived at the basement and found Jake standing beside a shiny silver Commodore, talking into his mobile phone.

She paused, taking in the perfect snapshot that oozed wealth and class, forcing her heart to slow down, to settle the stupid hitch in her breath. He looked up as she approached and, without pause, opened the back door for her.

Holly blinked. No limo? No uniformed driver? She slid into the creamy leather interior, a niggle of confusion creasing her brow.

Jake got in beside her, his phone call now finished. “Back to the office, Steve.”

The car started with a gentle purr and the driver slid it into first gear, easing out the basement and into the traffic flow. And suddenly Holly realised Jake’s attention was now focused solely on her.

Disturbingly focused attention in an even smaller space than the elevator.

She clicked on her seat belt, ignoring the way his green eyes grazed over her in concentrated study. When she’d first faced him it’d been a stretch to retain her composure. The natural command, the sheer sexuality he exuded had rocketed her pulse. Now in close, almost intimate, quarters, she felt the heated warmth curling up from her toes intensifying.

Here was a man used to getting his own way. He expected acquiescence, demanded it. He crushed anyone in his way.

“Besides the financials, what do you need?” She spoke calmly, that last thought aiding her steely resolve.

“How about you start with the Blackstone history?”

Holly gave him a curious look. “Anything specific?”

“Not particularly. Don’t worry.” His lips curved. “I’ll stop you if it gets boring.”

She blinked at his innocent expression. How could he make that neutral statement sound like such a sinful suggestion?

She concentrated on flicking through her documents to stop herself from flushing. Boring and Jake Vance were planets apart. Of that she was certain.

As Holly talked, Jake listened, carefully analysing not only her words, but her nonverbal cues. As they drove onto Sydney Harbour Bridge he noticed the way her eyes lit up when she recounted the intriguing history of the Blackstones. He knew all this, thanks to his research team. But it was more interesting hearing it from her lips than reading a dry hundred-page report. He asked questions and she expanded on the details, providing answers without hesitation. She knew her stuff.

Yeah, she’s smart and attractive. But she works for Blackstone’s.

He’d been blindsided twice before. Lucy had ripped out his heart when he’d needed her support the most. Seven years later, Mia had used her position as his assistant to violate his trust. He’d quickly learned a harsh lesson: To ensure his utmost privacy, no one was permitted to breach his tight security measures. His company had the strictest security checks, his private life had triple that. It just wasn’t worth everything he’d worked his whole life for.

“Unlike other jewellers, Blackstone’s issues only two glossies every year.”

Focus. One second was all he needed to clear his mind, one second to shove his memories back into the past and concentrate on the here and now.

“Two catalogues,” he repeated.

Holly nodded. “October and January.”

“No Christmas issue?”

“No.Valentine’s Day is our busiest time. We found our clients started shopping for Christmas as early as October. A Blackstone diamond is an investment. It signals superior quality and workmanship, something that women aspire to have, combined with the Australianthe Australian mystique of the outback. Our branding says it all: the simple use of the word ‘heart.’ Some of our previous campaigns were ‘heart felt,’ ‘heart’s desire’ and ‘from the heart.’ This is our most recent issue.” She flipped open her folder. Jake gave it a cursory glance and focused on another magazine on the seat.

“What’s that?”

Holly glanced down. “Our first issue. A collector’s item, actually. There are only twenty existing copies in the world. That’s Howard and Ursula. She’s wearing the Blackstone Rose.”

Unable to help himself, Jake slowly reached for the copy and stared at the cover. Looking every inch its 1976 date, the slim glossy brochure showed a candid but spectacular shot of a young couple in formal evening dress on the steps of the Sydney Opera House. Howard Blackstone in a tux, his wolfish smile triumphant. On his arm, Ursula was dressed in a strapless floor-length creation, her hair piled up into a then-fashionable beehive. The necklace around her neck was large and ostentatious, everything spectacular and showy that he’d come to expect from Howard Blackstone. There were five diamonds—four round stones with a teardrop shaped one dangling in the center. It sat high and heavy on Ursula’s neck like a collar, a symbol of ownership.

The look in Ursula’s face confirmed his impression. She was deeply unhappy. Sure, she smiled, but there was no joy behind it, the emotion in her eyes dull and resigned.

She had wealth, beauty and fame. Surely these things should have made her ecstatic, not miserable.

“When was this taken?”

“December 1976.”

Two months after he’d been stolen. No wonder she looked miserable. And Howard, being the self-absorbed bastard he was, had probably convinced her to dress up and show off the diamonds anyway.

Despite himself, his chest tightened. Dammit. He dropped the magazine with a scowl, cursing himself for allowing that small weakness to take up space in his head. Emotion and business did not mix.

Holly’s low, husky voice suddenly broke through and with the effort it took to flip a switch, he refocused. He turned back to face her, his face expressionless, as she continued.

“The Blackstone Rose came from a diamond called the Heart of the Outback. Jeb Hammond—that’s Ryan and Kimberley’s grandfather and Howard’s father-in-law—gifted the stone to his daughter Ursula to celebrate the birth of James Blackstone, his first grandchild, in 1974. Howard then had it made into the Blackstone Rose necklace the following year.” She paused. “Do you know much about diamonds?”

“Aren’t they a girl’s best friend?”

She gave him a smile that struck him as slightly patronizing. “Not this one.”

“I thought every woman liked diamonds.”

“I’m more of a sapphire girl,” she admitted coolly. She shifted and straightened her back against the leather seat. “Diamonds are commonly judged by the ‘four Cs’—cut, clarity, color and carat. The cut—”

“Determines its brilliance. Most gemmologists consider cut the most important diamond characteristic.”

“Yes. There’s no single measurement to define it…” Holly stopped. “But you’re best mates with Quinn Everard. You probably know this already.”

He nodded. “Some. Go on.”

“Am I being graded on this?” She frowned. “Because if you’re not happy with the information I’m giving you—”

“I am, Holly,” he said curtly. “Please continue.” After the briefest of pauses, she turned the page and showed him a studio shot of the Blackstone Rose sitting elegantly on black velvet. The camera flash had captured the reflection against one of the stone’s polished surfaces, creating a starry burst of light.

He’d never understood the female obsession with jewellery but these were… “Impressive. The Blackstone Rose necklace was stolen on Ursula’s thirtieth birthday, right?”

“It went missing around that time,” she corrected him.

Jake eased his long legs forward, crossing them at the ankles. “A moot point now they’ve been found. For whatever reason, Howard bequeathed the stones to Marise, and now that she’s dead, they’re Matt Hammond’s.”

Holly paused at the mention of Matt. She’d read about the long-standing Blackstone-Hammond feud like everyone else, had pored over the numerous articles about their complicated history with a mixture of sadness and amazement. Matt’s father and Kimberley’s mother were brother and sister, yet because of greed, power and jealousy, the branches of the family tree had grown acres apart.

With a frown, Holly recalled the last few months that had been publicly played out in the media. Whatever the families’ grievances, Matt didn’t deserve to have his dead wife linked with notorious womaniser Howard Blackstone, to have her die in Howard’s plane crash off the Pacific coast. His son Blake didn’t deserve to have the memory of his mother tainted by salacious gossip.

Jake waited for her to comment, to echo what the press had feverishly dubbed the “Howard-and-Marise affair”, but she remained silent. “And…?” he finally prompted.

“And what?” she replied calmly. “Look, Mr Vance, I’m not entirely sure what you want to know—”

“Dynamics.”

“Sorry?”

“I’m interested in family dynamics. The mark of a successful family company depends on that family working together in a harmonious environment.”

“The Blackstones have grown and thrived for over thirty years. You can’t get more successful than that.”

“It’s not about monetary success. It’s about respect, both for each other and their employees.”

“What makes you think they don’t have respect?”

“Howard Blackstone was a dictator. That much I do know. He was petty, vengeful and treated his employees and family like crap. He also relied on cronyism to stay on top of the heap.” He suddenly leaned forward and Holly instinctively pulled back. “What I want to know is why people continued to work with him if he was such a bastard?”

Her eyes flashed, the first real display of anger escaping her cool businesslike facade. “I don’t know. Why do people still work for you?”

The air stilled.

Holly’s breath hitched as her stomach plummeted. She’d done it now, offended the great Jake Vance to the soles of his imported leather shoes. With a pounding heart, she braced herself for the icy reprimand, a potent display of authority designed to put her right back into her place. Instead…

He smiled.

And what a smile it was.

Amusement creased his eyes, softening his jawline and bringing forth a dimple to his cheek. A dimple. As if the man didn’t have enough swooning power over the female population. It transformed his striking, almost harsh, features into something warm and touchable.

“I find it very interesting,” he murmured, “that I irritate you so much. Is it about the way I do business?”

“No,” she lied.

“So it’s personal.”

She blinked nervously. He was close but not close enough to invade her space. Yet she could sense the warmth from his broad, impeccably suited body, the single-minded focus as his eyes freely roamed over her face, coming to rest at a spot dangerously close to her mouth.

She tried to swallow but it felt like dust clogged her throat. “I’m just here to do my job, Mr Vance.”

“Really.”

His scepticism irritated: it was obvious he trusted her as much as she did him. Still, she met his considering look with one of her own, willing calm into every inch of her humming body. “Yes. Shall we get back to your investment, Mr Vance?”

“Jake.” In an echo of his movements in the Blackstone’s basement, he pulled his phone out and checked the screen. “I need to know how the family interacts,” he said as he pushed a few buttons. “I’m not going to invest in Blackstone’s if they can’t control their in-fighting. And then there’s Matt Hammond, a man who’s publicly and repeatedly voiced his hatred of Blackstone’s and who now owns ten percent of the shares.”