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Taking in the subtle lighting, the understated elegance, she nodded. 'I'm not surprised. I've travelled extensively for business the last six years or so, but haven't stayed in anything like this before.'
The mention of business cleared the sensual fog that had enveloped her the moment he strutted into the bar and she glanced at his empty hands. 'Where's my proposal? Did you take a look at it?'
He shook his head and gestured to a waiter who scurried over as if the prime minister had beckoned.
'I prefer to hear this pitch from you first, then go over the details later.'
'Is that why you're in a suit?' she blurted, wishing she hadn't asked when his gaze raked over her change of clothes. The dove-grey skirt suit was another favourite that never failed to give her a confidence boost, and with Nick's intense stare sliding over her, she needed every ounce of confidence she could get.
Before he could respond, the waiter said, 'The usual, Mr Mancini?'
'Yes, thanks, Kyoshi.'
Confused, her gaze flicked between them. Nick hadn't glanced at the waiter's name tag, and with the waiter asking if he wanted 'the usual’, he obviously frequented this place. Strange, considering thriving, cosmopolitan Noosa was a ninety-minute drive from the Mancini plantation and she hadn't pegged Nick for the bar-hopping type.
Then again, she'd been away a decade and people changed.
'You like?' He glanced down at his suit, leaving her no option but to do the same, and her pulse raced at the way his chest filled out the shirt, how the fine material of the suit jacket hugged his shoulders.
'I've never seen you in one.'
His eyes glittered with a satisfaction she didn't understand as he pinned her with a stare that had her squirming. 'Times change.'
She gripped her glass so tight she wouldn't have been surprised if it cracked and she forced her hand to relax and place it on the table by her elbow. 'They do. So let's get down to business.'
Leaning back, he placed an outstretched arm on the back of his chair, the simple action pulling his shirt taut across the muscular chest she'd seen in all its glory earlier that day and she instantly wished for a drink refill to cool her down.
'I have to say I'm intrigued. This business must be pretty damn special to drag you back here from the bright lights of London.'
How could she begin to explain to him what this promotion meant? The long hours she'd put in over the years. The overnight jaunts to godforsaken places, going the extra yards to secure information, ensuring her pitches were bigger and better than everyone else. The endless drive to prove her independence in every way that counted.
Nick wouldn't get it. Not having a mother had bonded him and Pa Mancini like nothing else. He’d never had to prove himself or give his all for recognition. His father had doted on him.
She wished she could say the same about hers.
'I'll give you the short version.' She leaned forward, clasped her hands in her lap, and prepared to give the pitch of her life.
Securing the use of the Mancini plantation was paramount to her plans and would guarantee her that promotion. The current managing director had virtually said so. Then why the nagging doubt that convincing Nick wouldn't be as easy as she hoped?
'I work for Sell, London's biggest advertising company. We're doing a worldwide campaign for the sugar industry, driven by the mega-wealthy plantation owners in the States.'
A flicker of interest lit his eyes and she continued. 'I'll be honest with you, Nick. There's a big promotion in this for me, a huge one. If I nail this, I'm the new managing director of the company.’
His eyebrows shot up. 'That's an impressive title.'
Picking up the boutique beer the waiter had discreetly placed on the table in front of him, he took a healthy slug. 'So where do I fit into all this?'
She'd got this far. Taking a deep breath, she went for broke. 'Your place is the oldest sugar-cane plantation in Australia. If I could have exclusive access to it, shoot footage, use some of the history, I'm pretty sure the resultant campaign will be amazing and the promotion is mine. That's it in a nutshell.'
She didn't like his silence, his controlled posture. She'd expected some kind of reaction, not this tense quiet that left her on edge and wondering what was going on behind those dark eyes.
'I've set out the facts and figures in the written proposal. How much the company's willing to pay to use the farm, how many hours it will involve, that kind of thing.' Her voice had taken on a fake, bubbly edge, as if she was trying too hard, and she eventually fell silent, waiting for him to say something.
When he didn't, she blurted, 'What do you think?'
Something shifted in his eyes, a shrewdness she'd never seen before.
‘It sounds feasible.'
