Tempting the Negotiator Read online

They fell silent, and instead of trying for more lame conversation, he switched on the stereo, letting the Chili Peppers take them down the length of the harbor. Just as they were about to swing onto the dirt road leading to Aroha Bay, she called out, “Stop.”

  It sounded like “Staap.” Jake pulled over and waited as the lawyer took stock. It was, he resentfully acknowledged, an idyllic location for a resort. The Jeep sat on the top of a long, narrow ridge that flattened and rounded into a small peninsula, ending in a long sand spit. The view was almost three-sixty, looking down the harbor on the right-hand side and over the open ocean on the left. It would suit all types of holidaymakers. Aroha Bay below them was flat and tranquil, offering safe swimming all year round. On the seaward side, waves unfurled with lazy uniformity right along the coast. On both sides pōhutukawa clung to the cliff faces while flax bushes fanned the sands. The only sign of habitation was his dilapidated house near the beach. Jake wondered what Sass saw—the bay as it was now or some future travesty of it in her head.

  “Aroha Bay is a pretty name. What does it mean?”

  “Aroha is the Māori word for love.” He sounded curt, but couldn’t help it.

  She just nodded and asked, “What’s that?” pointing to where the ridge ended in a hill with grassy terraces.

  “The pa—an old Maori fortification. Maori used to have pa up and down the coast, but this one is particularly significant.”

  “Oh?” It was hard to read her expression. “Kurt never mentioned it.”

  “He was too busy finding out where the nearest nightclub is.”

  Jake saw Sass give a faint, disparaging smile—no love lost between those two, then—and wondered why the pā site had caught her attention. Most visitors barely noticed it.

  “Shall we go?” he asked at length.

  She drew her eyes away, clearly pulling her thoughts back to the present. “Sure.”

  Jake spun the wheels a little as he took off, and ground the gears as they drove the last kilometer down the steep, rutted track to the bay. Bringing the enemy right into the heart of paradise.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SASS’S HEART SANK

  as they drew up in a whirl of dust between a run-down old house and what appeared to be a shed. It was nothing like the hotel room she’d been hoping for. “This is the sleep-out,” said Jake, leaping from the Jeep and waving at the shed. “You’ll be comfortable here, I hope.”

  There was not an ounce of sincerity in what he said. Wordlessly, Sass wriggled out of the backseat and dropped onto her heels, which immediately embedded themselves in the dusty driveway. Jake hauled out her bags and led her up the steps onto the deck of the “sleep-out” and into the room.

  It might have been a shed once, but now its walls were painted a pale yellow that echoed the late-afternoon sun. The front wall had been replaced with glass doors that overlooked the grassy reaches of the garden to the sun-spangled bay beyond. The view was a million bucks, but the furniture had a knock-kneed look. There were no drapes at the windows. The place was big but smelled musty.

  “Here’s the bathroom,” he said, opening a door to the side. “You can use the house’s kitchen. I was going to move some of the boys out here but thought you’d prefer to have some privacy with five blokes around.”

  “Five!”

  He smiled at her shock. “It’s a bit of a bad boys’ home—not that the kids are bad as such, just a little wild. They’re with me for six months as an experiment in early intervention.”

  His tone implied that a lawyer might not understand the concept, but she glanced at him in surprise. Jake didn’t look like a social worker. In fact, he seemed a little wild himself with his tangle of tawny curls. There was an exotic slant to his high cheekbones and a honey tone to his deep tan. His legs were long and muscular—not an office worker, she decided. The battered shorts were, of course, another clue.

  She looked around. “Can I get on the Internet here?”

  Jake shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve never bothered getting it. Cell phones are pretty useless, too, most of the time. Reception is patchy. You can get all that in Whangarimu, though. Come on, I’ll show you the house. Like a cup of tea?”

  “I’d love a coffee if that’s okay.”

  “American. Of course.”

  Sass was impressed. There was nothing in his tone, but she’d just been insulted. Silently, she followed him to the house, her heels sinking into the shaggy lawn.

  The building had excellent bones, with a wood exterior and deep veranda. Going inside, however, was like walking into Man Zone. The lounge was beautiful, with French doors and a generous windowseat in the eastern wall, but it was cluttered with sagging furniture and DVDs and PlayStation games. A large television and Xbox dominated one corner. The dining room had a huge table sadly in need of a polish and buried in books and papers.

  In the kitchen, cupboards hung open, dishes were piled in the sink. The breakfast things were on the table. For a brief, horrible moment Sass flashed back to the chaos of the trailer home she’d grown up in, a far cry from the immaculate order she surrounded herself with these days.

  “Place is a bit of a tip, I’m afraid,” Jake said, not sounding the least apologetic. “Now, coffee, did you say?”

  She looked around for his coffee machine as he put the kettle on. Then she watched as he opened a tin of instant, chipped at it for a second—God, how old was it?—then heaped a teaspoon of lumps into what she was relieved to see appeared to be a clean mug.

  “Where are the kids now?”

  “Should be back from school any minute, but they won’t stop to talk—the waves are too good. They’re all mad keen surfers. That’s why they’re with me. They’re preparing for the nationals and this location is unbeatable. Milk? No—just black? There you are, pull up a chair if you like.”

  “No thanks, I’ll take the coffee over to the sh—sleep-out?—and start settling in if you don’t mind.”

  “Suit yourself. Dinner around eight okay for you?”

  She shook her head and put on a smile. “That’s kind, but no thanks. I’m beat. I’d like to have an early night.”

  It was true she felt light-headed with exhaustion, but there was also no way she was going to eat anything out of that kitchen till she’d had time to fumigate the house. Coffee mug in hand, she began heading out, her system singing in anticipation of a cigarette.

  “One more thing. This is a smoke-free zone. Several of the boys have quit. I’m sure you understand.”

  She turned to look at him. He looked back.

  “Sure,” she said slowly, her fingers tightening on the mug. “I understand.”

  Back in her quarters she kicked off her heels with vehemence, opened her bag and for a second gazed longingly at her cigarettes. Later, when they were all eating dinner, she would sneak one behind the sleep-out. From under her cigarettes she pulled out her BlackBerry. Sure enough, no reception. Great. The toughest challenge of her career and here she was, stuck in the remotest corner of the bottom of the world with no line out.

  Sass was good at her job, damned good. Some called her The Great Persuader, others The Great Manipulator. Whichever, she was the original fix-it gal. But she’d had to work twice as hard and be three times better than any male colleague just to be noticed. For seven years, Sass had given her life to her job, her sole goal being to one day make senior partner, aka join The Boys who ran Paradise Resorts. Her break had finally come last week when she’d been summonsed to Mr. Brixby’s office.

  For the first time since she’d started at the company, he’d led her to the sofas in the corner instead of consulting over his desk. They’d sat and he’d looked her right in the eye.

  “Sass, we are sending you to New Zealand. I’ll be honest with you. Profits are down and the company desperately needs the injection from a new resort. Something fresh. I know,” he said, raising his hand as Sass went to speak, “Branston’s idea is fanciful. But we need something that will make people sit up, take note. We
need a new direction and we’re all counting on you to make it work. Will you do this for us, Sass?”

  And Sass, contrary to her usual thoroughness in checking out details beforehand, had looked back into those shrewd eyes and said, “Why of course, Mr. Brixby.”

  He’d even patted her hand. “I knew we could rely on you. Your level thinking and charm might make all the difference.”

  He didn’t say outright that this might secure her place with The Boys in the vacancy McKenna’s retirement had left, but the way he’d said it…Her heart had leaped and his words had continued to warm and sustain her right up until she’d seen Kurt’s smirk. Then she’d realized he believed she stood no chance at all, and that she’d take the rap for his enormous blunders. Worse, while she was trapped in this black hole, he’d be right there, ingratiating himself with The Boys.

  Unable to stand being inside, she wandered out, down the steps of the deck toward the beach. Walking barefoot on grass brought back memories of racing late to school, playing catch…and it felt strangely good. She drifted to the ragged edge of the lawn and down the bank onto the sand. That felt good, too. She wrapped her fingers around her mug of coffee, took a sip, then grimaced. That was another thing she needed. Already she was making a shopping list in her mind.

  The water was wonderful and she stood ankle-deep, feeling her frustrations ebb into the sea. The sun was gentler now, sinking low in the sky, and she raised her face to it. She hadn’t just stood, enjoying the feeling of sun and water, for who knew how long. She breathed in deeply, eyes closed, the salty tang carrying the whisper of romance and exotica.

  Her eyes snapped open. She was most certainly not here on holiday, and she pulled her thoughts back to the ridge behind her, with its pā. Was that why Kurt had been so happy to off-load this deal onto her? What a mess. She’d have to watch her step closely if she was going to succeed.

  Her host’s casual appearance didn’t deceive her. She’d seen the stubborn lines around his mouth, had noted the pugilistic set of his jaw. In the past Jake would have been in the front line of battle; with his height and reckless determination he would have led the men behind him and intimidated those he faced. Well, she wasn’t about to be intimidated. All the same, she needed to tread very carefully. If he caught one whiff of what she knew, then the deal—and her whole future—would be toast!

  CHAPTER THREE

  “LAST MAN HOME MAKES

  breakfast,” yelled Brad as he leaped down the hill from the ridge. The rest of the boys broke into a run, chasing him with whoops and threats, their surfboards bouncing and swinging as they raced. Jake let them go, glad to have this moment to himself. Dawn had broken while they were out on the water, turning the waves pink and yellow, and now he breathed in, enjoying the soft salt tang. The sky was translucent blue and the harbor stretched out in tranquil high tide. It was unthinkable that this early morning peace and beauty, unchanged for a thousand years, should now be threatened.

  The boys, still whooping, had disappeared around the corner of the house when, inexplicably, their cries died midyell. Curious, Jake loped down the steep driveway, and as he rounded the house, saw what had silenced them. Sass, in a black swimsuit, had emerged from the sea and was making her way slowly up the beach toward them. Brad whistled under his breath; Paul gulped. The twins blushed red and exchanged abashed, sideways grins. Jake couldn’t blame them. Though her swimsuit was modestly cut, it molded to her. Clearly, they grew them tall and lithe in Texas, with long legs that could—Jake swiftly blocked the highly inappropriate thoughts that crowded into his mind. An understandable reaction, he told himself. The natural response of a year’s self-enforced celibacy.

  She smiled, but Jake was surprised to see her pause as though unsure, shy even, as she eyed the lineup of young males.

  “Hey, you must be the gang Jake spoke of.”

  “Yeah,” said Jake, collecting himself. “The lanky one is Paul, the twins Mike and Mark—don’t worry if you can’t tell them apart, no one can—and Brad’s the one with his tongue hanging out.”

  Brad threw him a look as he shifted his board to his other arm and held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you.” His formal manner, however, was undermined by the thoughts so clearly written all over his adolescent face.

  Sass moved forward and Paul swallowed again as she shook Brad’s hand. “I’m Sass. Pleased to meet y’all.”

  Then she turned to shake the other boys’ hands, spellbinding each in turn with her smile, which, Jake had to grudgingly admit, was friendly and in no way playing up the obvious effect she was having on them all.

  “Nice swim?” he asked.

  “Yes, the water was lovely. I woke early—jet lag I guess—and it looked so inviting I couldn’t resist. How was the surf?” Her Southern voice floated lazy and warm, complementing the early morning air.

  “It was awesome! Do you surf?” Brad asked.

  She shook her head. “I almost never went to the sea when I was a child, and I live in New York now. Closest I’ve ever got has been watching First Break.”

  “We can teach you, can’t we, Jake?”

  But Sass just smiled. “I don’t think so, thanks. I’m a flat water gal. But I’d sure like to see you in action sometime.”

  “We need some action now. Showers and breakfast pronto.” Jake sounded more abrupt than he’d intended, but seeing her bewitch his boys, he felt absurdly betrayed. Only last night they’d all been so indignant at the mere thought of a New York lawyer. “We’re going into town soon and if you aren’t ready by the time we leave, you’ll have to stay home, clean the house and miss out on the paintball.”

  The threat worked. In seconds the boys said hasty farewells, dropped their boards and disappeared into the house, forming a bottleneck at the door as they fought to be first to the shower. Jake shook his head, but Sass laughed. “They remind me of my brothers.”

  He had forgotten she’d mentioned having brothers. He’d imagined she must have sprung fully grown from some Mattel factory, a perfect Barbie. “I hope they weren’t like that disreputable horde.”

  Sass’s face was unreadable—no wonder she was a hotshot lawyer. “Mmm,” was all she said before asking, “Am I going to meet your brother today?”

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind working on a Saturday.”

  “On the contrary, I’m really looking forward to it.”

  Jake just bet she was—looking forward to racing things through, just like that Branston bastard had.

  “Fine, I’ll drive you in. What time suits you?”

  “The earlier, the better. We’ve a lot to get through.”

  Jake had never known anyone could sound so brisk and businesslike in clinging Lycra. He saw the fine hairs on her arms rise in the early morning breeze.

  “You’d better hop into a shower yourself. The sleep-out has its own tank, so you’ll have plenty of hot water. How about we meet in an hour—does that give you enough time?”

  “More than enough, thank you.” Her voice was still polite, but had cooled a few degrees with the boys’ departure.

  “Help yourself to breakfast, as well,” he added.

  “Thanks, but I usually skip it. I’ll see you in an hour.”

  SASS CHOSE HER OUTFIT with care. No heels, she realized now. No suits. Well, that eliminated half her luggage. No one had warned her of just how informal these Kiwis were, and she certainly didn’t want to put their backs up. At the same time she wanted to make sure they knew she wasn’t a pushover, either. In the end she opted for black trousers and a soft white shirt she’d hung up the night before, along with several other options. It was still a little crumpled, but she had absolutely no intention of letting Jake see her iron.

  Makeup and hair also required thought. She kept the former to a minimum, just enough to enhance her eyes and lose that soft, girlie look she despised. She glossed her lips with a subtle no-nonsense red, then tied her hair back into a French roll. Finally, she selected a pair of black pumps with unmistakable Italian
chic that only had a slight heel.

  It wasn’t easy to see the overall effect in the small mirror tacked to the wall, but having twisted this way and that, Sass decided it was probably good enough. Drawing in a deep breath, she ran her hands down her sides. This was it.

  The first meeting was crucial. As with runners before a race, so much of the final outcome lay in the first confrontation. Her whole future hinged on this. Blow this one and she blew her shot at the top.

  The unwelcome image of Kurt’s smug smile flashed through her brain, and her fingers curled into a fist. No way! How smart could these guys be, anyway?

  But even as she braced herself with this tough talk, she was bothered by the image of Jake as she’d seen him half an hour earlier—with the water beading on his tanned biceps and pecs, his curls flattened from his swim but already beginning to spring up again as though refusing to be tamed. His long legs and the glimpse of flat abs, mostly hidden by the board, had done something to her stomach. She was in no mood to wonder exactly what.

  Standing there, wearing only surf shorts, he’d still looked to be one of the most dangerous men she’d ever seen, despite the unexpected charm of his smile. Not that he smiled much. Well, not at her, at any rate. Good. She didn’t want to be friends, either. She wanted to allay fears, clinch the deal and get the hell out of here.

  “Go get them, girl!” she told herself, although she’d never really been the cheerleader sort. Picking up her briefcase as though it were a shield, she stepped out into the sun.

  THIS TIME THEY TRAVELED in a beat-up old van, with the boys sprawled in the backseats. Sass had to smile. The twins shared an iPod, with an earpiece each, while Brad was immersed in playing games on his cell phone. Paul sat right at the back, staring out the window, lost in his own world.

  Sass turned to look at the stern profile beside her. “I hope your brother doesn’t mind meeting on a Saturday,” Sass said to break the awkward silence.