Australian Boss: Diamond Ring: Australian Boss: Diamond Ring

Fiona stopped at the edge of the kitchen and then she did let her gaze take in the sight of three different coffee machines on the counter, and a myriad of other gadgets beside them.

Her lips twitched. ‘I take it you really like coffee. And gadgetry.’

‘Different blends for different times of the day. The coffee is on a timer, so I can make sure it’s ready for me when I want it. My evening dose is decaf.’ A slight smile creased his lips. Then his expression sobered as he examined the rest of the gadgets. ‘The way they all work interests me. I probably have bought more things than I really need.’

As though he’d said too much, he drew two coffee mugs from an overhead cupboard and raised them in question.

‘Yes, please.’ If it was decaf, it wouldn’t hurt to have it. She was intrigued by this small revelation into his personality, too. She would have liked to pursue the topic, maybe tease him a little about having an obsession about the way things worked.

A small memory flitted through her head as she thought this, of someone with similarities to her employer, but she lost it before it could fully form. ‘The coffee smells far too good to be caffeine-free, you know.’

‘It’s an imported blend. A bit self-indulgent of me all up, I suppose. Overall, my curiosity hasn’t always been welcomed, but I tend to indulge it nowadays, in my own setting, at least.’ He cut off the words and then seemed to relax out of whatever place they had taken him. He poured the rich blend and passed her one of the cups.

‘You’re hardly self-indulgent, and I think curiosity is a good thing. How else do we learn?’ The words emerged without her conscious volition. But he’d earned the money he had. If he wanted to import coffee and invest in gadgets he didn’t necessarily use, why shouldn’t he? Those things seemed very small indulgences and if he enjoyed exploring them at the same time…‘I mean great coffee is worth investing in.’

She put the mug to her lips and sipped, and the rich thick liquid slid down her throat so smoothly that she had to close her eyes and let a small sigh of satisfaction escape. ‘Oh, that is good. I think for the pleasure of that taste alone, all your curiosity has been well worth it in this case.’

‘You have a unique way of looking at things. Calling it that…’ Brent fell silent.

‘What else would it be?’ She opened her eyes and caught his gaze on her. Unshielded in that first instance, and somehow almost vulnerable.

And…edged with a consciousness of her that brushed across her senses like a touch.

This time he didn’t shut it down. Oh, he looked away, but the awareness was still etched on his face when he did that.

It echoed inside her, too. Fiona dropped her gaze to her cup again while her heart inexplicably pounded. It was a foolish reaction. One that she needed to quash because, even if he did find her attractive right now, that could change. In any case, he was her boss and it would be really far less than sensible for her to allow feelings towards him or to start believing he had any towards her.

Maybe he simply found her opinions interesting and she was imagining anything else.

They sipped their coffee standing right there, leaning against the kitchen counter. When the silence stretched, Fiona turned her gaze to Brent’s living room, to squashy chocolate leather sofas and chairs and long rows of magazines lined up like soldiers across a set of three coffee tables.

There were neat stacks of library books set exactly so, and other books and pieces of paper arranged carefully all through the area and beside armchairs positioned around the room.

‘I see you like to bring your work home, and you’re very orderly.’ Was this why he had rushed her past the area? Because there was something quite different about the way he’d laid out all that work?

His office space was similarly regimented, and it was different.

He rubbed his hand over the back of his head. ‘I sometimes have to work on projects until they’re finished, whether that means bringing things home or not. Once I get started, I get very focused and I can’t stop. I’ve always been that way. Some people…find that objectionable but it’s how I am. Core me. It’s not something that’s going to change.’

‘Nor should it.’ If he changed, he might lose some of the intensity that made his work what it was. Why on earth would he even consider such a possibility—? ‘I imagine there’ll be times when I’ll do the same. Get deeply involved in the work, I mean.’

He shifted on his feet, passed his empty coffee cup from hand to hand.

‘It’s time I went.’ One part of her didn’t want to leave, wanted to stay in his company longer.

To talk about work issues, she told herself. Instead, she put her empty cup down on the counter top and made her way towards the front door.

‘I enjoyed our talk this evening.’ Brent paced beside her. His words brought them back to business, and of course that was a good thing.

As she approached the door she noticed the photomontage on the wall. It was positioned so it would be the last thing he looked at as he left his home each day.

Photos of him and his brothers.

Fiona looked, and looked again. And the story embedded in those images hit her so deeply her breath stalled in her throat and for a long moment she couldn’t speak. She simply stood there, unable to shift her gaze.

When she finally found her voice it wasn’t to state the obvious. Not, You were all institutionalised. Or, There are no parents, are there? At least not for a very long time. Or, You’re not biologically related.

But, oh, they had created themselves into a family, first in that cold building in the background of several of the pictures, and later as they’d found their freedom and relocated here.

They were three men who’d become men before their time, and had stood up for each other. It was all there, captured in the stark stares and guarded expressions of young boys and the determination of young men, and the laughter and wry smiles and inner shields of the men they were now.

How had they all ended up alone? Parentless? In Brent’s case, extremely private, and she imagined the others had their issues with privacy, too. Just look at where they all lived.

His brothers must have changed their names through legal channels, or perhaps they’d all chosen the last name MacKay and adopted it at some point? ‘I thought from the beginning that you and your brothers were close. I hadn’t realised all the reasons why.’

Fiona didn’t have that closeness in her own family. It was a knowledge she lived with and tried not to think about. Right now it felt very blatant to her. Blatant and sad, and yet Brent and his brothers must have been through so much more. Indeed, the two things were incomparable.

‘We’re there for each other. The few people who’ve looked at those photos didn’t even realise—’ Brent opened the door.

‘That you’re a chosen family, not a “by birth” one?’ They were proof the former could be as strong as any example of the latter.

‘Yes. “Chosen” is the right word for it. For us, that’s better than where…we came from.’ He stepped out into the corridor with her. ‘I’ll see you back to your car.’

End of discussion, and fair enough. Though she might want to know more, he was a private man and this was obviously very private business to him.

They walked in silence. Moments later she stood beside her small car.

‘We have a meeting with a client at her home tomorrow.’ Brent rubbed his jaw with his hand. ‘It’s the troublesome client I told you about on Friday.’

Fiona mentally reviewed her wardrobe. ‘I’ll be ready for it.’

‘Perhaps between us we can get her to stop blocking the plans at every turn.’ Brent waited while she seated herself, and then he pushed her door closed.

She started the engine and rolled down the window.

He leaned in. ‘Drive safely. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Goodnight, Brent.’ He’d given her some things to think about. The family he had built and her questions about where he might have come from. His emotional guardedness. That regimented work lined up in his living room and in his office. The privacy he sought in his home and his work.

‘Goodnight,’ he murmured.

With a final wave and an odd reluctance to leave him, and with myriad questions flitting through her mind and no answers anywhere in sight, Fiona drove away.

Chapter Three

‘MRS FULLER will either have to get on board during this visit, or we cut our losses and dump the project. The work is interchangeable with a dozen other projects that all need my attention. At some point I have to assess what’s going to be best financially for the company overall and, right now, letting her mess us around further isn’t.’ Brent murmured the words as he and Fiona waited in the formal sitting room of the woman’s ritzy Sydney home.

They’d been kept cooling their heels here for twenty minutes now with no sign of their hostess.

‘I agree. This isn’t a smart use of your time. The woman’s behaviour is insulting to you.’ And that insult made Fiona feel…protective towards her boss.

Which was fine, because she was his employee. She had the right to feel that way. Even if she had been somewhat too personally conscious of her boss initially.

The door to the room swished open and a maid entered with a tea tray.

Rose Fuller swept in behind her. ‘Thank you, Lilly. You may pour and leave us.’

Mrs Fuller waved a slender, well-tended hand towards the maid before she turned to greet her guests. ‘Oh, I see you’ve brought an assistant, Mr MacKay?’

A very lowly one, her tone seemed to suggest.

‘Mrs Fuller, meet my graphic designer, Fiona Donner. We were about to leave but, since you’ve managed the appointment belatedly after all, we’ll do what we can in the limited time we have left.’ Brent’s voice held just the right amount of firmness. He got to his feet to shake hands with the woman and stepped back so Fiona could do the same. ‘Fiona, meet Mrs Rose Fuller.’

The familiarity of name and face clicked into place when Fiona received a very practised smile and a rather limp hand to shake, though the woman had looked slightly chagrined by the end of Brent’s speech.

Husband in politics. Big aspirations. Lots of media coverage as they did their best to climb the ranks.

Ah…

‘It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Fuller. I’ve been studying the project plans Brent has drawn up for you.’ Fiona towered over Mrs Fuller by an entire head and shoulders. In the dainty room, with the maid pouring cups of tea into translucent china cups, Fiona had to fight off feeling oversized and, subsequently, unfeminine.

The two assessments did not necessarily have to go together, no matter what her mother may have said to the contrary at various times throughout Fiona’s life. ‘You must be pleased to have Brent on board for your landscaping work. He’s the best in the city.’

‘Well, of course I know Mr MacKay has a decent reputation, though he can be extremely elusive about contact outside of his work channels.’

‘I apologise for turning down the dinner invitation, Mrs Fuller.’ Brent’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I saw the write-up in all the major papers the next day.’

‘Yes, we made quite a splash.’ Mrs Fuller went on, ‘I’m afraid I just can’t decide on any one of the plans we’ve discussed. My husband is very exacting and everything has to serve our lifestyle and our business interactions perfectly.’ Their hostess gestured for them to take their seats, did so herself and waited while her maid handed out the teacups and left the room.

‘Of course.’ Fiona took a deep breath and turned her attention to the view from the bay windows for a moment.

The house was elevated and the grounds rolled away to a seemingly endless stretch of Sydney coast. The scene from this window once the design work was completed in the grounds below would make an ideal painting for the client. If they could get the woman to start cooperating.

‘Mrs Fuller, you’ve expressed what you want out of this landscaping project. Now it’s time to trust us to provide it for you.’ Brent placed his tea, untouched, onto the small table beside his chair and his fingers curled against his thighs as though he wanted to do something with them but was stopping himself.

Fiona took up the conversation where Brent had left off. ‘The exciting news for you, Mrs Fuller, is that you’ll be one of our first clients to have the benefit of an original artwork gifted to you at the completion of your project. I think a two metre by one metre canvas would work here. Of course, if you’re unable to settle on our plans we’ll need to move on. You’ll understand my employer is highly sought after, and my paintings are award-winning works that will always find a welcome home…’

‘That’s a substantial-sized painting. I wasn’t aware—What awards have you won?’ The woman’s eyes gleamed.

And Fiona ran with that. Just a little, and only because she truly did want her boss to get something back for the time he’d invested in this project so far. She named the prestigious awards.

Brent knew of them, of course. They’d been listed in her curriculum vitae and she’d included copies of the works in her portfolio.

‘I recall now.’ Mrs Fuller straightened her perfectly straight back even more. ‘You’re that Fiona Donner. One of the paintings was a landscape…’

‘Yes. They both were. It’s a favourite medium of mine.’ Fiona could almost see the cogs turning in their hostess’s brain.

She smiled at the woman. ‘At this stage we are utterly one hundred per cent informed of your needs, Mrs Fuller. You’ve discussed them in detail with my employer, and he has explained everything to me. Now you can let it go, take that burden off shoulders that no doubt have many other responsibilities. Your husband, your social engagements.’

A suppressed hint of sound came from Brent that could have been a snort, though a quick glance his way revealed nothing but the blandest of facial expressions.

‘It will be our pleasure to take care of the hard work and stress and decisions for you, Mrs Fuller.’ Brent offered this assurance with calm confidence. ‘All you need to do is enjoy the finished product when your landscape design is in place. Shall we discuss the original plans? I truly still believe they are what’s going to be best to meet your needs.’

They talked. Or, rather, Brent did most of the talking in a firm, determined way. Mrs Fuller occasionally tried to get off track or waffle about some aspect or another she wasn’t quite certain about. Invariably, Brent pulled her back.

Fiona sipped her tea until it was all gone while Mrs Fuller did the same.

Eventually, with all of his case put forward again as succinctly as possible, Brent leaned back in his chair. ‘Well, Mrs Fuller. What do you say? Do we have a plan, or do we leave this here, cut our losses and both move on?’

‘I’d like you to begin work, using the plan you originally produced, and providing a painting.’ Mrs Fuller replaced her teacup in its saucer with a small click. ‘It’s a pity you weren’t able to articulate things so clearly the first time…’

Several beats of silence passed.

Fiona didn’t know she’d moved until she realised she was on her feet.

Brent whispered into her ear, ‘Remember, the client is always right, even when she’s not.’ He’d risen with her and leaned in casually to give her those words while giving Mrs Fuller a businesslike smile.

Fiona bit her lip and bit back the words that wanted to pour out, telling Mrs Fuller exactly how offensive she had just been.

It would be unrealistic, Fiona supposed, to expect a complete turnaround from the woman and, in the end, Brent had achieved what he wanted.

So score one for Brent MacKay Landscaping Designs. With brief—and, Fiona thought in the circumstances, very constrained—goodbyes to their hostess, they took their leave.

Brent led the way back to his utility truck, opened her door for Fiona and got behind the wheel himself.

‘You have excellent people-handling skills, Fiona.’ A grin kicked up one corner of his mouth and spread until it reached his eyes. ‘I had a much easier time of it with you there to help me out.’

‘Oh, I didn’t do much. You’re the one who produced the ideas Mrs Fuller should have leapt at in the first place.’ Fiona brushed aside her part in things and did her best to brush aside her annoyance at the same time. ‘In the end it all worked out, I guess, and I think Mrs Fuller is someone who, despite all the difficulties with her up to this point, will talk your work up to the skies once it’s done for her.’

Fiona was doing quite well being upbeat and positive until she added a muttered, ‘I didn’t appreciate her insulting attitude to the importance of your time or the way she insinuated that her mucking around for weeks was somehow your fault!’

Brent laughed. ‘I caught that, and I appreciate you caring.’

He set the vehicle in motion. ‘You were very diplomatic with Mrs Fuller. I think you’d even manage to tame the crowd of people just like her who attend the Landscaping Awards nights.’

‘That’s one event you do attend each year.’ The words slipped out before she could consider how telling he might find them. ‘I mean, naturally you attend whatever functions you’re interested in—’

‘And I protect my privacy the rest of the time.’ He made no apology, simply stated it as fact.

‘The Deltran Landscaping Awards are prestigious.’

‘Yes, and I’m nominated for an award this year.’ Brent glanced her way. ‘I’d like you to attend the ceremony with me. It will give me a chance to showcase you as part of the company.’

‘I’d love to go.’ The invitation was unexpected, but her acceptance was instantaneous. Too fast, really.

Because she was a little too delighted. Because the thought of an evening out with him appealed a little too much. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling that way about him any more. Not since she’d thought that all through and concluded that she wouldn’t.

‘Then you can consider it a date.’ The moment the words left Brent, a frown creased his brow. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Consider it a business arrangement, I mean.’

Right.

‘I think it will be a very useful evening for the company.’ And, for that reason, it would be good to attend the evening with her boss.

‘Maybe I should do something similar for this dinner Mum’s roped me into attending with the family.’ There. That was good. A segue into a different topic by commenting on something that bore similarities to the first topic. ‘I could go for “safety in numbers” and take a friend along.’

‘It sounds like an obligatory family event?’ This seemed to surprise him.

No doubt because his interactions with his brothers contained none of the difficulties Fiona encountered at family functions. Her family tended to find her far too different and ‘out of the box’ for their tastes.

Ironic, really, when Brent was the one with the unusual ‘family’ structure.

‘I didn’t mean to make it sound as though family events are a chore for me. Even if they were,’ she added, and couldn’t keep the doubt from her tone, ‘the evening might be fun.’

Extremely doubtful, but in the end you never knew, right?

Brent drew the truck to a stop in its space behind their office building and turned to face her. ‘I’ll trade. You come to the Awards night with me and I’ll be your “extra” for your family gathering. Assuming both these events aren’t scheduled at once. When is your family get-together?’

Not the same night, as it happened.

Fiona was still shocked by his offer, even as she answered him. ‘Th-thank you. I’d love to have you come along.’ She stuttered out the details while Brent climbed out of the truck and led the way into the building and through to his office.

His face was tight. Maybe he regretted making his offer. Should she try to let him off the hook? ‘If you don’t really—’

‘It’ll be a chance for me to meet your family.’ He picked up a handful of mail from his desk and began to sort through it. ‘I’m planning to have you working for me for a long time, so it’s strategic for us to do this.’

‘Oh. Of course. Well, that’s lovely, then.’ And it was. Absolutely. Lovely, and practical and, for goodness’ sake, why would she kid herself it was anything else? She would enjoy Brent’s company as her boss meeting her family for a one-off occasion. That would be no biggie. Not at all.

This might provide a chance for your parents and sisters to see you actually have a serious job working for Brent, not some ‘dangerously unstable artsy thing’ as your mother dismissed it on the phone when you rang to tell her the good news that you’d got the position.

And maybe they’d see that she was making progress in that job. Yes, it was still very early days but Brent seemed pleased enough with her so far. It was about time her family acknowledged that her choices and decisions in life, though perhaps not right for them, were right for her and could even be quite successful.

As for the fact she hadn’t entirely managed to quash her consciousness of Brent as a man…well, she would quash it.

Fiona hustled to the door so they could get on with some work.

‘You’re staring into space, Fiona! Do concentrate.’ Eloise Donner’s voice grated across Brent’s nerve-endings as she addressed her daughter. ‘You’re holding things up.’

‘I’m sure Fiona’s just taking time to think through how she wants to answer the game question.’ Brent battled to keep his tone unremarkable, polite.

He wanted to walk out, taking Fiona with him.

Her mother’s niggling wasn’t overtly vicious. In Brent’s opinion, it was worse than that because it was subtle, ingrained and would be very difficult for Fiona to fight.

Particularly if she didn’t want to get into an argument with her mother and have Eloise tell her she was overstating the problem or making much out of ‘nothing’.

Something told him Eloise Donner would be good at saying things like that.

It was Wednesday night, just over a week after Fiona had first started working for him, and they were at that obligatory family gathering he’d invited himself along to.

As her employer, he had wanted to meet her family. But curiosity had also motivated him.

He had wanted to see what her family were like. Maybe he’d wanted to be around a family that had parents in it, full stop?

You got over missing that a long time ago, MacKay.

His father had made that easy. Just dumped him and walked away…

Well, the answer to what Fiona’s family were like was ‘nothing he’d expected’.

With Fiona being so kind and sweet, he’d thought her family would be the same, people who would have brought out those things in her by their own example. Instead, they were clinical, critical, super-practical and unemotional people who almost seemed to lack…soul?

They certainly looked nothing like Fiona. Her mother and sisters were petite and brittle, where Fiona was tall and lush and vibrant. Her father was a ‘medium’ man. Medium height, build, medium brown hair, medium interest in life, it appeared. Fiona’s inner beauty was something that had obviously come from the core of her and flourished against the odds of her family influence.

Fiona glanced at the card in her hand. They were playing a board game. A particularly stultifying one, Brent thought. There were eight people at the table. Fiona’s family, Fiona, him, and a couple of extras.

Fiona cast an uncomfortable glance his way before she pinned on that smile she’d worked so hard to hold all night. ‘I don’t think I know the answer to this one, Mum. I’ll have to pass.’

‘You must know.’ Terrence Donner cast a slightly impatient glance his daughter’s way. ‘None of the questions in this game are unanswerable.’