Page 4 of Worth the Risk

CHAPTER ONE

Leonie. Two weeks later

NOMANWAS worth it.

I slammed the phone down, and then got even more annoyed that I’d lost my cool. For three days I’d jumped through every hoop imaginable and some I’d never thought even invented.

Granted, if I succeeded, this would be the sale of a lifetime. My fifteen per cent stake in this deal would double my already-impressive bank account but, more important, put me squarely on the map in a place where arrogant billionaires with egos the size of small countries lounged on every corner.

Hell, I could even relocate to another sun-drenched locale. One that didn’t hold the ravaging memories this place did.

I glanced out of my office window and was greeted by the stunning marina a good percentage of the world’s population believed was the gateway to paradise. Most people would give a piece of their souls for this.

Not me.

To me, this would always be ground zero of the worst moment of my life. The most humiliating, too. Definitely the most heartbreaking—

I wasn’t ashamed to admit part of my reason for wanting this deal over and done with was the shattered heart bit. I’d used my work to patch myself together and lately I’d become aware that I might have missed a few vital pieces in my repair job, like a broken leg that hadn’t been set properly.

It supported you by keeping you alive, breathing, reasoning, but toss in more challenging things like trust and emotional investment and, heaven forbid, taking another chance on happiness, and it withered and shrank, its acute flaws lighting with the dire warnings of its impending malfunction.

It was too late to salvage the pieces of my heart that betrayal had rotted away, but it wasn’t too late to hit the reset button on the rest of my life.

If only this damn client would play ball.

I sighed and let my gaze drift over the horizon.

The Côte d’Azur in June was living up to its hype where the cloudless blue sky, dazzling sunlight, sparkling ocean and blinding bling were concerned, at least. In the marina, multimillion-pound yachts bobbed smugly in the midmorning heat.

With almost undeniable compulsion, my gaze shifted left beyond the marina wall to the superyacht moored a quarter of a mile away in deeper waters.

La Sirène.

My biggest and riskiest investment to date.

Larger than all of the other boats currently moored, it was a sight to behold. Every client who’d attended the boat show a week ago had rhapsodised over it.

Fresh off the tram lines of the shipping yard in Greece, it was truly breathtaking. The most innovative vessel of its kind with unimaginable luxury to please even the most jaded appetite.

The day I’d received the call that my investment had been accepted, that I was part owner of one of the most breathtaking vessels ever built, was the proudest moment of my life.

But I’d learned to detach myself from falling in love with it. I didn’t get attached to things any more, especially things I was actively attempting to sell.

One by one the stragglers had fallen away until only one remained.

Gideon Mortimer.

A potential client who could be the answer to my achieving next-level status. A client with demands so absurd—

I jumped as the phone rang. I took a beat to calm my pulse before picking up the handset.

‘Branson Sales and Leasing, Leonora Branson speak—’

‘You hung up. I wasn’t done talking, Miss Branson,’ interrupted the deeply masculine, very arrogant voice.

Despite my irritation, the sheer sexiness of his voice sent a decadent shiver over my skin. I turned my back on the view and tried to ignore the sensation.

‘I got tired of being on hold after ten minutes.’

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