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for a drink. Then somehow get to a place where they could light the fireworks between them and let them explode in a one-night extravaganza. Instead he got her cool ice-princess approach—concise delivery, punchy lines, and, once she’d got going, genuine enthusiasm. So bloody polished, so bloody perfect.

      She’d always felt out of his league. And somehow she still did. Somehow just seeing her sent him into a sort of time warp where he was a teen again and fighting his way out of his lot in life. He’d been so at the mercy of those around him—dependent on generosity. He couldn’t afford to make a wrong move—not then. But damn this feeling—he was the one in control of everything now, wasn’t he?

      He refused to relinquish that control.

      Yet almost helplessly he watched her, able to see so much more of her today than he could last night. And she was incredible. Her hair was still tied up but looked as gold as it had been all those years ago. Her girlish curves had softened into the fuller shape of a woman. Still trim but with full breasts and a slim waist that was accentuated by the neatly tucked-in blouse and skirt. He wasn’t listening again—hearing only the racing of the blood in his veins. Heading south.

      He looked down at the table forcing himself to concentrate on the words, not on the image of her.

      Amanda was winding down her spiel, talking up the bit about the benefits of going with their agency and not one of the others she knew he was seeing later in the day. She was tired. Had been talking non-stop for nearly twenty minutes and she had no idea—none—about how it was going down. There’d been no questions, nothing. Barry had added a couple of smiles and nods while Jared had been the bronze statue across the way. The sense of hopelessness was returning—especially as she saw she’d lost his attention and he had a huge frown on.

      ‘Synergy is a New Zealand-owned company—’

      ‘Why is that a positive?’ Jared finally interrupted in a rough tone. ‘Wouldn’t we be better off with an overseas conglomerate that has a vast pool of talent and resources from around the globe?’

      ‘We can offer a unique viewpoint into your local market.’

      ‘How up to the minute are you?’ He fired the question.

      ‘As up to the minute as you can get.’ She fired right back.

      ‘So you’d say you’re “in touch” with the trends, then, are you?’

      ‘Oh, believe me, Mr James,’ she descended into sarcastic sultriness, ‘we’re in touch.’

      There was a silence as Jared met her gaze coolly, triumph suddenly kindling in the dark depths of his eyes. Her heart pounded and her spine prickled as she recognised danger. She broke away, looking down to her notes.

      Bronwyn and Barry were both quiet, Amanda snatched a quick glance at both. There was a question in Bronwyn’s eyes and a hint of panic—contrasting sharply with the amusement written all over Barry’s face. Amanda realised that the line between professional and personal had been crossed—she’d crossed it. The challenge in the air had been thrown up by her.

      Jared suddenly smiled as he reached out and needlessly moved a piece of paper on the table. It was the merest flash of teeth, revealing his moment of satisfaction further. He’d needled her deliberately. And she’d risen to the bait all too easily. Again.

       Rats.

      She flashed a quick, vitriolic look at him. He must have sensed her attention because his eyelids lifted and his eyes met hers—veiled with apparent blandness, almost boredom.

      Jerk.

      But those hideous years at Eastern Bay School for Girls saw her regain her precarious control. She spoke quickly, clearly. ‘By choosing a New Zealand partner you’re helping strengthen your home economy. You’re helping to keep good talent onshore, and good businesses working, which is precisely what you like to do, isn’t it, Mr James? Isn’t that one of the fundamentals of your own company policy? To generate jobs locally?’

      She’d done her homework—spent a good twenty minutes talking to one of the delivery drivers who supplied cartons of the juice to the café nearest to her work. He’d been delighted to talk about the company he worked with. In the last couple of years, he’d said, Fresh had expanded its production significantly. And it ran an in-house mentoring scheme and had a high number of employees who’d come from troubled youth intervention programmes—getting kids off the street and into a job. She’d been surprised—not aware that Barry had such a do-good streak.

      But now she knew it was Jared at the helm it made more sense—given his own background. Yet the mentoring wasn’t something they used in publicity—once the driver had let it slip, he’d then done so much making light of it she knew it was important. So why didn’t Jared want it advertised?

      She met his hard gaze and refused to look away.

      ‘Why do you want to go away from personality-based advertising?’ Bronwyn piped up, clearly aware of the edge between Amanda and Jared.

      ‘He’s sick of seeing my face everywhere.’ Barry grinned.

      ‘So why not rebrand it with your own name and face?’ Bronwyn asked.

      Amanda said nothing, just watched Jared’s expression close down.

      ‘You could call it JJ’s Juice?’ Bronwyn laughed.

      Barry laughed too.

      Jared didn’t.

      It wasn’t long before silence reigned. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Bron blushing—realising she’d made a gaffe. The only one not wincing was Barry.

      ‘You’re not necessarily going to head the company long-term,’ Amanda said quietly. She didn’t know where she got the prescience from but she knew she was right. ‘And you don’t want it limited or dominated by one personality.’

      He met her gaze for a moment longer and then looked away.

      ‘You know him.’ Bronwyn stated the obvious the minute the taxi doors were closed.

      ‘Yes.’ Amanda sighed, not wanting to meet her boss’s eyes, but honesty compelled her to.

      ‘In a way that means we’ll get the contract or we won’t?’

      Amanda paused and then shook her head sadly. ‘I don’t know.’ She pulled the tie from her hair and loosened the plait, its tight do hurting her head. ‘Probably the latter. I’m really sorry. I had no idea he was going to be there.’

      ‘Nor did I. Keeps his cards close, doesn’t he? Doesn’t want to be in the public eye at all. I wonder why?’

      Amanda could hazard a guess. Privacy was important to Jared. He’d hated the whole town knowing his business—all the girls feeling as sorry for him as much as they wanted him. He wouldn’t want to be showcased as the underprivileged-kid-done-good. He had too much pride for that.

      Bronwyn opened her mouth but closed it again. Next time she opened it she got the question out. ‘How well do you know him?’

      It was the inevitable question and Amanda knew exactly what it was she was asking. ‘Not that well.’

      ‘OK.’ Bronwyn smiled. ‘So how do you know him?’

      ‘We grew up in the same town. But I haven’t seen him for years.’

      ‘There’s something, though, isn’t there, between you?’

      You’d have had to be made of stone not to have picked up on the tension between them. Bronwyn wasn’t an idiot. And Amanda knew she wasn’t going to let her get off this track without offering up some of the detail.

      ‘A kiss.’

      ‘Only one?’

      ‘He stopped it going further.’

      One frightening, exhilarating, life-changing kiss. So often

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