Page 9 of How to Undo the Proud Billionaire

Skye, well trained, immediately responded with an offer to make her anything she wanted. And that wasn’t a boast, Radd had once made an offhand comment in Skye’s presence about craving sushi and, in no time at all, he had a perfectly plated platter placed in front of him.

Brinley smiled at Skye. “Oh, would you mind? A grilled cheese sandwich would be wonderful but, if it’s a hassle, I’ll just eat fruit.”

Skye looked disappointed at receiving such a prosaic request. “I’m sure we can do better than a toasted sandwich,” he replied. “Is there anything you don’t eat or are allergic to?”

Brinley shook her head. She grinned at Skye, those sexy, deep dimples flashing and…yep, Radd’s stomach launched itself off its sky-high diving board again.

Seriously, this was beyond ludicrous. He could easily imagine Digby rolling on the floor at his dilemma, laughing his ass off.

Because Radd was never knocked off-balance.

By anything.

His parents—and life—had thrown all manner of trials his way and he’d negotiated his way around all of them, most—Jack’s death being the exception—without allowing the world to see him breaking a sweat. He’d trained himself not to react, to meet both victory and failure dispassionately, and rarely responded with anything other than impassivity. It helped that he went out of his way to avoid trouble and gossip.

He never gave the press anything to talk about because he couldn’t stand to have his private life played out in the public domain.

“No, I’m poor so I can’t afford to be fussy,” Brinley told Skye, pulling his attention back to the present.

Skye wrinkled his nose, sympathy in his eyes. “I hear you, sister.”

Radd snorted. Skye, like all of his staff, was exceptionally well paid. He and Digby were demanding, he wouldn’t argue with that, but their staff were well recompensed.

Skye rubbed his hands together. “I’ll see what I can conjure up. Radd, is there anything, in particular, you’d like?”

Radd saw Brinley’s surprise at Skye’s lack of formality. Radd was the boss and everyone knew it, so calling him “sir” didn’t mean anything. Besides, Skye was older than him and Radd didn’t need, or like, toadying.

He just needed people to do their job, and Skye did his particularly well. “Whatever you make will be fine with me. You can bring me some sparkling water, too.”

Skye nodded, told them he’d be back in a few and left the stateroom, leaving them alone. Radd leaned back in his seat and linked his fingers together on his flat stomach, content to watch Brinley’s profile as she stared out of the window into the endless blue below.

“How long until we land?” she asked without making eye contact.

Radd checked the time. “Probably about an hour. It’ll be dusk when we arrive.”

Brinley turned back to face him. She leaned back in her seat and Radd saw the flash of ivory-colored wedge-heeled shoes with ribbons wound around shapely ankles. She was such a contradiction, and he couldn’t quite make her out.

Her dress was designer, but the shoes weren’t. The bikini she’d had on earlier was expensive, but her flip-flops were the type that could be bought at any flea market. She drove a worn-out car, but her beach bag was Gucci.

She was a paradox. He didn’t like being curious. He wished he didn’t feel the urge to pepper her with questions and he didn’t care for not having the answers.

“Why are you frowning at my shoes?”

Radd jerked his head up to look into her eyes, wishing he could call them silver or green, yet they were neither one shade nor the other. They were a curious, lovely combination of both.

Radd wondered whether they’d darken or lighten or change color in anger or, more interestingly, when she was consumed by desire…

Dammit, Tempest-Vane! Not helpful.

“Uh…” Radd wiped his hand over his face before gesturing to her dress. “Cheap shoes, fancy dress. Expensive bag, crappy car.”

Embarrassment skipped through her eyes before she lifted her stubborn, proud chin. “My sister is in the—” Brinley hesitated before continuing “—fashion industry and has a closet bigger than most clothing stores. Up until I moved to Cape Town six months ago, she passed a lot of her clothes on to me.”

She was obviously reluctant to talk about her sister and that made him curious. Why did she move to Cape Town? Was he imagining the tinge of annoyance he heard in her voice?

She was his temporary employee, a woman who’d be out of his life tomorrow afternoon. He didn’t need to dig into her life, for God’s sake. He needed to get this conversation, and his thought patterns, back on track. She was only here to do a job for him.

It suddenly occurred to Radd that, in his haste to acquire a florist, he didn’t know if she had any skills. This was not, by any stretch of the imagination, his finest day. “How much experience do you have in flower arranging?” he demanded.

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