LITMIR.BIZ

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her. Somehow.

      CHAPTER TWO

      LEAH TURNED INTO the driveway of Beville Holdings, stopping at the security gate and smiling over at Ted, the man who manned the gate on the morning shift. Usually, he just smiled back and pressed the button that lifted the barrier, allowing her to drive through.

      Today, Ted slid back the window and waved for Leah to wind her window down. Which she did.

      ‘He’s here,’ he called to her in a conspiratorial voice. ‘The new boss.’

      ‘What?’ Leah’s stomach twisted into an instant knot. She’d expected Jason Pollock to show up at work sooner or later, but not this soon.

      ‘Didn’t you read about the takeover in yesterday’s paper?’ Ted asked her.

      ‘Er…no, I didn’t,’ Leah replied, not wanting to seem too on the ball. She didn’t exactly play a blonde bimbo role at work, but at the same time, she didn’t drop any clues over who she really was. She liked it that she was treated as a simple working-class girl from Gladesville. No one at Beville Holdings had ever been to her waterview apartment or connected her surname—Johannsen—with the diamond dynasty.

      ‘Well, his name is Mr Pollack and he arrived over an hour ago to check out the factory. He’ll be heading over to your section soon, I’ll bet, so just as well you’re not late.’

      ‘What’s he like?’ Leah asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

      ‘Not too bad. I think my job’s safe. When he drove up to the gate just after seven and announced who he was, I still asked him for ID, and he seemed to like that.’

      ‘Good for you. What’s he driving? A flash car, I’ll bet.’

      ‘A dark blue sporty one.’

      Leah’s top lip curled. Typical. Her father had declared yesterday that Jason Pollack wasn’t some kind of playboy—despite his living in a penthouse.

      But men like that always ran true to form. Give a man money and he didn’t choose to putter around in anything small, or sedate. Rich people picked cars that supposedly reflected their personality, and power.

      Leah had once zipped around Sydney in a red, top-of-the-range roadster, a present from her father on her twenty-first birthday. She’d traded it in for a white, second-hand hatchback when she got this job, not wanting anyone at work to think of her as a rich bitch. She wanted to be liked for herself, not her money.

      ‘Thanks for the warning, Ted,’ Leah said, and drove on, turning into the staff car park, which was surprisingly full. All the managers’ cars were there, an unusual occurrence for this hour on a Monday morning. They must have heard about the takeover, too, and decided to put their best feet forward.

      The only empty car space in the row nearest the main office building was right next to a dark blue sports car.

      Leah hesitated, then slid her vehicle in next to it, determined not to surrender to these silly nerves, which were currently turning her insides into a washing machine.

      He was just a man, for pity’s sake. She’d met men just as attractive. And just as rich. Heck, she’d been married to one!

      Okay, so she’d found Jason Pollack’s photo extremely attractive. So what?

      Once she actually met the man, his undoubtedly up-himself personality would soon stop these ridiculous stomach flutters.

      Admittedly, a dark blue sports car suggested that Jason Pollack wasn’t a total show pony, like her ex. Carl would have rocked up in something flashy and gold, or silver. That was exactly what she’d seen Carl sitting in the last time their paths crossed. Something flashy and silver.

      Leah climbed out from behind the wheel and walked round to her passenger side, opening the door there to retrieve her handbag and peeping into the blue sports car at the same time.

      Not a thing on the leather seats, or on the floor. Nothing to give her a glimpse of Jason Pollack’s character. Except that it looked like he was a neat freak. There wasn’t a single piece of rubbish anywhere. Or a spot of dirt. The car gleamed in the morning sun, both inside and outside.

      People like that were usually very critical, and controlling.

      ‘Better get a move on then, girlie,’ she muttered to herself as she zapped the lock on her key and hurried up the path that led to the head office, a rectangular brick building built in the early sixties, but which had been totally renovated late last year.

      You couldn’t tell by looking at the place that Beville Holdings hadn’t made a profit lately. You’d think everything was coming up roses.

      Pushing through the front door, Leah headed across the deserted reception area straight for the nearby powder room. Her wristwatch said twenty-three minutes past eight. She only had five minutes to check her appearance before she was due to be sitting behind the semicircular reception desk, looking cool, calm and collected.

      Despite her self-lecturing, Leah felt anything but.

      Jason said good-bye to the factory foreman, thanking him for his help, but brushing aside the man’s offer to accompany him over to the head office.

      Jason wanted to think. And he thought better when he was by himself.

      He walked slowly along the well-signed path, wondering what he was doing, buying a company that made shower gels, shampoos, sunscreens and moisturisers. What in hell did he know about such products?

      Nothing at all.

      Still, he supposed retail was retail. Get the advertising right and good sales usually followed.

      Judging by their performance over the last two years, Beville Holdings had not got their advertising right. Either that, or they were charging too much for their products. Or their management was less than efficient.

      Jason wished he’d done some more market research before plunging in last Friday and buying a controlling share.

      Never in his life before had he bought a company because of a dream. A dream, for pity’s sake!

      It had happened last Saturday night, the night he’d broken up with Hilary. He’d been upset because she’d been upset, and the last thing he’d ever wanted to do was to hurt Hilary.

      They’d met just over six months ago, at a dinner party that Jason had been persuaded to attend, and which had been cripplingly boring till Hilary winked at him from across the table. Later, he’d discovered that their hostess had been doing some matchmaking, Hilary having not long been divorced. She was his age, slim, dark, and very attractive, as well as intelligent and confident. Jason had ended up in bed with her that night, his first woman since Karen’s death four years earlier. His libido had finally bypassed his grief and come to life again, and, having come to life, wasn’t going to stay silent any more.

      In hindsight, Jason was amazed that he’d stayed celibate for so long. Sex had always been very important to him.

      He’d first discovered the pleasures of the flesh when he’d been sixteen, his partner an older girl of nineteen who knew a thing or two. She’d lived two doors down from him, and she’d spent many a Saturday afternoon during one long hot summer, showing Jason exactly how to please her, and vice versa. When her family moved, Jason had been devastated for a while. At sixteen, it had been impossible to separate lust and love.

      Eventually, he’d recovered from his broken heart, and, after that, never been without a girlfriend. Though he’d never fallen in love again.

      Till he met Karen.

      Jason smiled softly to himself as he thought of his wife.

      Another older woman, but this time fifteen years older. Forty-two to his twenty-seven. Yet they’d been perfect together. And so ecstatically happy.

      Of course, everyone else thought he’d married his boss’s widow out of cold-blooded

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