Page 12 of Emergency Engagement

Sammy relaxed against the head rest and smiled.

‘I think I have a pretty good idea of what to expect.’

‘You do?’

‘Thirteen people...’

‘Fourteen, as it happens,’ Rafael corrected.

‘I thought you said that there were going to be six couples and a singleton.’

‘My apologies. There was a last-minute addition. Clement Hewell was always scheduled to come—he’s frankly the overriding lynchpin in this deal—but originally he was coming solo. As it turns out, he’s accompanied by his recently acquired girlfriend, Victoria.’

‘Okay. Seven couples. It shouldn’t make a difference to the catering.’

‘You were saying that you know what to expect. Is this on the food front or on the people front?’

‘Both, as it happens,’ Sammy said. She shifted so that she was leaning against the door and looking at his sharp profile. She was too tired to argue, and besides, the conversation felt soothing and non-confrontational.

She might not enjoy the reasons that had brought her here but there was something oddly invigorating about being in this man’s presence. Maybe it was the challenge of proving to him how good she was at what she did—that the gauche teenager hevaguely remembered had turned out into a capable woman with a career path ahead of her. Maybe there was something gnawing away inside, something that wanted to show him that he hadn’t left a bunch of country bumpkins behind in his headlong rush to become a billionaire.

The silence thickened as the pick-up gathered pace, clearing the confines of the airport and heading out into quiet, dark roads, sporadically lit and interrupted by a lazy stream of cars and vans. She realised that he was waiting for her to continue.

‘On the food front, I always tend to over-cater, but from experience when it comes to... I’m not sure how to put this...’

‘Don’t mind me,’ Rafael murmured with amusement in his voice. ‘You have to remember that I wasn’t always loaded. My sensibilities are a lot less delicate than you could ever imagine.’

Sammy relaxed, something she hadn’t expected to do. ‘Okay. From my experience, rich people don’t tend to eat a huge amount, and definitely not the wives and partners of rich men. They fiddle with their food and pick at it because they’re always watching their weight.’

Rafael chuckled.

‘Isn’t that a generalisation?’

‘Maybe,’ Sammy admitted. ‘But I’m just saying what I’ve observed over the years. So I’ve planned great food, keeping it nice and tasty, using local ingredients, which I’ve looked up, and I intend to make sure that I don’t have much wastage. By the way, thanks for getting the basics in place for me. I really believe in not throwing anything out and it upsets me when I have to.’

‘Very good.’

‘Is that what you wanted to brief me on—picky eaters? Can I ask if everyone has arrived?’

‘Two days ago.’

The darkness had gathered around them. Sammy could feel it pressing against the window of the air conditioned four-by-four.She was drawn to stare out at the passing scenery: the outcrops of houses against hills; the empty vegetable and fruit stalls by the side of the road; the sudden bursts of lively bars and rum shops with people congregated outside, drinking and laughing.

She was also driven to look at the man behind the wheel. The longer she looked at him, the harder it was to think straight, so she dragged her eyes away and stared ahead. That was much easier.

‘How’s it going? Or is that none of my business?’

Rafael didn’t answer.

She’d relaxed, which was good. It was difficultnotto relax over here. There was something about the heat and the techni-colour natural beauty of the place...

Rafael made a right, heading towards the small, bustling town which struck a nice balance between being authentic and serving up some great restaurants and cafés frequented by tourists for the most part. He personally preferred the out of the way places where the locals gathered, but then he knew the place like the back of his hand, and was well known in the community.

‘I know you’ve been up and moving for quite some time, and you’re probably in need of a shower and sleep, but, like I said, er...’ He fished around for the right tone of voice and the correct choice of words.

‘I don’t need a lesson on how to behave around your guests, Rafael. I can handle myself around people—even rich and important people, believe it or not. Experience as a personal chef is great when it comes to teaching you how to socialise, even with people you may not have much in common with and might actually dislike.’

‘There’s a way of doing that?’ He slid dark eyes across to her.

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