Page 11 of Midnight Enemy

He blinks. “What?”

“There are men measuring up at the Waiora,” I say hotly, my fingers tightening on the two sides of his jacket. “The land belongs to the commune, and they have no right to be there.” I stop as my voice turns husky with emotion. I amnotgoing to cry in front of these guys.

Orson’s face goes carefully blank. “Hold on,” he says. Then he pulls a phone out of his trouser pocket. He dials a number, holds the phone to his ear, and turns away a little.

“Ed?” he says when the person on the other end obviously answers. “It’s me. Where are you? What? Why? I distinctly remember asking you to wait until I’d spoken to Ms. Stone. No. I said midday. Today, Ed. Jesus. Get the guys off there—the Waiora belongs to the commune, and we haven’t signed anything yet. Yes, I’ll call you.” He ends the call, slides his phone back into his pocket, and turns back to me.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “They weren’t supposed to go until they’d heard from me.”

“So you assumed I’d agree to the sale,” I say heatedly. “It didn’t enter your head that I might turn you down.”

He tips his head to the side. “Not really.”

“You’re so sure of yourselves,” I snap. “So arrogant. You think money can buy anything.”

“That’s because it usually can,” Spencer says, amused.

“Not me,” I say, close to tears. “It can’t buy me. You can’t just throw zeroes at me and expect me to drop to my knees in front of you.”

Orson’s eyebrows rise again. Spencer opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again.

“I meant in thanks,” I say, feeling my face flush. “Goodness.”

Spencer stifles a laugh. Orson’s lips curve up slightly.

I rub my nose, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

“Hey,” Orson says, “come on. I really am sorry. It was totally out of order for those guys to be there. And I didn’t mean to imply that I assumed you’d sell. Of course I didn’t. I know what the place means to you. I just hoped we’d be able to come to an agreement, that’s all.” He lifts a hand and rests it lightly between my shoulder blades. “Why don’t you come to my office, and we’ll see if my PA can find you some fresh clothes?”

“These will dry,” I mumble, feeling the warmth from his hand even through the jacket, as if he’s branding me.

“Come on.” He gently steers me past his father.

“Nice to meet you, Scarlett,” Spencer says.

“Mmm,” I mumble.

“I don’t think the feeling’s mutual,” Orson calls out wryly as he leads me across the lobby and along a corridor. “I’m sorry you slipped,” he says as he steers me through a doorway. “Can you see why I thought a bridge might be a good idea?”

“Maybe,” I admit grudgingly.

I find myself in a large office overlooking one of the gardens. It’s cool, so clearly air conditioned, although the sun streams through the windows across a light-gray sofa and chairs. A desk sits to one side with a laptop, a tablet, and a pile of papers, spreadsheets, and books.

“You’re very messy,” I inform him.

He smiles at that—the first time he’s given me a proper smile. It’s a bit wolfish and makes me think of the big cat again. “Come and sit in the sun,” he says. “That’ll help warm you up.”

“I’m not cold.”

“You’re trembling.”

It’s not because I’m cold, but I don’t correct him. I let him lead me to the sofa, and I sit, feeling the sun on my legs.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks. “A glass of champagne or something?”

“It’s eleven thirty,” I say, astonished.

That makes him laugh out loud. Oh my God he has amazing teeth, all white and straight, with slightly longer canines that only enhance his wolfish smile.

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