Page 179 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

He shrugged. ‘Takeovers can seem brutal. Ruthless even.’

‘Apparently so. You took advantage of Eric Cooper. He didn’t want to sell. He had plans to expand the business himself, plans that would have succeeded.’

He frowned. ‘In that case, why did he sell?’ He’d wondered at the sudden change of heart himself. He’d been rebuffed time and again by the old man.

‘He didn’t tell you? But then, why would he? You wouldn’t have cared less anyway. All you need to know is that, on top of the disappointment of having to sell the company he had birthed and nurtured, you broke his heart by sacking half his staff and putting the rest on notice that their days were numbered. So did you seriously expect that would endear you to any of us, and that we’d all somehow become bosom buddies?’

His gaze flicked once more to her chest. She kicked up her chin and crossed her arms protectively under her breasts, as if she’d realised the mistake she’d made. But the gesture only served to accentuate her breasts. This meeting had been far more entertaining than he’d expected.

‘Well,’ he said with a shrug, ‘I guess if you don’t want to work with me, I’ll just have to swallow the disappointment.’

‘You make me sick,’ she said. ‘In all honesty, why the hell would anyone in their right mind want to work with you?’

He saw the flare of fire in her eyes as she turned to leave. Green fire, he realised as he received the full force of their savage glow.

And there it was again, not a spark of recognition but a bolt, that had first come in her voice and now appeared in her eyes, hurtling him back through the shrouds of time, decades ago, to when he’d been a student in Sydney.

And yet it couldn’t be.

It was all wrong.

She was all wrong.

She was halfway to the door when he knew he couldn’t let her go. Because it might just be right.

‘Mari?’ he called behind her. ‘Marianne?’

CHAPTER FOUR

MARI STOPPED DEAD. Or tried to. Because how did you stop yourself from trembling when every cell in your body was shimmering with anxiety? All the time she’d been here he’d not recognised her. He’d barely looked at her. He’d glanced her way and made her feel like something unpleasant stuck to the sole of his shoe. And that was good. That was what had given her the confidence to speak her mind. To tell him exactly what she thought of him.

So what that she’d have to find a new job? She’d manage it. Somewhere. Somehow. And it might be a struggle—no, it would be a struggle—and she might have to take on two jobs to ensure Suzanne’s care, but that option was far preferable to sucking up to this man, being forced to beg for a job.

She wouldn’t beg. She hadn’t begged. She’d honoured Eric’s desire that she meet with Dominico and she had. She’d satisfied everything that was expected of her and she’d survived the experience.

She’d survived and she felt all the stronger for it. Because she’d changed. Twenty years had seen her change. She’d grown. She’d made something of herself.

Dom had changed too. But not in any way that was an improvement. He’d become a horrid, despicable man. So arrogant, exactly as Eric had said. So full of his own importance. So different from the man she’d known all those years ago.

She’d caught his gaze lingering on her breasts. She’d felt that laser focus burn right through the fabric of her jacket. She’d felt her nipples peak and ache. And then she’d cursed herself for bringing his attention back to her breasts again with that stupid comment.

Bosom buddies.

Big mistake.

And yet still she’d been less than five metres from disappearing back into her less than perfect but Dominico Estefan free life. Until he’d called her name.

Her whole name.

She’d put Marianne behind her when she’d left university and started applying for jobs. When she was looking to be taken more seriously. She’d straightened her hair and taught herself how to tame it into professional-looking updos. She’d given up cheesecloth and cotton and colour and bent herself into monochrome Mari. Nobody called her Marianne now.

And twenty years on, here she was, in all her serious accountant get-up, the suit and glasses and sensible court shoes, and still he’d recognised her.

It occurred to her that she could just keep on walking. Open the door. Take the lift down. Get out of his life like he’d once left hers. Let him think that he was wrong because she had no idea what he was talking about.

But something about him knowing was even more delicious. Now there was no need to temper her words, no need to hold back. He knew who she was and now she could unleash what she really thought about him.

She spun on her heel. ‘I’m surprised you even remember.’ Contempt dripped from her voice.

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