The real woman behind his rival...

Racing driver Brandon Stone is intent on proving he has what it takes to run his family business. First stop: procuring rival race car designers the McKenzies. But shy Angel McKenzie has no intention of selling up!

Angel has avoided the limelight most of her life. But with her family business under threat, she’ll do anything it takes to save it. Working closely with Brandon ignites feelings she never knew existed—he may be the last person she should ever date, but her heart is telling her to break the rules!

“You’re offering to make coffee?”

“Is there something wrong with the idea of a man making coffee?”

Ouch. Angel had just been sexist and he’d called her on it. Fairly. “I guess not.”

“Don’t make assumptions,” he said softly. “Especially if you’re basing them on what the press says about me.”

Was he telling her that he wasn’t the playboy the press suggested he was? Or was he playing games? Brandon Stone flustered her. Big-time. And she couldn’t quite work out why. Was it just because he was so good-looking? Or did she see a tiny hint of vulnerability in his gray eyes, showing that there was more to him than just the cocky, confident racing champion? Or was that all just wishful thinking and he really was a shallow playboy?

What she did know was that he was her business rival. One who wanted to buy her out. Part of her thought she shouldn’t even be talking to him.

His Shy Cinderella

Kate Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATE HARDY has always loved books and could read before she went to school. She discovered Mills & Boon books when she was twelve and decided this was what she wanted to do. When she isn’t writing Kate enjoys reading, cinema, ballroom dancing and the gym. You can contact her via her website: katehardy.com.

For Gerard, who answered a lot of very weird

questions about motor racing with a great

deal of patience (but I am still not going

to a Grand Prix with you!) xxx

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

ANGEL FLICKED THROUGH the pile of mail on her desk.

Bills, bills, circulars and—just for a change—bills. Bills she really hoped she could pay without temporarily borrowing from the account she’d earmarked for paying the company’s half-yearly tax liability.

And there was still no sign of the large envelope with an American postmark she’d been waiting for, containing the contract for supplying the new McKenzie Frost to feature in the next instalment of Spyline, a high-profile action movie series. Triffid Studios hadn’t emailed to her it instead, either, because Angel had already checked her inbox and the spam box. Twice.

Maybe she’d send a polite enquiring email to their legal department tomorrow. There was a fine line between being enthusiastic about the project and coming across as desperate and needy.

Even though right now Angel felt desperate and needy. She couldn’t let McKenzie’s go under. Not on her watch. How could she live with herself if she lost the company her grandfather had started seventy years ago? The contract with Triffid would make all the difference. Seeing the McKenzie Frost in the film would remind people of just how wonderful McKenzie’s cars were: hand-made, stylish, classic, and with full attention to every detail. And they were bang up to date: she intended to produce the Frost in an electric edition, too. Then their waiting list would be full again, with everyone wanting their own specially customised Frost, and she wouldn’t have to lay anyone off at the factory.

Though she couldn’t even talk about the deal yet. Not until she’d actually signed the contract—which she couldn’t do until her lawyer had checked it over, and her lawyer couldn’t do that until the contract actually arrived...

But there was no point in brooding over something she couldn’t change. She’d just have to get on with things as best as she could, and hope that she didn’t have to come up with plan B. And she didn’t want to burden her parents with her worries. She knew they were enjoying their retirement, and the last thing she wanted was to drag them back from the extended vacation they’d been planning for years.

She’d grin and bear it, and if necessary she’d tell a white lie or two.

She went through the post, dealing with each piece as she opened it, and paused at the last envelope: cream vellum, with a handwritten address. Most people nowadays used computer-printed address labels, or if they did have to write something they’d simply grab the nearest ballpoint pen. This bold, flamboyant script looked as if it had been written with a proper fountain pen. Disappointingly, the letter itself was typewritten, but the signature at the bottom was in the same flamboyant handwriting as the envelope.

And her jaw dropped as she read the letter.

It was an offer to buy the company.

Selling up would be one way to solve McKenzie’s financial problems. But selling McKenzie’s to Brandon Stone? He seriously thought she would even consider it?

She knew the family history well enough. Her grandfather had set up in business with his best friend just after the Second World War, building quality cars that everyone could afford. Except then they’d both fallen in love with the same woman. Esther had chosen Jimmy McKenzie; in response, Barnaby Stone had dissolved their business partnership and left with all the equipment to go and start up another business, this time based on making factory-built cars. Jimmy McKenzie had started over, too, making his hand-built cars customisable—just as McKenzie’s still built their cars today.

On the eve of the wedding, Barnaby Stone had come back and asked Esther to run away with him. She’d said no.

Since then, the two families had never spoken again.

Until now.

If you could call a letter speaking.

Angel could see it from Brandon’s point of view. Buying McKenzie’s would salve his sense of family honour because then, although the grandfather had lost the girl, the grandson had won the business. It would also be the end of everything McKenzie’s did, because Stone’s would definitely get rid of their hand-made and customised process. She knew that Stone’s racing cars were all factory built, using robots and the newest technology; it was the total opposite of the hand-craftsmanship and personal experience at McKenzie’s.

She’d heard on the grapevine that Stone’s wanted to branch out into making roadsters, which would put them in direct competition with McKenzie’s: and what better way to get rid of your competitor than to buy them out? No doubt he’d keep the name—McKenzie’s was known for high quality, so the brand was definitely worth something. She’d overheard her parents discussing it during the last recession, when Larry Stone had offered to buy McKenzie’s. According to her father, Barnaby Stone had been a ruthless businessman, and his sons and grandsons came from the same mould. She knew Max McKenzie was a good judge of character, so it was obvious that Brandon would asset-strip the business and make all her staff redundant.

No way.

She wouldn’t sell her family business to Brandon Stone, not even if she was utterly desperate and he was the last person on earth.

And what did he really know about business, anyway? Driving race cars, yes: he’d won a few championships in his career, and had narrowly missed becoming the world champion a couple of times. But being good at driving a racing car wasn’t the same as being good at running a business that made racing cars. As far as she knew, dating supermodels and quaffing magnums of champagne weren’t requirements for running a successful business either. She was pretty sure that he was just the figurehead and someone else did the actual running of Stone’s.

Regardless, she wasn’t selling. Not to him.

She flicked into her email program. In his letter, Brandon Stone had said he looked forward to hearing from her at her earliest convenience. So she’d give him his answer right now.

Dear Mr Stone

No way is the McKenzie’s logo going on the front of your factory-made identikit cars. I wouldn’t sell my family business to you if you were the last person on earth. My grandfather would be turning in his grave even at the thought of it.

Then she took a deep breath and deleted the paragraph. Much as she’d like to send the email as it was, it sounded like a challenge. She wasn’t looking for a fight; she was simply looking to shut down his attempts at buying her out.

What was it that all the experts said about saying no? Keep it short. No apologies, no explanations—just no.

Dear Mr Stone

Thank you for your letter. My company is not for sale.

Yours sincerely

Angel McKenzie

She couldn’t make it much clearer than that.

* * *

When his computer pinged, Brandon flicked into his email program. Angel McKenzie was giving him an answer already? Good.

Then he read the email.

It was short, polite and definite.

And she was living in cloud cuckoo land.

She might not want to sell the business, but McKenzie’s was definitely going under. He’d seen their published accounts for the last four years, and the balance sheet looked grimmer every year. The recession had bitten hard in their corner of the market. The way things were going, she couldn’t afford not to sell the company.

Maybe he’d taken the wrong approach, writing to her. Maybe he should try shock tactics instead and be the first Stone to speak to a McKenzie for almost seven decades.

And, if he could talk her into selling the company to him, then finally he’d prove he was worthy of heading up Stone’s. To his father, to his uncle, and to everyone else who thought that Brandon Stone was just an empty-headed playboy who was only bothered about driving fast cars. To those who were just waiting for the golden boy to fail.

He glanced at the photograph of his older brother on his desk. And maybe, if he could pull off the deal, it would be the one thing to help assuage the guilt he’d spent three years failing to get rid of. The knowledge that it should’ve been him in that car, the day of the race, not Sam. That if he hadn’t gone skiing the week before the race and recklessly taken a diamond run, falling and breaking a rib in the process, he would’ve been fit to drive. Meaning that Sam wouldn’t have been his backup driver, so he wouldn’t have been in the crash; and Sam’s baby daughter would’ve grown up knowing her father as more than just a photograph.

Brandon wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself for that.

But doing well by Stone’s was one way to atone for what he’d done. He’d worked hard and learned fast, and the company was going from strength to strength. But it still wasn’t enough to assuage the guilt.

‘I’m sorry, Sammy,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry I was such an immature, selfish brat. And I really wish you were still here.’ For so many reasons. Sure, Brandon would still have been working in the family business by this point in his career—but Sam would’ve been at the helm of the company, where he belonged. Nobody would’ve doubted Sam’s managerial abilities. And their uncle Eric wouldn’t have been scrutinising Sam’s every move, waiting for an opportunity to criticise.

He shook himself. Eric was just disappointed because he thought that he should be heading up the business. Brandon needed to find him a different role, one that would make him happy and feel that he had a say in things. If Brandon could bring McKenzie’s into the fold, then maybe Eric could take charge there.

Getting Angel McKenzie to sell to him was definitely his priority now. Whatever the personal cost.

He rang her office to set up a meeting.

‘I’m afraid Ms McKenzie’s diary is full for the next month,’ the voice on the other end of the line informed him, with the clear implication that it would be ‘full’ for the month after, too, and the month after that.

Like hell it was.

Clearly Angel had anticipated his next move, and had briefed her PA to refuse to book any meetings with him.

‘Maybe you could email her instead,’ the PA suggested sweetly.

Any email would no doubt find its way straight into her trash box. ‘I’ll do that. Thank you,’ Brandon said. Though he had no intention of sending an email. He’d try something else entirely. When he’d replaced the receiver, he went to talk to his own PA. ‘Gina, I need everything you can find about Angel McKenzie, please,’ he said. ‘Her CV, what she likes doing, who she dates.’

‘If you’re interested in her, sweetie, shouldn’t you be looking up that sort of thing for yourself?’ Gina asked.

Oh, the joys of inheriting a PA who’d known you since you were a baby and was best friends with your mum, Brandon thought. ‘I’m not interested in dating her,’ he said. ‘This is work. Angel McKenzie.’ He emphasised the surname, in case she’d just blocked it out.

Gina winced. ‘Ah. Those McKenzies.’

‘I already know the business data,’ he said. ‘Now I need to know the personal stuff.’

‘This sounds as if it’s going to end in tears,’ Gina warned.

‘It’s not. It’s about knowing who you’re doing business with and being prepared. And I’d prefer you not to mention any of this to Mum, Dad or Eric, please. OK?’

‘Yes, Mr Bond. I’ll keep it top secret,’ Gina drawled.

Brandon groaned. ‘Bond’s PAs used to sigh with longing, flutter their eyelashes and do exactly what he asked.’

‘Bond didn’t have a PA. He flirted with everyone else’s PAs. And you can’t flirt with someone who changed your nappy,’ Gina retorted.

Brandon knew when he was beaten. ‘I’ll make the coffee. Skinny latte with half a spoonful of sweetener, right?’

She grinned. ‘That’s my boy.’

‘You’re supposed to respect your boss,’ he grumbled, only half teasing.

‘I do respect you, sweetie. But I also think you’re about to do something stupid. And your mum—’

‘Would never forgive you for letting me go right ahead,’ Brandon finished. He’d heard that line from her quite a few times over the years. The worst thing was that she was usually right.

He made the coffee, then buried himself in paperwork.

Gina came in an hour later. ‘One dossier, as requested,’ she said, and put the buff-coloured folder on his desk.

She’d also printed a label for the folder, with the words Top Sekrit! typed in red ink and in a font that resembled a toddler’s scrawled handwriting.

‘You’ve made your point,’ he said. She thought he was behaving like a three-year-old.

‘Good. I hope you’re listening.’

Given that Gina was one of the few people in the company who’d actually batted his corner when he’d first taken over from his father, he couldn’t be angry with her. He knew she had his best interests at heart.

‘There aren’t going to be any tears at the end of this,’ he said gently. ‘I promise.’

‘Good. Because I worry about you almost as much as your mum does.’

‘I know. And I appreciate it.’ He reached over to squeeze her hand, hoping he wasn’t about to get the lecture regarding it being time he stopped playing the field and settled down. Because that didn’t figure in his plans, either. How could he ever settle down and have a family, knowing he’d taken that opportunity away from his brother? He didn’t deserve that kind of future. Which meant his focus was strictly on the business. ‘Thanks, Gina.’

‘I’ve emailed it to you as well,’ she said. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

‘I won’t.’

The top of the file contained a photograph. Angel McKenzie looked like every other generic businesswoman, dressed in a well-cut dark suit teamed with a plain white shirt buttoned up to the neck, and her dark hair cut in a neat bob.

But her eyes were arresting.

Violet blue.

Brandon shook himself. An irrelevant detail. He wasn’t intending to date her.

Her CV was impressive. A first-class degree in engineering from a top university, followed by an MA in automotive design from another top institution. And she hadn’t gone in straight at the top of her family business, unlike himself: it looked as if she’d done a stint in every single department before becoming her father’s second-in-command, and then Max McKenzie had stepped aside two years ago to let her take charge. Again, impressive: it meant she knew her business inside out.

But there was nothing in the dossier about her personal life. He had the distinct impression that she put the business first and spent all her time on it. Given the state of those balance sheets, he would’ve done the same.

But there was one small thing that he could use. Angel McKenzie went to the gym every morning before work. Even more helpfully, the gym she used belonged to the leisure club of a hotel near to her factory. All he had to do was book a room at the hotel, and he could use the leisure club and then accidentally-on-purpose bump into her.

Once they were face to face, she’d have to talk to him.

And it would all be done and dusted within a week.

* * *

At seven the next morning, Brandon walked into the leisure club’s reception area and paused at the window. The badge on the woman’s neat black polo shirt identified her as Lorraine, Senior Trainer.

‘Good morning,’ he said with a smile. ‘I wonder if you can help me.’

She smiled back. ‘Of course, sir. Are you a guest at the hotel?’

‘I am.’ He showed her his room key.

‘And you’d like to use the facilities?’

‘Sort of,’ he said. ‘I’m meeting Angel McKenzie here.’

‘It’s Thursday, so she’ll be in the pool,’ Lorraine told him. ‘Would you like a towel?’

‘Yes, please.’ And he was glad he’d thought to bring swimming trunks as well as a T-shirt and sweatpants.

She handed him a thick cream-coloured towel. ‘I just need you to sign in here, please.’ She gestured to the book on the windowsill with its neatly ruled columns: name, room number, time in, time out. ‘The changing rooms are through there on the left,’ she said, indicating the door. ‘The lockers take a pound coin, which will be returned to you when you open the locker. As a guest, you also have use of the sauna, steam room and spa pool. Just let us know if you need anything.’ She gave him another smile.

‘Thanks.’ He signed in, went to change into his swimming gear, and followed the instructions on the wall to shower before using the pool.

The pool room itself was a little warm for his liking. Nobody was sitting in the spa pool, but there were three people using the small swimming pool: a middle-aged man and woman who were clearly there together, and a woman who was swimming length after length in a neat front crawl.

Angel McKenzie.

Brandon slid into the water in the lane next to hers and swam half a dozen lengths, enjoying the feel of slicing through the water.

Then he changed his course just enough that he accidentally bumped into her, knocking her very slightly off balance so she was forced to stand up in the pool.

He, too, halted and stood up. ‘I’m so sorry.’

She looked at him. The first thing he noticed was how vivid her eyes were; the photograph had barely done her justice.

The second thing he noticed was that she was wearing earplugs, so she wouldn’t have heard his apology.

‘Sorry,’ he said again, exaggerating the movement of his mouth.

She shrugged. ‘It’s OK.’

Clearly she planned to go straight back to swimming. Which wasn’t what he wanted. ‘No, it’s not. Can I buy you a coffee?’

She took out one of the earplugs. ‘I’m afraid I missed what you said.’

‘Can I buy you a coffee to apologise?’

‘There’s no need.’ She was starting to smile, but Brandon saw the exact moment that she recognised him, when her smile disappeared and those amazing violet eyes narrowed. ‘Did you bump into me on purpose?’

He might as well be honest with her. ‘Yes.’

‘Why? And what are you doing here anyway?’

‘I wanted to talk to you.’

‘There’s nothing to say.’

He rather thought there was. ‘Hear me out?’

‘We really have nothing to talk about, Mr Stone,’ she repeated.

‘I think we do, and your PA won’t book a meeting with me.’

‘So you stalked me?’

Put like that, it sounded bad. He spread his hands. ‘Short of pitching up on your doorstep and refusing to budge, how else was I going to get you to speak to me other than by interrupting your morning workout?’

‘My company isn’t for sale. That isn’t going to change.’

‘That’s not what I want to talk about.’

She frowned. ‘Then why do you want to talk to me?’

‘Have breakfast with me, and I’ll tell you.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t have time.’

‘Lunch, then. Or dinner. Or breakfast tomorrow morning.’ Brandon didn’t usually have to work this hard with women, and it unsettled him slightly.

She folded her arms. ‘You’re persistent.’

‘Persistence is a business asset,’ he said. ‘Have breakfast with me, Ms McKenzie. You have to eat before work, surely?’

‘I...’

‘Let’s just have breakfast and a chat.’ He summoned up his most charming smile. ‘No strings.’

She said nothing while she thought about it; Brandon, sure that she was going to refuse, was planning his next argument to convince her when she said, ‘All right. Breakfast and a chat. No strings.’

That was the first hurdle over. Good. He could work with this. ‘Thank you. See you in the restaurant in—what, half an hour?’

‘Fifteen minutes,’ she corrected, and hauled herself out of the pool.

Brandon did the same, then showered and changed into his business suit and was sitting at a table in the hotel restaurant exactly fourteen minutes later.

One minute after that, Angel walked in, wearing a business suit, and he was glad that he’d second-guessed her and worn formal clothing rather than jeans. Though he also noticed that her hair was still wet and pulled back in a ponytail, her shoes were flat and she wasn’t wearing any make-up. The women in his life would never have shown up for anything without perfect hair, high heels and full make-up; then again, they would also have made him wait for two hours while they finished getting ready. Angel McKenzie clearly valued time over her personal appearance, and he found that refreshing.

The other thing he noticed was that she was wearing a hearing aid in her left ear.

That hadn’t been in his dossier. He was surprised that Gina had missed it, but it felt too awkward and intrusive to ask Angel about it.

Then she knocked him the tiniest bit off kilter by being the one to bring it up.

‘Do you mind if we swap places? It’s a bit noisy in here and it’s easier for me to lip-read you if your face is in the light.’

‘No problem,’ he said, standing up immediately. ‘And I’ll ask if we can move tables to a quieter one.’

She gestured to the floor. ‘It’s wooden floor, so it’s going to be noisy wherever we sit. Carpet dampens speech as well as footsteps.’

And there was a group of businessmen nearby; they were laughing heartily enough to drown out a conversation on the other side of the room. ‘Or we could change the venue to my room, which really will be quieter,’ Brandon said, ‘but I don’t want you to think I’m hitting on you.’ Though in other circumstances, he thought, I probably would, because she has the most amazing eyes.

He was shocked to realise how much he was attracted to Angel McKenzie. She was meant to be his business rival, from a family that was his own family’s sworn enemy. He wasn’t supposed to be attracted to her. Particularly as she was about six inches shorter and way less glamorous than the women he usually dated. She really wasn’t his type.

‘The restaurant’s fine,’ she said, and changed places with him. ‘So what did you want to talk about? If it’s your offer to buy McKenzie’s, then it’s going to be rather a short and pointless conversation, because the company isn’t for sale.’

Before he could answer, the waitress came over. ‘May I take your order?’

‘Thank you.’ Angel smiled at the waitress and ordered coffee, granola, fruit and yoghurt.

Brandon hadn’t been expecting that smile, either.

It lit up her face, turning her from average to pretty; in all the photographs he’d seen, Angel had been serious and unsmiling.

And how weird was it that he wanted to be the one to make her smile like that?

Worse than that, focusing on her mouth had made him wonder what it would be like to kiss her. How crazy was that? He was supposed to be talking to her about business, not fantasising about her. She wasn’t even his type.

He shook himself and glanced quickly through the menu.

‘Sir?’ the waitress asked.

‘Coffee, please, and eggs Florentine on wholemeal toast—but without the hollandaise sauce, please.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘I would’ve had you pegged as a full English man,’ Angel said when the waitress had gone.

‘Load up on fatty food and junk, and you’re going to feel like a dog’s breakfast by the end of a race,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Food’s fuel. If you want to work effectively, you eat effectively. Lean protein, complex carbs, plenty of fruit and veg, and no added sugar.’

She inclined her head. ‘Fair point.’

He needed to get this back on the rails. ‘So. As I was saying, this discussion isn’t about buying the company.’

She waited to let him explain more.

So that was her tactic in business. Say little and let the other party talk themselves into a hole. OK. He’d draw her out. ‘I wanted to talk about research and development.’

She frowned. ‘What about it?’

‘I’m looking for someone to head up my R and D department.’ He paused. ‘I was considering headhunting you.’

She blinked. ‘Yesterday you wanted to buy my company.’

He still did.

‘And today you’re offering me a job?’

‘Yes.’

She looked wary. ‘Why?’

‘I heard you’re a good designer. A first-class degree in engineering, followed by an MA in automotive design.’

‘So you have been stalking me.’

‘Doing research prior to headhunting you,’ he corrected. ‘You’re a difficult woman to pin down, Ms McKenzie.’ And he noticed that she still hadn’t suggested that he used her first name. She was clearly keeping as many barriers between them as possible.

‘Thank you for the job offer, Mr Stone,’ she said. ‘I’m flattered. But I rather like my current job.’ She waited a beat to ram the point home. ‘Running the company my grandfather started.’

‘Together with my grandfather,’ he pointed out.

‘Who then dissolved the partnership and took all the equipment with him. McKenzie’s has absolutely nothing to do with Barnaby Stone.’

‘Not right now.’ He held her gaze. ‘But it could do.’

‘I’m not selling to you, Mr Stone,’ she said wearily. ‘And I’m not working for you, either. So can you please just give up and stop wasting your time and mine?’

He applauded her loyalty to her family, but this was business and it was time for a reality check. ‘I’ve seen your accounts for the last four years.’

She shrugged, seeming unbothered. ‘They’re on public record. As are yours.’

‘And every year you’re struggling more. You need an investor,’ Brandon said.

* * *

Angel had been here before. The last man who’d wanted to invest in McKenzie’s had assumed that it would give him rights over her as well. She’d put him very straight about that, and in response he’d withdrawn the offer.

No way would she let herself get in that situation again. She wasn’t for sale, and neither was her business. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Hand-built cars are a luxury item. Yours are under-priced.’

‘The idea was, and still is, to make hand-built customisable cars that anyone can afford,’ she said. ‘We have a waiting list.’

‘Not a very long one.’

That was true; and it was worrying that he knew that. Did that mean she had a mole in the company—someone who might even scupper the deal with Triffid by talking about the McKenzie Frost too soon? No. Of course not. That was sheer paranoia. She’d known most of the staff since she was a small child, and had interviewed the newer members of staff herself. People didn’t tend to leave McKenzie’s unless they retired. And she trusted everyone on her team. ‘Have you been spying on me?’

The waitress, who’d just arrived with their food and coffee, clearly overheard Angel’s comment, because she looked a bit nervous and disappeared quickly.

‘I think we just made our waitress feel a bit awkward,’ Brandon said.

‘You mean you did,’ she said. ‘Because you’re the one who’s been spying.’

‘Making a very common-sense deduction, actually,’ he countered. ‘If you had a long waiting list, your balance sheet would look a lot healthier than it does.’

She knew that was true. ‘So if we don’t have a great balance sheet, why do you want to buy...?’ She broke off. ‘Hold on. You said you want a designer to head up your research and development team. Which means the rumours are true—Stone’s really is looking at moving into the production of road cars.’

He said nothing and his expression was completely inscrutable, but she knew she was right.

So his plan was obvious: to buy McKenzie’s, knocking out his closest competitor, and then use her to make his family’s name in a different area.

No way.

She stared at him. His dark blond hair was just a little too long, making him look more like a rock star than a businessman; clearly it was a hangover from his days as the racing world’s equivalent of a rock star. And he was obviously used to charming his way through life; he knew just how good-looking he was, and used that full-wattage smile and sensual grey eyes to make every female within a radius of a hundred metres feel as if her heart had just done a somersault. He was clearly well aware that men wanted to be him—a former star racing driver—and women wanted to be with him.

Well, he’d find out that she was immune to his charm. Yes, Brandon Stone was very easy on the eye; but she wasn’t going to let any ridiculous attraction she felt towards him get in the way of her business. His family had been her family’s rivals for seventy years. That wasn’t about to change.

‘So basically you want to buy McKenzie’s so you can put our badge on the front of your roadsters?’ She grimaced. ‘That’s tantamount to misleading the public—using a brand known for its handmade production and attention to detail to sell cars made in a factory.’

‘Cars made using the latest technology to streamline the process,’ he corrected. ‘We still pay very close attention to detail.’

‘It’s not the same as a customer being able to meet and shake the hands of the actual people who built their car. McKenzie’s has a unique selling point.’

‘McKenzie’s is in danger of going under.’

‘That’s not happening on my watch,’ she said. ‘And I’m not selling to you. To anyone,’ she corrected herself swiftly.

But he picked up on her mistake. ‘You’re not selling to me because I’m a Stone.’

‘Would you sell your company to me?’ she countered.

‘If my balance sheet was as bad as yours, you were going to keep on all my staff, and my family name was still going to be in the market place, then yes, I’d consider it—depending on the deal you were offering.’

‘But that’s the point. You won’t keep my staff,’ she said. ‘You’ll move production to your factory to take advantage of economies of scale. My staff might not want to move, for all kinds of reasons—their children might be in the middle of a crucial year at school, or they might have elderly parents they want to keep an eye on.’ Her own parents were still both middle-aged and healthy, but she wouldn’t want to move miles away from them in case that changed. If they needed her, she’d want to be there.

‘Your staff would still have a job. I can guarantee that all their jobs will be safe when you sell to me.’

‘Firstly, I’m not selling, however often you ask me. Secondly, they already have a job. With me.’ She folded her arms. ‘Whatever you think, McKenzie’s isn’t going under.’

‘We could work together,’ he said. ‘It would be a win for both companies. Between us we could negotiate better discounts from our suppliers. You’d still be in charge of research and development.’

The thing she loved most. Instead of worrying about balance sheets and sales and PR, she could spend her days working on designing cars.

It was tempting.

But, even if they ignored the bad blood between their families, it couldn’t work. Their management styles were too far apart. McKenzie’s had always considered their teams to be part of the family, whereas Stone’s was ruthless. Between them they had two completely opposing cultures—and there was no middle ground.

‘I don’t think so. And there’s nothing more to say,’ she said. ‘Thank you for breakfast.’ Even though she hadn’t eaten her granola and had only drunk a couple of sips of coffee, she couldn’t face any more. ‘Goodbye, Mr Stone.’ She gave him a tight smile, pushed her chair back and left.

CHAPTER TWO

‘MISS MCKENZIE? THANK YOU for coming in.’

James Saunders gave her a very professional smile which did nothing to ease Angel’s fears. When your bank asked you to come in to the branch for a meeting, it didn’t usually mean good news. She’d been hoping all the way here that it was just a courtesy meeting for him to introduce himself as their new account manager, but she had a nasty feeling that it was nothing of the kind.

‘My pleasure, Mr Saunders.’ She gave him an equally professional smile. ‘I’m assuming that today is simply to touch base, as you’ve just taken over from Miss Lennox?’

‘I’m afraid it’s a little more than that. May I offer you some coffee?’

Funny how that sounded more like, ‘You’re going to need a stiff gin.’

‘Thanks, but I’m fine,’ she said. ‘So how can I help?’

‘I’ve been going through your published accounts,’ James said.

Uh-oh. She’d heard that from someone else, very recently. And that hadn’t been a good meeting, either.

‘I need to be frank with you, Miss McKenzie. We’re really not happy with the way things are going. We’re not sure you’re going to be able to pay back your overdraft.’

‘I can reassure you that I have a deal in the pipeline,’ she said. ‘Obviously I’m telling you this in strictest business confidence, because you’re my bank manager, but Triffid Studios is sending me a contract because they want to use our new design in their next Spyline film. Once the film comes out and people see the car, our waiting list will be full for at least the next year. We’ll have to expand to meet demand.’

‘And you’ve signed this contract?’

‘I’m still waiting for them to send it. The film industry seems to drag its heels a bit where paperwork’s concerned,’ she admitted. ‘But we’ve built the prototype, tweaked it and they’re happy with it, so it’s really just a formality.’ She just wished they’d hurry up with the paperwork.

‘I’d be much happier if I could see that signed contract,’ James said.

So would she.

‘Because,’ he continued, ‘I’m afraid I can’t extend your overdraft any more.’

‘You’re calling it all back in? Right now?’ Angel went cold. She had no idea where she’d get the money to pay back the overdraft. Even if she could negotiate a breathing space before it had to be paid back, and put her house on the market so it was priced to sell, she still wouldn’t make that much money once she’d cleared the mortgage. Nowhere near enough to prop up McKenzie’s. And, unlike her father in the last recession, she didn’t have a valuable private car collection to sell.

So how else could she raise the money?

‘I’ll give you a month to get that contract signed,’ James said. ‘And then I’m afraid I’ll have to call the majority of the overdraft in. In these times, banks have to be seen to lend responsibly.’

And businesses like hers that were going through temporary difficulties—despite being good clients for decades—ended up as the scapegoats. ‘I see. Well, thank you for your frankness, Mr Saunders.’

‘I’m sorry I can’t give you better news.’

To his credit, he did look a little bit sorry. Or maybe that was how bank managers were trained nowadays, Angel thought. Though he didn’t look quite old enough to manage a bank.

‘I’ll keep you posted on the contract development,’ she said.

Her next stop was at her lawyer’s, to see if they could get in contact with Triffid’s lawyers and persuade them to firm up a date by when they’d have the contract.

She brooded all the way back to the factory. There had to be a way out of this. The last thing she wanted to do was worry her father or burden him with her problems. He’d trusted her to run the company, and she wasn’t going to let him down.

If her parents rang in the next couple of days she’d either miss the call deliberately and blame it on her deafness—she’d been in the shower and hadn’t heard the phone ring—or she’d distract her father by talking car design. It was the way she dealt with the shyness that had dogged her since childhood: switching the conversation to cars, engines or business, where she was confident in her abilities, meant she didn’t have to worry about the personal stuff.

But she was really worried about this.

If the bank called in their loan before the contract was signed...

She’d just have to be more persuasive. She could put a presentation together quickly enough, with sales projections, based on the new Frost. Though she had a nasty feeling that only the signed contract would be enough to satisfy James Saunders.

The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if she should’ve taken up Brandon Stone’s offer after all. He’d said that every job at McKenzie’s would be safe. He’d implied that they’d keep the McKenzie name on the road cars. He’d even offered her a job, heading up his research and development team, though it wasn’t a part of the offer she could bring herself accept. Selling to him was probably the best thing she could do for everyone else.

But how could she live with herself if she threw away seventy years of her family’s history and sold out to the company started by her grandfather’s ex-best friend?

There had to be another way, beyond selling the company to Brandon Stone.

Plus there was something else she needed to address. Cambridge was a reasonably small city; if anyone had seen her with Brandon the other day and realised who he was, rumours could start circulating. The last thing she wanted was for her team to be unsettled. She needed everyone to pull together.

When she got back to the office, she called a team meeting on the factory floor. Everyone looked anxious, and she knew why. ‘First of all,’ she said, ‘I want to reassure everyone that it’s business as usual. Things are a bit slow, right now, but once that new contract’s signed and the PR starts, it’s going to pick up and the bank will be happy again.’

‘Do you want us to go on short time?’ Ravi, one of the engineers, asked.

It would be another solution, but Angel didn’t think it was fair for her staff to bear the brunt of the company’s problems. ‘No. We’ll manage,’ she said firmly. ‘The other thing is that Stone’s has offered to buy us out.’

There was a general gasp. Ernie, the oldest member of her team, stood up. ‘It might not be my place to say this, but I hope you said no. I worked for your grandfather. No way could I work for a Stone. They don’t do things like we do.’

‘I heard their staff’s all on zero-hours contracts,’ someone else said. ‘I can’t take that risk. I’ve got a mortgage and kids.’

‘I can’t comment on how they run their business,’ Angel said, ‘but I’m not selling. McKenzie’s will continue to do things the way we always do things. The only change is that we’ll be producing a new model, and I know I can trust you to keep everything under wraps.’

‘What can we do to help?’ Jane, one of the leather cutters, asked.

She smiled. ‘Just keep doing what you do. Make our cars the best they can be—and leave the worrying to me. I just wanted you all to know what was going on and hear the truth from me. If anyone hears any rumours to the contrary, they’re probably not true, so come and talk to me rather than panic, OK?’

‘If things are tight,’ Ernie said, ‘you could always use our pension fund to plug the gap.’

‘That’s a nice offer,’ she said, ‘but using that money for anything except your pensions would get me slung straight into jail. And I’m not asking any of you to take any kind of risk.’

‘I’ve got savings,’ Jane said.

‘Me, too,’ Ravi said. ‘We could invest in the company.’

It warmed Angel that her team trusted her that much. ‘It’s not going to come to that, but thank you for offering. It’s good to know that my team believes in me. Well, you’re not just my team. You’re family.’

‘Your grandad would be proud of you, lass,’ Ernie said. ‘Your dad, too. You’re a McKenzie through and through.’

Tears pricked her eyelids. ‘Thank you. All of you.’ She swallowed hard. ‘So is anyone worried about anything else?’

Everyone shook their heads.

‘OK, You know where I am if you think of anything later. And thank you all for being so supportive.’

Though after she’d left the team she found it hard to concentrate on her work. She just kept coming back to Brandon Stone and his offer to buy her out.

What really bothered her was that she couldn’t get the man himself out of her head. The way he’d looked standing up in the swimming pool, with the water barely reaching his ribs: his shoulders had been broad and his chest and biceps firm. He’d looked just as good in the restaurant, clothed in a formal suit, shirt and tie. Those grey eyes had seemed to see everything. And that beautiful mouth...

Oh, for pity’s sake.

She didn’t do relationships. Her parents had pretty much wrapped her up in cotton wool after her deafness had been diagnosed, and as a result she’d been too shy to join in with parties when she’d gone to university. Once she’d finished her studies, her focus had been on working in the family business.

But when Brandon Stone had accidentally-on-purpose bumped into her in the pool, her skin had actually tingled where his touched hers. And, even though she was pretty sure that he turned that megawatt smile on anyone with an X chromosome, she had to admit that she was attracted to him—to the last man she should date.

Was he really the playboy she suspected he was?

She knew he had a dossier on her, so she had no compunction about looking up details about him.

He’d started heading up the family firm three years ago. Something about the date jogged a memory; she checked on a news archive site, and there it was. Sam Stone killed in championship race.

Brandon hadn’t raced professionally since the crash. There had been no announcements about his retirement in the press; then again, there probably hadn’t needed to be. Sam’s death had clearly affected his younger brother badly. And the rest of his family, too, because Brandon’s father had had a heart attack a couple of weeks after Sam’s death—no doubt brought on by the stress of losing his oldest child. Poor man.

Angel continued to flick through the articles brought up by the search engine. Eric Stone—Brandon’s uncle—had sideswiped him a few times in the press. Then again, Brandon had walked into the top job with no real experience; Eric probably thought he was the one who should be running Stone’s and was making the point to anyone who’d listen.

Angel felt a twinge of sympathy for Brandon. Everyone at McKenzie’s had supported her when she’d taken over from her father. Brandon had barely had time to settle in before his father had been taken ill and he’d taken over the reins, and it wouldn’t be surprising if a few people resented him for it. She’d had the chance to get to know the business thoroughly before she’d taken over, whereas he’d had to hit the ground running. Despite what she’d thought earlier about his background not really qualifying him for the job, he’d done well in running the company, using the same concentration and focus on the business that he’d used to win races in his professional driving days. From the look of their published accounts, Stone’s was going from strength to strength. They certainly had enough money to buy her out.

The rest of the newspaper stories she found made her wince. Even allowing for press exaggeration, Brandon Stone seemed to be pictured with a different girl every couple of weeks. Most of them were supermodels and high-profile actresses, and none of the relationships seemed to last for more than three or four dates. His personal life was a complete disaster zone. He really wasn’t the kind of guy she should even consider dating. She should be sensible about this and stop thinking about him as anything else other than a business rival.

* * *

Brandon scrubbed his hair in the shower on Sunday morning after his run, hoping to scrub some common sense back into his head.

This was ridiculous.

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about Angel McKenzie and her violet eyes—and the smile that had made him practically want to sit up and beg? It had been three days since he’d met her, and he still kept wondering about her.

It threw him, because he’d never reacted to anyone like this before. Angel was nothing like the kind of women he normally dated: she was quiet and serious, and she probably didn’t even own a pair of high heels. He wasn’t even sure if she owned lipstick. Though he also had the feeling that, if they could put aside the family rivalry, he’d have a better conversation with her than he usually had with his girlfriends. She wouldn’t glaze over if he talked about cars and engineering.

Oh, for pity’s sake. Why was he even thinking like this? He didn’t want to date anyone seriously. He really wasn’t looking to settle down. Seeing the way that Maria, his sister-in-law, had fallen apart after Sam’s death had cured him of ever wanting to get involved seriously with anyone; even though he didn’t race now, he still didn’t want to put anyone in Maria’s position.

But he just couldn’t get Angel McKenzie out of his head.

Or the crazy idea of dating her...

And then he smiled as he dried himself. Maybe that was the answer. If he dated her, it would get her out of his system; plus he’d be able to charm her into doing what he wanted and she’d sell the business to him. It was a win-win scenario.

So how was he going to ask her out?

Sending her a bouquet of red roses would be way too obvious. Too flashy. Too corny. Besides, did she even like flowers? Some women hated cut flowers, preferring to see them grow rather than withering in a vase. None of that information was in his dossier.

He could ring her PA and talk her into setting up a meeting, though he was pretty sure that Angel had given her strict instructions to do nothing of the kind.

Or he could try a slightly riskier option. He was pretty sure that Angel McKenzie spent all her energies on her business; so there was a very good chance that she’d work through her lunch break and eat a sandwich at her desk.

If he supplied the sandwich, she couldn’t really refuse a lunch meeting with him on Monday, could she?

The more he thought about it all day, the more he liked the idea.

Gina’s dossier didn’t tell him whether Angel was vegetarian, hated fish or had any kind of food allergies. So at the supermarket on Monday morning he erred on the side of caution and bought good bread, good cheese, heritage tomatoes, a couple of deli salads and olives.

Though he had to be realistic: Angel could still say no and close the door in his face, so he needed a plan B to make sure she said yes. And there was one obvious thing. Something that, in her shoes, he wouldn’t be able to resist.

He flicked the switch to trigger his car’s voice-control audio system, connected it to his phone and called Gina as he drove home. ‘I’m not going to be in the office today,’ he said, ‘and I won’t be able to answer my phone, so can you text me if there’s anything I need to deal with?’

‘You’re taking a day’s holiday?’ She sounded surprised: fair enough. He didn’t take many days off, and he normally gave her a reasonable amount of notice.

‘This is work,’ he said. Of sorts.

‘And it involves a girl,’ Gina said dryly.

Yes, but not quite how she thought. And he could do without the lecture. ‘I’ll check in with you later,’ he said.

Back at his house, he collected a couple of sharp knives, cutlery, glasses and plates from the kitchen, dug out a bottle of sparkling water, put the lot into a picnic basket and then headed out to his garage. He backed one of his cars into the driveway and took a photograph of it, then put the picnic basket in the back. If Angel refused to have lunch with him or even talk to him, he was pretty sure that the photograph would change her mind.

* * *

Angel’s PA gave Brandon a rueful smile. ‘I’m afraid you don’t have an appointment, Mr Stone, and Ms McKenzie’s diary is fully booked.’

Brandon glanced at the nameplate on her desk. ‘If I didn’t already have a fabulous PA who also happens to be my mother’s best friend,’ he said, ‘I’d definitely think about poaching you, Stephanie, because I really admire your loyalty to Ms McKenzie.’

Stephanie went pink. ‘Oh.’

‘And, because I think you keep an eye on her,’ he said, ‘I’m pretty sure you’re the one who actually makes her take a break at lunchtime, even if it’s just five minutes for a sandwich at her desk.’

‘Well—yes,’ Stephanie admitted.

‘So today I brought the sandwich instead of you having to do it,’ he said, gesturing to the picnic basket he was carrying.

‘I really can’t—’ she began.

‘Stephie, is there a prob—?’ Angel asked, walking out of her office. Then she stopped as she saw Brandon. ‘Oh. You.’

‘Yes. Me,’ he agreed with a broad smile.

‘What do you want?’

‘I brought us some lunch.’ He focused on charming her PA. ‘Stephanie, if you’d like to join us, you’re very welcome.’

‘I, um...’ Stephanie went even pinker.

‘Don’t try to use my PA as a pawn,’ Angel said grimly. ‘And I don’t have time for lunch.’

‘The same as your diary’s allegedly fully booked, but there’s nobody actually sitting in your office right now having a meeting with you?’

She frowned. ‘You really are persistent, aren’t you?’

‘We’ve already discussed that. Persistence is a business asset.’

‘Wasn’t it Einstein who said the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?’ she asked coolly.

‘That’s been attributed to quite a few other people, from ancient Chinese proverbs to Rita Mae Brown,’ he said, enjoying himself. Sparring with someone with a mind like Angel McKenzie’s was fun. ‘Actually, I’m not doing the same thing over and over again. This is lunch, not breakfast.’

* * *

If Brandon had driven to Cambridgeshire from his family’s factory near Oxford, that would’ve taken him at least a couple of hours if the traffic was good, Angel thought. He’d made an effort. Maybe she should make a little effort back. If she talked to him, maybe she might get him to understand that she was serious about not selling her company. ‘Do you want some coffee?’

‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’

And his smile wasn’t in the least bit smug or triumphant. It was just...nice. And it made her spine tingle.

‘I’ll make it, if you like.’

Had her hearing system just gone wrong? The man was used to women hanging on his every word. He hadn’t even been invited here and yet he’d walked in. And now... She blinked. ‘You’re offering to make coffee?’

‘Is there something wrong with the idea of a man making coffee?’

Ouch. She’d just been sexist and he’d called her on it. Fairly. ‘I guess not.’

‘Don’t make assumptions,’ he said softly. ‘Especially if you’re basing them on what the press says about me.’

Was he telling her that he wasn’t the playboy the press suggested he was? Or was he playing games? Brandon Stone flustered her. Big time. And she couldn’t quite work out why. Was it just because he was so good-looking? Or did she see a tiny hint of vulnerability in his grey eyes, showing that there was more to him than just the cocky, confident racing champion? Or was that all just wishful thinking and he really was a shallow playboy?

What she did know was that he was her business rival. One who wanted to buy her out. She probably shouldn’t even be talking to him.

On the other hand, if Triffid didn’t get that contract to her and the bank carried out its threat of calling in her overdraft, she might be forced to eat humble pie and sell McKenzie’s to him, no matter how much she’d hate it. Short of winning the lottery, right now she was all out of ideas.

‘So where’s the coffee machine?’ he asked.

‘The staff kitchen’s next down the corridor on the left as you go out of the door,’ Stephanie said. ‘The mugs are in the cupboard and so are the coffee pods.’

‘Thank you.’ He smiled at her, and turned to Angel. ‘Cappuccino, no sugar, right?’

She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘How do you like your coffee, Stephanie?’ he asked.

His courtesy made Angel feel a little bit better about Plan C. If he treated junior staff well rather than ignoring them or being dismissive, that was a good sign for the future if he did end up taking over McKenzie’s. Maybe he wasn’t as ruthless as she feared, despite his family background. Or maybe he just wanted her to think that.

‘I’m not drinking coffee at the moment,’ Stephanie said, and rested her hand briefly on her stomach.

Angel could see from the change in Brandon’s expression that he’d noticed the tiny gesture, too, and realised what it meant. Stephanie was pregnant. Was it her imagination, or did she see pain and regret flicker briefly over his expression? But why would a pregnancy make him react like that?

None of her business, she reminded herself.

‘What can I get you, Stephanie?’ Brandon asked.

‘Fruit tea, please. There’s some strawberry tea in the cupboard.’

He smiled. ‘Got you. Is it OK to leave my basket here on your desk for a second?’

‘Sure,’ she said.

As he walked out, Stephanie mouthed to Angel, ‘He’s nice.’

Yeah. That was the problem. He wasn’t just an arrogant playboy. There was another side to Brandon Stone—a side she could let herself like very, very much. Which made him dangerous to her peace of mind.

* * *

Brandon returned to Angel’s office, carrying three mugs. He put Stephanie’s strawberry tea on her desk, then picked up the picnic basket. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Stephanie?’

She went very pink again. ‘No, but thank you for asking.’

‘Is it OK to put the coffee on your desk?’ he asked when he followed Angel through to her office.

‘Sure.’ She looked surprised that he’d asked. Did she have a downer on all men? That would explain why Gina hadn’t been able to find any information about Angel dating anyone. But she was reportedly close to her father, so maybe it wasn’t all men. Maybe someone had hurt her badly and she hadn’t trusted anyone since.

And how weird was it that the thought made him want to bunch his fists and dispense a little rough justice to the guy who’d hurt her? Angel McKenzie seemed quite capable of looking after herself. She didn’t need a tame thug. Besides, Brandon didn’t settle arguments with fists: there were much better ways to sort out problems.

Angel made him feel slightly off balance, and he couldn’t work out why.

He scanned the room. Her office was super-neat and tidy. There were photographs on the walls; some were of cars he recognised as being iconic McKenzie designs, but there was also a picture on her desk of a couple who were clearly her parents, and one more on the wall of someone he didn’t recognise but he guessed had something to do with the business—maybe her grandfather?

He unpacked the picnic basket, put the bread on a plate and cut a few slices, then handed her a plate and his other sharp knife. ‘Help yourself to cheese.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It’s not much of a choice, but I wasn’t sure if you were a vegetarian,’ he said.

‘No, though I do try to do meat-free Mondays.’ She paused. ‘It’s nice of you to have brought lunch.’

There was definitely a hint of suspicion in those beautiful violet eyes. She was clearly wondering what he wanted, because there was no such thing as a free lunch.

He wasn’t quite sure he could answer her unasked question. He wanted McKenzie’s. That was the main reason he was here. But he also wanted her, and that threw him. ‘Think of it as a sandwich at your desk,’ he said.

She took a nibble of the cheese and then the bread. ‘A very nice sandwich, too.’

‘So who are the people in the photographs?’ he asked.

‘The one on the wall over there is my grandfather Jimmy, back in the early days of McKenzie’s.’ She gestured to her desk. ‘My mum and dad, Sadie and Max.’

Just as he’d guessed; but there were no pictures of Esther, who’d been at the centre of the rift between Barnaby Stone and Jimmy McKenzie. He wondered if Angel looked anything like her. Not that he was going to ask. He kept the conversation light and anodyne, then cleared away when they’d both finished.

‘So,’ he said. ‘We managed to have a civilised meal together.’

‘I guess.’

‘We’ve done breakfast and lunch.’ But the next words out of his mouth weren’t quite the ones he’d intended to say. ‘Would you like to come to a gala dinner with me?’

CHAPTER THREE

ANGEL REALLY HADN’T expected that, and it flustered her. ‘You’re asking me on a date?’ she queried, hoping she looked and sounded a lot calmer than she felt.

‘I guess so,’ he drawled.

‘No.’

‘Why?’

Because gala dinners tended to be noisy and she found it wearing, having to make small talk and being forced to concentrate really hard to hear what people said.

Plus Brandon Stone dated a lot and he wasn’t the serious type. She didn’t want to get involved with him, professionally or personally. ‘You’re a Stone and I’m a McKenzie,’ she said finally.

‘“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”’

‘Don’t quote Shakespeare at me.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought you were an engineer?’

‘I did Romeo and Juliet for GCSE. Besides, doesn’t everyone know that line?’

‘Maybe. So are we Montagues and Capulets?’

She scoffed. ‘I have no intention of swooning over you on a balcony. Or drinking poison. And,’ she pointed out, ‘at thirty, I’m also more than twice Juliet’s age.’

‘Ouch. Thus speaks the engineer.’

‘And that’s why I don’t want to date you. You’d spend all evening either flirting with me or making smart, annoying remarks.’

‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘you’re meant to flirt with your date.’

‘Flirting’s superficial and overrated.’

‘Clearly nobody’s flirted properly with you.’

That was a little too near the mark. ‘I don’t need to be flirted with.’

He held her gaze. ‘No?’

‘No.’ She looked away.

‘When was the last time you dated?’ he asked.

Too long ago. ‘Wasn’t that in your dossier?’ she retorted.

‘Now who’s making the smart remarks?’

At her silence, he continued, ‘The gala evening is a charity dinner. The proceeds go to help the families of drivers who’ve been hurt or killed on the track.’

Was he trying to guilt her into agreeing? It was for a cause she knew was close to his heart, given that his brother had been killed; and it was a cause she’d be happy to support. But going to a posh dinner with Brandon, where she’d have to dress up and she’d feel totally out of place among all the glamorous socialites...

He sighed. ‘At least think about it.’

She made a noncommittal noise, which she hoped he’d take as meaning ‘maybe’ and would back off.

* * *

Brandon was furious with himself. There were plenty of women who’d love to go to the gala dinner with him, so why was he spending this much effort on someone who’d made it quite clear that she didn’t want to go anywhere with him?

He should never have mentioned the gala dinner.

He should’ve stuck to business.

At least if they’d been talking about cars, they would’ve had something in common. Maybe that was the way to get this conversation back on track. ‘Would you show me round the factory?’

Those beautiful violet eyes widened in surprise. ‘That’s direct. Don’t you prefer other people to look things up for you and report back?’

Maybe he deserved that one. ‘I’m not spying on you, if that’s your implication. Anyone who works in our industry would be itching to look round, and sit in one of your cars and pretend to be its owner.’

She scoffed. ‘My cars are very affordable. If you wanted one, you could buy one. In fact, you could buy a whole fleet for the price of just one of yours.’

‘If that’s your best patter,’ he said, ‘you should sack yourself as head of sales.’

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What do you want from me, Mr Stone?’

A lot of things. Some of which he hadn’t quite worked out. ‘First-name terms, for a start.’ He paused. ‘Angel.’

She looked as if she was warring with herself, but then finally nodded. ‘Brandon. OK. I’ll show you round the factory.’

* * *

Walking through the factory with Brandon felt weird. Tantamount to parading her flock of lambs in front of a wolf. Though at least she’d already warned her staff that he’d made an offer and she’d refused. She’d reinforce that later.

Please let that contract come through today.

She knew that the Frost prototype was in a partitioned-off part of the factory, safely away from his gaze. But he could see the areas where the body parts were sprayed, the leather seats were hand-cut and hand-sewn, the engines were built and the final cars were assembled. If he saw the process for himself he’d understand what was so special about McKenzie’s, and why she was so adamant about keeping things as they were.

‘This is the Luna,’ she said. ‘This one’s being built by Ernie and Ravi. Ernie, Ravi, this is Brandon Stone.’

Ernie gave him a curt nod, but Ravi shook his hand enthusiastically and smiled. ‘I’ve seen you race. I was there when you won the that championship, six years ago.’

‘A lifetime ago,’ Brandon said softly. ‘I’m on the other side of the business now.’

Ravi looked awkward. ‘Sorry. I didn’t...’

‘It’s fine.’ Brandon clearly knew what the other man wasn’t saying. He hadn’t meant to trample over a sore spot and bring up Sam’s death. He patted Ravi’s shoulder briefly. ‘I really like the lines of this car. Is it OK for me to have a look at the engine?’

‘Sure.’ Ravi popped the catch on the bonnet.

Ernie gestured to Angel to step to the side while Ravi was showing Brandon the engine. ‘What are you doing, Angel?’ he asked in an angry whisper. ‘I thought you said you weren’t selling?’

‘I’m not. He turned up today. I’m showing him round the factory so he can see our processes for himself,’ Angel said, ‘and to prove we’re not compatible with Stone’s.’

* * *

‘You’re a good boss, lass, but you’re no match for a company that ruthless.’ He shook his head. ‘You be careful.’

‘I will.’ Even though Ernie should’ve retired a couple of years back, Angel appreciated the fact he’d decided to stay on, training their younger staff and making sure the quality control lived up to their brand’s promise. And she knew he had the company’s interests at heart; he’d accepted her as his boss because he knew she paid the same attention to detail that he did, and she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and work on the factory floor if she was needed.

As they walked through the different stations, she could see Brandon looking intrigued. ‘This is very different from the way we do things at Stone’s,’ he said.

‘Exactly. I’m glad you see your business is completely incompatible with mine.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t say that.’

‘I’m saying it for you.’

He just looked at her as if to say he knew something she didn’t. She brushed off her worries by switching the conversation back to technical issues. ‘I guess you need more tech in a race car than in a roadster. Doesn’t its steering wheel alone cost as much as we charge for a basic Luna?’

‘There are a lot more electronics in one of our steering wheels than in a Luna’s,’ he said, and she noticed that he avoided the question. ‘Maybe you should come and take a look at our place in Oxford and see how we do things.’

See where he planned to change her beloved hand-built into mass-produced monsters? She fell back on a noncommittal, ‘Mmm.’

‘Thanks for showing me round,’ he said as she walked him back to the reception area. ‘But, before I go, I thought you might like to see my favourite car ever.’ He took his phone from his pocket and showed her a photograph of a gorgeous iridescent turquoise car with outrageous tail fins.

She recognised it instantly as her own favourite car. Did he know that from his dossier? Was he playing her? ‘That’s a McKenzie Mermaid. My grandfather designed it in the early sixties.’

‘I know.’

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I would’ve expected you to prefer one of your own family’s cars, or one of the classic 1960s sports cars.’

‘I like the classics,’ he said, ‘but I fell in love with the Mermaid when I saw a picture of it as a kid.’

It had been the same for her. If only there had been more than a hundred of them ever produced. The only one she’d ever seen had been in a museum, years ago, and even the fact that she was a McKenzie hadn’t been enough for the curators to allow her to touch it, let alone sit in it. And because Mermaids were so rare they almost never came up for sale.

His next comment floored her completely. ‘Which is why I bought one, six years ago. After I won the championship race.’

She stared at him, not quite believing what she was hearing. ‘That picture... Are you telling me that’s actually yours?’

‘Uh-huh. It was a bit of a mess when I first saw it. It’d been left in a barn for years. There was more rust than anything else, and mice had eaten their way through the leather.’

‘So you picked it up for a song.’ That figured.

‘Actually, I paid a fair price,’ he said.

Why did she suddenly feel so guilty? She pushed the thought away. All her life, she’d been told that Stones were ruthless asset-strippers, and what she’d read in the business press had only confirmed that. Hadn’t Barnaby walked away from the original company with way more than his fair share?

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