The man who broke her heart…

…wants to win her back!

Millionaire entrepreneur Damon Macy bitterly regrets betraying Eve Clark four years ago. Preventing a massive development in her beloved seaside town seems the perfect way to make amends. Only, his “knight in shining armor” strategy backfires spectacularly—she supported the project! Now Damon must work closely with the still devastatingly stunning but now wary Eve to redeem the situation—and hopefully himself in the process…

MICHELLE DOUGLAS has been writing for Mills & Boon since 2007, and believes she has the best job in the world. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero, a house full of dust and books and an eclectic collection of sixties and seventies vinyl. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website: michelle-douglas.com.

Also by Michelle Douglas

The Millionaire and the Maid

Reunited by a Baby Secret

A Deal to Mend Their Marriage

An Unlikely Bride for the Billionaire

The Spanish Tycoon’s Takeover

Sarah and the Secret Sheikh

A Baby in His In-Tray

The Million Pound Marriage Deal

Miss Prim’s Greek Island Fling

The Maid, the Millionaire and the Baby

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Redemption of the Maverick Millionaire

Michelle Douglas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90345-9

REDEMPTION OF THE MAVERICK MILLIONAIRE

© 2020 Michelle Douglas

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Note to Readers

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To the Lucas crowd, past and present—for the

street parties, the chats over the front or back fences,

the eggs, and the all-round general neighbourliness.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

THE PHONE IN the top pocket of Damon Macy’s pristine white business shirt vibrated. He pulled it out and gave it a cursory glance. A text with an email link and then a message.

You need to read this.

What the hell was Clay thinking, sending him anything today? He slipped the phone back into his pocket. Later.

His phone vibrated again but he ignored it. Darrell, his driver, as if sensing his employer’s impatience, glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘Your flight is on time, Mr Macy. We’ll reach Sydney airport in another four minutes. There will be an airline official waiting to escort you to your seat.’

‘Thank you, Darrell.’

His damn phone vibrated again. For pity’s sake, Clay knew he was off to clinch one of the biggest deals of his career. He’d been working on this deal for a solid eight months. It would cement him and his company—Macy Holdings—in the big league for good. He had no time for distractions.

He pulled his phone out again.

YOU REALLY NEED TO READ THIS!!!!!!

He blinked at the capitals and the line of exclamation marks that followed. Clay wouldn’t be contacting him now unless he thought Damon needed to know whatever that website link had to tell him. His best friend was always lecturing him that he needed to stop and smell the flowers, but he’d never undermine Damon’s work or aspirations—he knew how important this deal was.

‘You have two minutes, Clay,’ he murmured, clicking on the link.

A newspaper headline loaded on his screen. He stared at it.

Mirror Glass Bay residents outraged at new development!

Every muscle stiffened.

Mirror Glass Bay?

She lived in Mirror Glass Bay. He leaned forward to read the newsprint more quickly. She’d moved there and had built an entirely new life for herself after he’d…

He pressed a hand to his forehead, acid burning in his gut as he pushed that thought away and scanned the article. There was no reference to an Eve Clark. Not that he expected one. She’d worked hard to maintain a low profile.

According to the article, a new luxury beachside resort was being built in Mirror Glass Bay—less than a seven-minute walk from her beachside motel. His knuckles whitened about his phone. A brand-spanking-new resort had the potential to destroy her business.

He tried to still the churning in his gut. He owed that woman. And here was an opportunity to finally make amends—an opportunity for which he’d been waiting four long years.

She said she never wanted to clap eyes on you again.

His heart pounded. Hard. As if it were punishing him for the choices he’d made four years ago. The edges of his vision darkened and it took three breaths before he could ease the vice-like grip that tried to crush his lungs.

He would never hurt her again. Ever. But she didn’t have to clap eyes on him—he could make sure that didn’t happen. Regardless of how his every atom ached to catch the smallest glimpse of her.

‘We’re here, sir.’

He snapped to at Darrell’s words. Owen, his VP, who had preceded him to the airport, had opened the car door and was waiting for his boss to emerge.

‘Change of plan, Owen,’ he said, exiting in one smooth movement, although internally things burned, rocked and crashed. Damon had learned early on never to reveal internal turmoil—a skill that had held him in good stead in the piranha-infested waters of the corporate world.

‘Damon?’

‘You’re going to Frankfurt without me.’

Owen’s mouth worked but no sound came out. With a visible effort, he reined in his shock. ‘You are planning to be there, though? I mean—’

‘Of course,’ he cut in, irritable with his VP’s shock, even though it was perfectly justified. ‘This is nothing more than a minor delay.’

His second-in-command straightened with a nod, all brisk efficiency again. ‘When will you arrive?’

Damon’s mind flashed to the newspaper article. Greamsman Industries Pty Ltd was behind the development. His lips twisted. He and Kevin Greamsman had history. ‘I’ll aim to fly out tomorrow.’ He bit back an oath. ‘But in all likelihood I won’t get away until Wednesday.’ The timing couldn’t be worse.

‘Negotiations are expected to proceed the day we arrive.’ Owen’s colour came and went. ‘Herr Mueller is going to be…disappointed.’

Herr Mueller would take it as a personal affront. They both knew that. ‘Thank you for pointing out the obvious.’

His VP had the grace to look shamefaced.

‘I’m not expecting you to perform miracles, Owen. Just concentrate on smoothing things over as well as you can until I get there.’

‘Got it,’ the other man said with a lamentable lack of enthusiasm.

He forced a weary severity to his voice. ‘This is what I pay you the big bucks for. If you’re not up for it, there are at least five other candidates who’d snap my arm off for the opportunity, and—’

‘I’m definitely up for it,’ Owen assured him with what should’ve been gratifying haste. ‘You took me by surprise, that’s all.’

Damon had taken himself by surprise; he was risking eight months’ worth of hard work.

You owe her.

‘I’ll take care of Herr Mueller. You have my word.’

He clapped his VP on the shoulder. ‘Good man.’

Damon turned to the airline executive who stood waiting nearby. Until this moment, he’d never particularly regretted not owning his own private jet. It had always seemed such an unnecessary indulgence.

Until today.

He consoled himself with the thought that, if he closed this deal with Herr Mueller, he could buy a whole fleet of jets if he wanted.

‘I need to get to Byron Bay. Can you organise a charter for me?’

The airline executive gave a nod, pulled a phone from her pocket and began making the arrangements.

‘Is there anything I need to know?’ Owen hesitated. ‘About Byron Bay?’

Damon shook his head. ‘This is personal, I’m afraid. Not business.’

‘Roger.’

A moment later another airline official appeared and gestured for Owen to follow him. The two men said cursory farewells and Damon’s steward led him to a private luxury lounge. ‘We should have you in Byron Bay by four o’clock, Mr Macy.’

Damon glanced at his watch. That was nearly four hours away.

‘Joshua at the bar will organise any refreshments that you need. Let him know what you want and if you require use of the business centre. In the meantime, can I get you a drink?’

‘Coffee—hot, black and strong.’ He hit speed dial for his PA’s number. ‘I’d appreciate it if Joshua could keep it coming.’ He needed his wits sharp and honed. He pressed his phone to his ear. ‘Philip, I need you to find out everything you can about the new Greamsman development that’s about to start in Mirror Glass Bay. And I need it yesterday.’

‘Onto it,’ Philip said without hesitation.

‘You want to what?’

Kevin Greamsman leaned across the table in the boardroom of one of Byron Bay’s most exclusive hotels to stare at Damon with an exaggerated lift of his eyebrows.

Damon shifted his gaze from his competitor’s face to the view out of the window. The boardroom boasted a comprehensive view of the coastline. Numerous travel magazines and tourist boards had voted Byron Bay one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. Damon stared out at it with impassive eyes. They were right—it was magnificent.

But he didn’t care about the view. He cared about the deal.

He shifted back to Greamsman. ‘I want to buy you out,’ he repeated. Mirror Glass Bay was a thirty-minute drive from Byron Bay and, from all accounts, sleepy. Where Byron Bay thrived on tourism, Mirror Glass Bay was doing its best to preserve its ‘off the beaten track’ tranquillity. While apparently beautiful, Mirror Glass Bay lacked Byron’s colour, sophistication and the ultra-hippy surf vibe that brought tourists flocking from all corners of the globe.

The older man’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t like you, Demon, and I don’t like your tactics. What do you know that I don’t?’

He used the nickname many in the industry called Damon behind his back, but few had the courage to use it to his face. ‘You don’t have to like me, Greamsman. I keep telling you—this is business, not personal.’

Though he knew Greamsman wouldn’t believe him. He was convinced Damon had used underhand tactics to win two recent government tenders. He no doubt now thought Damon had an inside track on some piece of news that would change the complexion of a development in Mirror Glass Bay in a more favourable way.

Rather than playing games or trying to field questions, he chose to be honest with the other man. ‘I find myself becoming sentimental in my old age.’ Old? He was only thirty-two, though most days he felt closer to sixty. ‘I want to preserve Mirror Glass Bay’s natural beauty, its sleepy nature. There’s enough development and progress happening here in Byron and further north on the Gold Coast. It’s not unreasonable for developers to be asked to leave some places unspoiled.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

But Greamsman’s posture told Damon the opposite. It told him he did believe him and was trying to work out how to take advantage of it.

‘I know how much you paid for the site. A little preliminary research shows me there are another two sites in the area that would meet the requirements of the luxury development you’re planning. I’m prepared to offer you a fair price for the land.’ He wrote a number down and pushed it across the table.

For a gut-wrenching moment he thought Kevin might push it back without even looking at it, shoot to his feet and tell him to go to the blazes just because he could. Damon had risen to the top for his ability to read people, and he could read that impulse clearly in the face of the man opposite. Kevin wanted to tell him that karma was a bitch; he wanted to march out of this boardroom feeling that he’d got the better of Damon.

But that warred with a second impulse—curiosity. When Kevin reached over to turn the slip of paper towards him, Damon knew curiosity had won out. The older man’s eyebrows rose. ‘This is actually a fair price.’

‘I’ve already told you I’m not playing games.’

‘And yet I find myself recalling the sting of having lost out on the container ship contract and find myself unmoved by this particular offer. Though, perhaps another two hundred thousand dollars might help.’

Damon had already factored that in—knowing Kevin would up the price—but he didn’t betray that by so much as a flickering eyelash. ‘I’m sure that could be arranged.’

‘And I’m not signing that site over to you unless you sign a non-compete clause. I’m not handing over a piece of prime real estate just begging for development for you to then go and build your own luxury resort. I don’t trust you, Demon.’

‘You have yourself a deal, but only on the proviso you can have your man draw up the papers and send them to me for review before the close of business today,’ he said, refusing to betray how much he hated that nickname.

Greamsman glanced to the man on his left, who nodded, before rising and sticking out his hand. ‘Done. I’ll meet you back here in the morning—nine on the dot—to sign the papers.’

Damon refused to let his satisfaction show. ‘Till then.’

The papers were signed and the deal was done by nine-fifteen the next morning.

Kevin eased back, lacing his fingers over his stomach. ‘You want to tell me what you’re really up to now?’

Damon sipped the coffee Kevin had been good enough to provide, relishing the rich heat and full flavour. For the first time in two days he could finally taste something. Nerves had kept him screwed up too tight. He hadn’t wanted to fail Eve. Not again.

Not that she’d ever know about this, of course.

He glanced out of the window at the beach and the sun, at the golden sand and an emerald sea. Would there be time to take a walk on the beach before he left, to dig his toes into the sand?

He shook off the thought. What was he thinking? He needed to get to Frankfurt without delay—had to try and salvage the situation with Herr Mueller who was, from all accounts, far from impressed.

‘I had no hidden agenda. I told you the truth.’

‘In that case, you should’ve waited another couple of days, Demon.’

The nickname made his back molars clench.

‘Your haste surprised me. It was out of character. And you usually do far more due diligence before embarking on a deal of this magnitude.’

This deal had been far from usual, though, and the other man’s words made his gut clench. What had he overlooked? Where had he gone wrong?

‘I confess, I enjoyed taking advantage of your…recklessness.’

Kevin rubbed his hands together as if enjoying a great joke at Damon’s expense. Ice tripped down Damon’s back. What the hell had he missed?

‘I can’t say I’m sorry for it, though.’ Kevin chortled some more. ‘Nothing personal, Demon, you understand? It’s just business, right?’

Damon calmly sipped his coffee, though his stomach had started to rebel. ‘Want to let me in on the joke?’

‘That piece of prime real estate you just bought is about to be slapped with an environmental injunction. It appears that it’s a breeding ground for some rare seabird. I was walking away from the project—was chalking it up to experience. Instead, I made a killing. At Demon Macy’s expense, no less.’ He slapped the table and let loose a belly laugh that had his second chin wobbling. ‘You win some and you lose some—I believe that’s what you said to me last time we did business. I have to say, it’s a joy to see you on the losing side for once.’

The hard knot in Damon’s stomach eased. ‘I got what I came for, Kevin.’ Mirror Glass Bay and Eve’s business were safe, and he had every intention of keeping them that way. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a plane to catch.’

He turned away to stash the papers he’d just signed into his briefcase when the door to the boardroom crashed open.

‘Mr Greamsman,’ a female voice said, cutting through the air. ‘Is it true you’ve just pulled out of your resort development?’

A familiar female voice. Damon closed his eyes and bit back an oath. Eve! He hadn’t meant for her to see him, or even to know he’d been here. He’d resisted every bitter impulse yesterday to turn his hire car in the direction of Mirror Glass Bay just to see the place she called home. It took all his strength now not to swing around and feast his eyes on her.

‘You’re well informed, Ms Clark. Let me introduce you to Damon Macy, who has just bought the development site. I’m afraid I’ll be moving my operations elsewhere.’

Two beats passed. ‘Damon… Macy?’

He counted to five to give her a chance to gather herself—five, four, three, two… He turned, met her gaze and froze.

She wasn’t wearing make-up. It seemed the most inane of things to notice, but when she’d worked for Spellman and Spelman she’d never walked through the office doors, let alone attended a business meeting, without her armour, a full face of make-up. He didn’t know what it meant.

He opened his mouth but snapped it shut again. What was he going to say—you’re not wearing make-up? Looking good, Evie? Can I kiss you? All of them were totally inappropriate.

And her white-faced shock tore him to the centre of his being. He’d known she never wanted to see him again, but to be presented with such stark evidence made him feel physically sick.

Her familiarity, though, punched through him in a way he hadn’t expected, rocking him to his foundations. He hadn’t known he had anything left inside him that could still want. And he wanted her with a ferocity that had only increased in the four years since he’d last seen her.

He wanted to throw his head back and roar against the unfairness of it.

Only it wasn’t unfair, was it? This woman had every reason to loathe him. And she did—he could see that in the endless depths of her green eyes—eyes the colour of sea glass. Some would call it poetic justice.

He’d call it hell. But it was a hell he deserved.

He swallowed and nodded. ‘Hello, Eve.’

Greamsman glanced from one to the other, speculation rife in his eyes. ‘You know each other?’

Her eyes turned hard and cold, her lips refusing to lift into anything even approximating a smile. ‘“Know” would be an exaggeration, Mr Greamsman.’

I thought I knew you, but I was wrong.

Her words from four years ago circled through his mind now. His temples started to throb.

‘I once had the pleasure…’ the word dripped with sarcasm ‘…of working with Mr Macy.’

‘Ah, so you’ll be aware of his business practices, then.’

That made his back stiffen. ‘My business practices are completely above board. If they weren’t, you’d have found a way to have my company brought before an industrial tribunal by now, Greamsman.’

‘Perhaps, perhaps not,’ the other man said. ‘But your tactics…’

‘Can leave a lot to be desired,’ Eve finished, folding her arms.

‘Well, my dear—’

‘Don’t call me your dear.’ Cold eyes turned to his rival and Damon’s spine unhitched a fraction with the relief of being released from their cold, penetrating knowingness and the accusation that flared in their depths.

‘Yes, well,’ Kevin blustered. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have a plane to catch.’ He gathered up his things before shooting Damon a malicious smile. ‘Nothing personal, remember, Demon. Just business.’

Damon wanted to slam a fist into the other man’s face—not for the smugness or his ridiculous game of one-upmanship but for continuing to call him that hideous nickname. The impulse made him suck in a breath. For the last four years he’d been incarcerated in some icy, contained world of his own. But one look at Eve had brought all those walls crashing down. Really?

He rolled his shoulders. It felt good, invigorating. Disturbing, too, but…he felt alive again. He straightened. When had he started to feel so dead inside?

He glanced at Eve as Greamsman and the lawyer left the room. She hated him, and he deserved her resentment, her censure, her mistrust—it was an undeniable truth. But he wanted to live again, to feel alive again. He was through with punishing himself. He’d done her the good turn she deserved. Now he was free to go to Frankfurt, do all he could to close the Mueller deal and then…

He lifted his chin. And then he’d take a holiday, walk on a beach somewhere and rethink his life…make some changes.

Her arms were still folded and the fingers of her right hand drummed against her left upper arm. She stuck out a hip and raised an eyebrow. He nodded. Before he could do any of that, he needed to deal with the here and now. ‘I know you must hate me, Eve.’

She waved that away. ‘Ancient history.’

He tried to gauge what was happening behind her eyes, but he couldn’t. Had she really moved on so easily? A dark heaviness settled over him that he tried to shake off. He hoped she had.

‘Is it true that you’ve bought the site from Greamsman?’

She didn’t want to talk about the past. Her gaze was firmly fixed on the future—on her livelihood—as it should be. He pulled himself into straight lines and nodded. ‘Yes.’

Her eyes didn’t waver from his. That was one of the things he’d always loved about her—her unflinching strength.

‘And what do you mean to do with it?’

The tightness in his chest started to drain away. Finally, he could give her something of worth. ‘Absolutely nothing.’

She blinked as if his words made no sense.

‘Mirror Glass Bay will retain its unspoilt character, preserved for generations to come as it should be. I know how special—’

‘You’re not going to build a big, shiny new resort on that spot?’ she interrupted him.

‘No, I’m not.’ He waited for her shock to dissolve into relief…to dissolve into happiness. He didn’t expect her to thank him, but one small smile didn’t seem too much to ask for.

Her hands clenched and her face twisted. A breath shot out of her lungs and it seemed to leave her diminished, lesser…broken. ‘What the hell did I ever do to you to deserve this? From you of all people!’

His mouth went dry. ‘What are you talking about?’

She slammed a hand down to the table between them and eyed the pens, the bowls of mints and the coffee mugs as if she was trying to decide which of them to hurl at him first. ‘Damn you, Demon.’

His jaw clenched so hard pain shot down his neck.

‘Mirror Glass Bay needed that development.’

What the hell…?

‘You wanted that development?’

‘Yes!’

He took a step back, his veins freezing to ice. Damn it all to hell, how had he got this so wrong?

Eve fell into a seat at the board table and dropped her head to her hands. She’d promised everyone to do her best. Think! She had to find a way to fix this. She was an intelligent woman. Her hands clenched into fists at her temples. She should be able to fix this. If she could only get her mind to work.

Except her mind had downed tools at the first sight of Damon.

‘Eve?’

Damon’s hand came into view and she jerked away. ‘Don’t touch me!’

He pulled his hand back, his face going white and the lines about his mouth pinching as if he were fighting a spasm of pain. Maybe he had a bad back, or a raging migraine. She really hoped so.

Her reaction to him had never been measured, but the ferocity of her animosity now took her off guard. It was just…

She’d never expected to see him again.

She’d never wanted to see him again.

‘You wanted the development to go through?’ he repeated.

‘Yes!’ The word snapped out of her, full of fire and brimstone, but she couldn’t seem to moderate her tone.

‘But there was a newspaper article that said local residents were against it.’

She stood, her entire body starting to shake. ‘Are you telling me your research of what the residents of Mirror Glass Bay wanted was based on one newspaper article?’

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. ‘I researched the development.’ His Adam’s apple bobbed again. ‘Thoroughly.’

‘One newspaper article?’ she repeated, refusing to let the strong column of his throat distract her.

‘The development was slotted for a resort. For holidaymakers. It would’ve been in direct competition to your motel.’

But his voice wavered as he uttered the words, and she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had he done no research on Mirror Glass Bay—on her gorgeous, quirky and utterly frustrating community—at all? ‘Not in competition,’ she managed through gritted teeth. ‘We’d have attracted completely different clienteles. The people who come to stay in my motel would no sooner think of staying in a luxury resort than they would take annual trips to Europe.’

He dragged a hand down his face and swore.

‘Why?’ She tried not to shout the word. ‘Why did you get involved at all? Why did you have to meddle?’

‘I wanted to make amends.’ His lips pressed into a straight, uncompromising line, but he’d lost his colour and it hadn’t come back yet. He looked as if he might throw up. She ignored the stupid skip of her heart, its stupid weakening. ‘To you,’ he croaked. ‘I wanted to make amends to you. I wanted to help.’

She folded her arms across her chest so tightly they started to ache. She would not let his words warm her. She wouldn’t even let herself believe them. ‘If you wanted to help, why didn’t you ask me first instead of going off half-cocked and ruining everything?’

He opened his mouth as if to protest but shut it again with a snap and a nod.

‘Why couldn’t you have left me alone? What the hell did I ever do to you to deserve…?’

She broke off, appalled at how heavily she breathed. It was as if she’d been running a race as hard and as fast as she could but still couldn’t win…couldn’t even seem to make it to the finish line. She hitched up her chin, desperately wanting to channel ice-cold composure. ‘This has nothing to do with me, has it? It’s about you wanting to allay a guilty conscience.’

‘Maybe they’re different sides of the same coin.’

‘And maybe they’re not. One is selfish and self-interested and the other isn’t. We both know unselfishness isn’t a trait you’re known for.’ She wanted to call him Demon again, but she didn’t have the heart for it. ‘Either way, looks like I’m the one having to pay the price. Again.’

‘I can fix this, Eve.’

She didn’t want him to. She wanted him out of her life for good. She never wanted to see him again.

Except…

She swallowed. It left her throat feeling bruised and sore. Except she’d promised her community, her friends, to do everything she could to make sure this resort went through. And she’d keep that promise, regardless of her animosity…regardless of the pain crushing her chest, as if seeing him now was breaking her heart all over again.

‘I swear to you that I can fix this.’ He sat at the table and pulled a pad and pen towards him. She remembered then how he’d always liked to brainstorm with pen and paper rather than being chained to his computer and a Word document.

She wrestled with her desire to walk out the door and not turn back. But in the end Mirror Glass Bay and her promise won out. She sat too.

He glanced across at her. He didn’t smile, but she had to remind herself that the warmth in his eyes was not reflected in his heart. He’d given her no apology—not for then and not for now. Damon Macy took what he wanted, when he wanted, without apology. And without thought for how it might affect anyone else. She’d be a fool to forget it.

She sat, folded her arms and forced her spine to make contact with the back of the chair. She loathed Damon Macy and all he stood for, but she couldn’t let her antipathy harm Mirror Glass Bay. If he really wanted to make amends, she intended to take full advantage of that. ‘How will you fix it? Do you now plan to build that luxury resort?’

‘I—’ He broke off with a curse. ‘I signed a non-compete clause. It was the only way I could get Greamsman to agree to the deal.’

Wow. His conscience must be making him feel really guilty. But then the meaning of his words hit her, and it was all she could do not to drop her head to her arms and cry. A non-compete clause meant Mirror Glass Bay could kiss goodbye to a luxury resort for good. The town needed an injection of capital. It needed development, jobs and infrastructure. Local government grants and initiatives were all given to Byron Bay, where the tourist dollar repaid it ten-fold. Mirror Glass Bay didn’t aspire to those same standards. It just wanted a little piece of the pie—just enough to support a medical centre and to keep the tiny primary school open. It didn’t seem too much to ask.

‘Right.’

Damon straightened and the broad expanse of his shoulders squared, as if he were a superhero in a big-budget film getting ready for the fight of his life. It should’ve made her want to laugh in scorn and derision and call him unflattering names, such as egotist and poseur. No scorn or derision rose through her, though—at least, not any directed at him.

‘I can build several state-of-the-art high-rises on that site—luxury apartments.’ He tapped the pen against his mouth. ‘As long as I can get the necessary planning permissions.’

She dismissed that with a single wave of her hand. ‘And who will live in them? Sure, their construction and outfitting will bring jobs to the area, but it’s a short-term solution. Once they’re done…’

‘I could make them short-term holiday lets.’

‘Besides the fact that brings you dangerously close to contravening your non-compete clause…’

‘I’d make them family friendly, not luxury, and—’

‘In which case you’d be stealing from my client base.’

He cursed again and went back to jotting notes on his pad. ‘What about a theme park?’

‘What about you do some proper research into the area first and find out the kinds of tourists Mirror Glass Bay—and Byron Bay, for that matter—attract? That is, if you’re serious about helping.’

His gaze lifted, his eyes dark and intense. ‘I’m serious.’

He’d always been too serious. Though she’d been able to make him laugh, had managed to get him to loosen up—back in the old days. Her hands clenched. Until he’d thrown her over for two million dollars to advance his goddamned career. He’d thrown away everything they’d had for…

She folded her arms. It didn’t look as though it had brought him any joy.

Which served him right.

But it didn’t seem fair that his hair should be as dark and glossy as it had always been, his jaw just as square and strong or his shoulders as broad and appealing. It wasn’t fair that his outside should be so compelling, could make a woman’s stomach soften with longing, when inside his heart was black.

He leaned back in his seat, his chin lifting. ‘What’s wrong with my theme park idea?’

‘What am I now—your research assistant?’

Mirror Glass Bay needs help! If this man…

She dragged in a breath, moderated her tone. ‘How far are we from the Gold Coast?’

‘No idea. Three or four hours?’

‘An hour and fifteen minutes.’

If he really wanted to make amends—if he was sincere—then his heart couldn’t be that black, could it?

Her lips twisted. Maybe it was just a really dirty charcoal-grey.

‘What?’ he said, his hand lifting, as if to check his hair.

She snapped back to their conversation. ‘How many theme parks are there on the Gold Coast?’

She watched him count them off on his fingers. He held up three and raised an eyebrow.

‘Five,’ she told him. ‘So, if families or singles wanted a theme-park holiday, why would they come to Mirror Glass Bay when they could go to the Gold Coast?’

‘Because my theme park would be the best.’

He still had that same old arrogance, the same belief he could make things happen, and it tugged at some secret, hidden place inside her. And for the first time since she’d clapped eyes on him again she was scared rather than shocked and angry. Scared that he still had the power to hurt her.

She set her shoulders and did what she could to get her thumping heart back under control. That’d only happen if she let it. And there was no way on God’s green she was going to let it happen. Ever. She gripped her hands in her lap to counter their trembling. ‘What is Byron Bay known for?’

‘An amazing beach. An amazing surfing beach,’ he clarified. ‘The town has always attracted surfers and backpackers.’ His lips pursed. ‘It’s also considered a hub of new age and hippy culture. From what I saw yesterday, very briefly, there are a lot of yoga retreats and holistic wellness centres in the area.’

‘And do you think the kind of people who are attracted to those things—who come to this part of the world to experience those things—are the kind of people interested in rollercoasters and water slides?’

His pen started up a quick and annoying tap-tap-tap against his pad. She wanted to reach across and halt it, only that’d betray the calm composure she was trying to maintain.

‘You’re right,’ he said slowly.

Hallelujah.

Except…

She frowned. ‘About what?’

‘I do need to research the area. Properly.’ His eyes narrowed at whatever he saw in her face. ‘I am going to fix this, Eve. You’ll see.’

She hoped to God he did. Her community needed it. And as for herself… ‘As long as you don’t expect me to pin a medal on your chest at the end of all this, clap you on the shoulder and tell you what a great guy you are.’

Because he wasn’t a great guy. And she had no intention of forgetting it.

‘Don’t worry, Evie,’ he drawled. ‘I’m keeping my fantasies firmly grounded in reality.’

She had to glance away at the word ‘fantasies’. It conjured up too much, and she’d lost too much to him last time. ‘Eve,’ she corrected. ‘Only my friends are allowed to call me Evie.’ It’d taken her too long to pick herself up and find some joy in life again after the last time. That peace had become precious to her, and she wasn’t letting him disturb it again.

‘There’s just one thing I want from you, Eve.’

To stay out of his hair?

She turned back and raised an eyebrow, crossing her fingers in her lap.

‘I need a place to stay. I need you to find me a room in that motel of yours.’

No!

She didn’t want this man anywhere near her beloved town. Mirror Glass Bay had become her haven and refuge. It’d saved her. It’d given her a new direction. It’d given her hope. If Damon Macy came crashing into her life now…

She halted that thought dead in its tracks. Mirror Glass Bay needed Damon to undo the damage he’d just done. And if she could hold him the least bit accountable then she owed it to her community.

She forced her lips upwards. ‘You’re in luck. It’s off-season so you can have the Kingfisher Suite. It’s our best.’ Though he’d be used to much finer these days. ‘And I’ll charge you through the nose for it.’

His low laugh vibrated in all her hidden secret places. ‘I wouldn’t expect anything less.’

CHAPTER TWO

EVE DID HER best to assume nonchalance as she led Damon into her pride and joy—the Mirror Glass Bay Beachside Motel—and tried to see it objectively, as if through his eyes.

Tried and failed. The task was impossible. She’d thrown herself into this project four years ago after the scales had been lifted from her eyes—revealing the reality about both Damon and the corporate world upon which she’d pinned all her youthful dreams. The ruthlessness of the former and the savagery of the latter had shattered every ideal she’d ever had about becoming a self-made woman. To her so far never-ending relief, she’d discovered she wanted no part of either. She had no regrets about walking away.

She and her grandmother had jumped into Eve’s snazzy little hatchback and had headed north before her parents could shove Gran into a retirement home and forget all about her. The two of them had washed up here in Mirror Glass Bay, eight-and-a-half hours north of Sydney. They’d taken one look at the rundown motel and had glimpsed the future they’d wanted to create.

From the corner of her eye she watched Damon take in every detail. She and Gran had pooled their resources, bought the motel and spent the last four years bringing it back to its former glory. That didn’t change the fact that The Beachside, as it was affectionately known by the locals and its regulars, was nothing more than a three-star family motel.

A spick and span one.

A comfortable one.

A home-away-from-home one.

And a haven for Gran and her.

But a man like Damon wouldn’t see any of that. Or, if he did, he wouldn’t recognise its value. He’d simply see the lack of ostentation, the lack of five-star luxury, and that was his loss. She loved what she and Gran had achieved, and she refused to let the opinion of a man like Damon Macy belittle that achievement.

She nodded at her reception desk attendant. ‘Bettina, this is Mr Damon Macy. He’s going to be staying for…?’ She turned to Damon and raised an eyebrow. ‘For how long would you like to book the suite?’

One powerful shoulder lifted. ‘What would you suggest?’

She’d like to suggest he take a hike so she never had to see his handsome face again, but there was too much at stake. And she could be big enough to put Mirror Glass Bay’s needs above her own pettiness. Right?

She comforted herself with the notion of unearthing whatever better nature he had and taking advantage of it—for the greater good of her community, of course—before his ruthless business sense kicked in and he walked away, dusting off his hands and the challenge Mirror Glass Bay presented.

She kept her expectations within the realms of the possible, though. ‘Shall we start with a three-night stay, then?’ That would give the town committee the shadow of a chance to showcase the area to its best advantage. He’d at least get a taste for what the place had to offer.

‘Do you really think three nights is long enough for me to get a proper grasp of the unique issues Mirror Glass Bay faces?’ he drawled, one eyebrow raised sardonically in enquiry, as if he could see through her mask of calm business composure and was mocking her for her lack of ambition—for not demanding more of him.

But she’d demanded more from him once before and he’d failed her. She had no faith left now.

‘Absolutely not. A fortnight might do it justice. But I was keeping my expectations…realistic.’ She smiled—oh, she made sure she smiled—but her words were laced with a poison that had Bettina’s eyes widening.

She doubted Damon noticed, or cared about, Bettina’s reaction. He angled his chin towards Eve and placed those long-fingered hands on his hips. ‘Let your fantasies go wild, Eve. Ask for what you want. Who knows? You might even get it.’

She recalled a time when she’d have slipped her arms about his waist, tucked her head against his shoulder and relished all of that warm male strength. Her mouth dried and it took all her strength not to take a step away from him. His gaze lowered and she knew he could see the pulse in her throat hammering.

She hated that. Hated that she couldn’t control her reaction. Hated that her body betrayed her. Hated that he knew it—that was what she hated most of all. She refused to let her chin drop. So what if he knew she wasn’t as calm as she pretended to be? The one thing he couldn’t be certain of was why.

And she had no intention of admitting that she found him every bit as thrilling and potently attractive as ever.

She swung back to Bettina. ‘Book Mr Macy into the Kingfisher Suite for two weeks.’

He wouldn’t stay for two weeks.

He handed his credit card over without a murmur.

She sent him a big, fake smile. ‘You’ll be pleased to know that we’re currently running a deal—stay five nights and get the sixth night free.’

‘Absolutely delighted,’ he returned, slotting his credit card back into its folder and slipping it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. ‘How…’

If he said quaint she might just have to hit him.

‘Fortuitous. Some might even say auspicious.’

Smart man.

‘Our usual clientele appreciates the chance to stay with us for as long as possible. We like to facilitate that whenever we can.’

‘Very generous of you.’

She ignored his sarcasm and took the key from Bettina. ‘We’re a modest establishment but pride ourselves on our hospitality.’ Another big, fake smile. ‘We don’t have any porters here, Damon, but I’m more than happy to carry your bag for you if you require it.’

He snapped back from his comprehensive perusal of the small motel reception to seize his bag. ‘I’m happy to carry my own bag, thank you.’ He gestured to the doors—one led left, one led right and there was the one behind them that led back to the street where they’d parked their cars. ‘Lead the way.’

She took him through the left door and back outside, where she promptly ascended a set of stairs. ‘This is the oldest part of the complex. It used to be a seaman’s mission but was decommissioned fifty years ago and turned into a motel.’

When they reached the first floor, with its deep veranda that ran the length of the building, she gestured at the beach spread out before them. ‘This is why people pay a few extra dollars a night for the rooms in this part of the motel.’

Because the beach was beautiful.

To their left a residential road perpendicular to the one they’d parked on ran parallel to the beach. To their right was nothing but sand dunes, beach and the headland. ‘We parked our cars on Beach Road, and that one—’ she gestured to the road that ran beside the beach ‘—is called Marine Drive. Both roads will bring you back to the motel.’

He didn’t answer and she turned to find he’d stopped dead, his mouth agape. ‘This is…’

‘Rather pretty,’ she agreed, deliberately minimising the impact of the view and setting a brisk pace along the wooden floorboards to the door at its very end.

‘Rather pretty?’ he spluttered as she unlocked his door.

She turned to survey the view again, moving to stand by the veranda railing, because it was easier than looking at him. How she loved this place. It fed her soul in ways she needed. She didn’t want to imagine life away from here.

And she didn’t have to, she told herself.

‘You can see why our guests will snap up that extra night for free if they can.’

He’d dropped his bag and joined her at the railing. ‘I—’

‘But it lacks the grandeur of the main beach at Byron Bay. Or the views of Sydney Harbour from the Toaster,’ she added, referring to an iconic luxury apartment complex on Circular Quay—which was probably where he lived these days.

‘It has its own charm.’

He smelled of boardrooms—of printer ink, mints and air conditioning—but beneath it was a hint of spice that had her nose wrinkling in appreciation. ‘On a good day the surf here can’t be beaten, but it can also be uneven and…pernickety. Dedicated surfers prefer Byron. The headland, though, means it’s a safe swimming beach. Young families love it.’

She couldn’t have said why but the arrested expression on his face satisfied her.

She pointed away from the nearby headland and down Marine Drive. ‘Can you see the scrub at the far end of the road?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s what you just bought from Mr Greamsman. Beachfront land that abuts national park, which means the site is loaded with both charm…and potential.’

She didn’t glance up into his face. She didn’t want to see his expression. She had little belief, despite his protestations otherwise, that he would see any project there through. She’d do her best to convince him otherwise—she had to do at least that much. What was it Gran always said? Where there’s life, there’s hope. But she didn’t believe Damon would deliver on his promise.

‘And this is your room.’ She swung away from the glorious view to open his door and motioned for him to precede her. For a moment she thought he might refuse, but then he seemed to recall his status as guest and hers as motel manager, and he strode through the doorway, lips pressed together in a thin line. She meant to make sure he didn’t forget that distinction. She meant to preserve the boundary—all the boundaries: guest and worker, small businesswoman and wealthy developer, concerned citizen and potential saviour. Because that was all that mattered here. The fact that they had once been lovers was of no consequence.

Yeah, right. Tell yourself that enough, sunshine, and you might just start to believe it.

Not wanting to look into his face again—not wanting to see the dismissiveness she fully expected to see in his eyes as he inspected his accommodation—she motioned towards the coffee table with its small array of brochures. ‘We do what it says in the fine print—provide comfortable accommodation. This is the bedroom.’ She opened a door to the left and moved in to open the French doors leading back out to the veranda and those beach views.

When she turned, he was there, staring at her. She knew he wasn’t thinking of her as motel worker or small businesswoman, but she refused to let her gaze, her attention or her fantasies dwell on the enormous king-sized bed. Instead she sailed back past him into the main living area where she swept the curtains aside to reveal a glass sliding door at the rear of the room that led out to a balcony. Opening the door, she let in a fresh breeze that swept through from the front doorway—a breeze scented with salt and sun. She closed her eyes and drew it into her lungs.

She felt him move towards her and she opened her eyes and lifted her chin. ‘You’ll get a better idea of the layout of the complex from out here.’

‘The motel is more than the converted seaman’s mission?’

She moved outside before he could reach her, letting the warm autumn air move across her skin. She gave what she really, really hoped was an expansive gesture. ‘As you can now see for yourself.’

There was room for a small café-style table and chairs out here on the balcony, but he ignored them to rest his forearms against the wrought-iron railing and gaze out across at her complex.

‘We parked on the road, but feel free to drive your hire car in and park it beneath one of the carports.’ She gestured to where there was parking for a dozen cars. ‘There’s overflow parking on the next block, but as it’s not high season it’s not in use at the moment.’

The driveway was located on the other side of Reception. She pointed. ‘There’s a one-bedroom flat above Reception, which is where I live.’ On the other side of the driveway a white stucco building stretched away from them, facing the road, and she gestured to that next. ‘That’s the family accommodation over there.’

‘So this is…?’ He tapped the railing to indicate the building they were in.

‘More for couples and singles. The family accommodation is more budget-friendly, and has easy access to the pool and lawn area where children can play.’ She gestured to the large green quadrangle in front of them with an in-ground pool at its centre. ‘There are picnic tables down there, showers and a barbecue station.’

Palm trees dotted the area along with an enormous jacaranda, the fronds and branches waving happily in the breeze. Hibiscus bushes in flower added splashes of colour. Damon shook his head. ‘This is…’

She told herself she didn’t care what he thought, but rather than interrupt him she found herself holding her breath.

‘Really nice,’ he finished.

She might’ve taken offence at such an insipid word if he hadn’t loaded it with so much wonder.

She shrugged. ‘It’s home.’

He straightened, rising to his full height, but she kept her gaze trained on the grounds below. ‘The bottom floor of the north wing—’ she gestured to the white building ‘—houses the restaurant-cum-breakfast room, cum-café and bar.’ It was one of the few meeting places Mirror Glass Bay could boast, and the local residents took full advantage of it.

He gestured to the building directly opposite. ‘Is that part of the complex too?’

She didn’t blame him for asking. It was in another style entirely—three storeys of plain blond brick. ‘Those are the longer-let apartments.’ Her grandmother lived in one of the ground-floor ones and she made a mental note to keep her away from Damon.

‘So…you cater to different styles of clientele?’

‘Within reason. And there is some overlap.’

‘How many rooms all up?’

‘Sixteen here in The Mission. These are our premier rooms—large, generous, olde worlde.’

‘And all boasting that amazing view.’

The view was key.

‘We have thirty-two rooms of various sizes and configurations in the north wing. And there are a dozen apartments in that west wing. Some of those, though, are let to permanent residents.’

‘Why did you choose this room for me?’

‘Because it’s the best.’ She shrugged. ‘And because of the view.’ If she’d thought for a moment he’d stay for a fortnight, she’d have considered an apartment for him.

But she hadn’t. And he wouldn’t. So it was a moot point.

‘So you have a beachside wing, a north wing and a west wing.’

‘Which are, of course, terribly unimaginative names. This—’ she tapped the balcony railing ‘—is affectionately referred to as The Mission. That—’ she pointed to the white stucco building ‘—is the Shangri La. While the apartment block is called The Nest.’

He gestured to the south. ‘And that?’

‘Is a nature reserve and can’t be built on.’

This odd jumble of buildings shouldn’t work but it did. It held all the charm of a bygone era and he found himself responding to its warmth and promise.

She’d called it home. It felt like how home should feel.

He had an apartment on Sydney Harbour—not in the Toaster, but down on the waterfront. He had his own private jetty, but he didn’t have a boat. The views were incredible, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d stepped out onto his jetty. It was considered one of the most enviable locations in the country, yet he had a growing suspicion that he didn’t love it the way Eve loved her little one-bedroom flat above Reception.

He had everything a man could want—wealth, power, position—yet…

Yet none of it could plug the hole inside him.

The only time he’d ever felt whole was when he’d been with Eve. And he’d sacrificed that.

He glanced at her now. She’d grown her hair and it’d lightened almost to blonde in places. The colour could’ve come from a bottle…or from how much time she spent in the sun. He suspected the latter, considering the way she wore barely any make-up.

He remembered watching her in the mornings as she’d applied a full face of make-up. He’d always told her she didn’t need any of it, that she was beautiful without it. She’d told him it was her uniform. At the time, the thought that he was the only one to see her as she truly was—her unmade self—had dazzled him.

Now it appeared she let everyone see her as she was, and he sensed she was the happier for it; happier in her own skin.

He let no one see him as he really was. The thought had him dragging a hand down his face.

‘You look tired. I’ll leave you to rest.’

‘No!’ The word fired out of him too fast and with too much force, taking him as much off-guard as it did her. She raised an eyebrow and his collar tightened about his throat. ‘Have dinner with me tonight?’

The request slipped from him—soft and almost begging—and he held his breath.

Surprise flickered across her face, and what looked suspiciously like confusion, before she abruptly turned away to stride back into the living room with its big comfy-looking sofas at right angles to each other, its table for two and large antique desk. She’d made the room feel more welcoming than an entire team of designers had his Sydney apartment.

‘I’m sorry, Damon, I have plans tonight.’

Though her tone told him that her answer would’ve been a blunt no even if she hadn’t had plans.

Two things struck him at the same time then. She might’ve changed her hair, and she mightn’t bother with make-up and business suits any more, but her shoulders still went tight when she was angry. And her eyes still held that same remote expression they always had whenever she held her anger in check. She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but something held her back. This development must mean a lot to her.

He swallowed. He’d promised to fix things. That didn’t come with conditions. He’d fix this, somehow, whether she was pleasant to him or not. And that was what he should be turning his mind to—making amends, not having dinner with a woman who had no desire to dine with him or to revisit the past.

The second thing that hit him was, was she seeing someone? It was none of his business. None. Once in his head, though, the thought refused to let him go. His hands clenched. It was likely, though, wasn’t it? At thirty-two, she was still young. And more beautiful than she’d ever been. Somewhere at the centre of his being a howl started up.

What the hell…?

‘That wasn’t meant to sound like a romantic overture.’

Liar.

‘I just want to know more about Mirror Glass Bay, and you’re in a position to tell me everything I need to know.’

‘The answer is still I’m busy.’

Her shoulders remained tight and her eyes remote.

‘We don’t do room service at The Beachside, but you have tea-and coffee-making facilities in your room. And, as I mentioned before, there’s a café-cum-restaurant and bar on the ground floor of the Shangri La. Breakfast, lunch and dinner are all served there. In addition to that, there’s a block of shops on Marine Drive including a tiny supermarket, a takeaway, and a café. Remember—Marine Drive runs parallel to the beach, Beach Road runs perpendicular.’

She repeated her earlier directions as if unaware she’d had his full attention from the moment she’d stepped into that boardroom in Byron several hours ago.

She glanced at his business suit and shoes, and he could almost read the ‘not suitable beachside attire’ in her eyes, but she said nothing.

‘I suggest you take your time to familiarise yourself with the town and what it has to offer the potential developer. Most afternoons, I can be found in Reception or the bar.’

It wasn’t exactly an invitation, but he clutched the scrap like a lifeline.

‘I hope your stay will be very pleasant.’

Then she was gone, and he found himself blinking in the sudden silence. He throbbed all over, as if he’d been hit by a bus, but that made no sense whatsoever.

He shook himself. What the hell was he doing? He needed to ring Owen…and the office. He needed to find out all he could about the environmental injunction on Greamsman’s proposed development, pore over the development-control plan and find out all he could about Mirror Glass Bay pronto.

He was a man who made things happen. He had to find a solution and get the hell out of town ASAP because it was clear Eve didn’t want to revisit their shared past. He had no right raking it all up and disturbing her peace.

He knew how much he’d hurt her.

Because he’d hurt himself too—just as much.

You didn’t get over that kind of hurt overnight. But Eve had rebuilt her life. She’d moved on. He had no right dragging her back and causing her further havoc. He’d come here to help, not hurt her again.

He’d do everything he could to make sure that didn’t happen. Even if everything inside him hungered for a second chance with the only woman he’d ever loved.

Not going to happen.

And the sooner he got over it the better. For everyone.

Pulling out his phone, he started to punch in Owen’s number, but caught a glimpse of ocean from his open door and paused mid-dial. That doorway full of sea and sun, the way the light danced and dazzled, had him pulling in a lungful of clean air.

It’d be the middle of the night in Europe. Not that consideration for time zones had stopped him in the past, but… The sun danced on the sea, glinting gold on the sand, and the breeze had everything pulsing with life and play. He pushed his phone back into his pocket and instead strode into his bedroom to retrieve his laptop.

The view from his bedroom’s French doors was even better, and he kicked off his shoes, settled on the bed with four big pillows propped at his back and started to compose an email to his VP. My plans have changed. Not coming to Frankfurt. Apologise to Herr Mueller and return to Australia on the next available flight.

He went to hit Send but froze. He was being watched. Very slowly he raised his eyes to find a tabby cat standing in a patch of sun just outside the French doors, staring at him with tawny eyes.

Where on earth had it come from?

He blinked. It blinked.

He pulled in a breath and straightened.

It sat, its tail curling around itself in a neat circle.

Should he shoo it away? Ignore it? Was it Eve’s cat? The thought made his heart beat harder. Maybe she had a boyfriend and a cat.

He rubbed the spot above his left eyebrow. ‘Well, puss, while you’re not wearing a collar, you look too well-fed to be a stray.’

As if his words were the encouragement it had been looking for, the cat bounded into his room like a dog and jumped up onto his bed with a meow.

What the…?

Before he thought better of it, he reached out and stroked a finger beneath the cat’s jaw. A loud rumble of approval greeted him. ‘I thought you cats were supposed to be aloof and grumpy.’

The tabby curled against Damon’s thigh, its head bumping his hand for more attention. He chuckled. ‘I’ve met your kind before—a con artist, a confidence trickster.’

He stroked the purring cat for several moments and then glanced back at his laptop. ‘What am I going to do about Owen, puss? He’s put an awful lot of work into the Mueller project.’ He bit back a sigh. ‘The thing is, though, Mueller isn’t the kind of man who agrees to work with an underling.’ Still, few people would consider the VP of Macy Holdings an underling.

He stared out at all that dancing blue sea. ‘I could give him the go-ahead—tell him to give it his best shot if he wants to, I guess. If he thinks it’s a lost cause, he can come home. But if he wants to try…?’

The cat’s purr sounded throughout the room as Damon’s fingers threaded through the soft fur. It wouldn’t hurt to let Owen at least try. With a nod, he sent an email telling Owen to follow his instincts.

Next he rang his PA and told him to reschedule his meetings for the next three weeks, to pass them off to some of the senior executives.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He should get a comprehensive report on Mirror Glass Bay, but he couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting back to the view of the beach. He closed his laptop with a decisive click. He could research that kind of stuff online tonight when he had nothing better to do except wonder what Eve’s plans were.

He glanced at his suitcase. He’d packed suits and workout clothes. That was it. With a sigh he changed into tracksuit bottoms, a long-sleeved T-shirt and his trainers.

He paused at the sight of the cat curled up in the middle of the bed. ‘I’m going out now, puss.’

It didn’t move and he didn’t have the heart to disturb it. This was probably the kind of place where people didn’t need to lock their doors. He could probably leave one of the French doors open… He glanced at his laptop and shook his head. He couldn’t risk it. Instead he left a saucer of water for the cat in case it got thirsty and let himself out of the door, locking it behind him.

A breeze ruffled his hair, its warmth taking him off-guard and reminding him he was eight hours north of Sydney—close to the border of tropical Queensland. In Sydney, people would be wrapping up as autumn took hold. But here he could wear short sleeves—if he had them. Maybe he’d get lucky and discover that Mirror Glass Bay boasted a clothing shop. Regardless, it was time to go and explore.

It took him four and a half minutes to reach the shops. The supermarket was also a post office and boasted a huge range of ice-creams. There were caps and a couple of souvenir T-shirts, but that was it as far as clothing went. There was also a surf shop that looked like it sold swimwear—including designer board shorts and T-shirts. Except it was only open at the weekend. Ditto with the takeaway. And as it was only Tuesday…

A café sprawled on the corner of the next block. The concertina windows, all pushed wide open, flooded the place with light. He took a seat at the counter that ran the window’s length and stared out at the beach.

Mirror Glass Bay was amazing…beautiful. He stared and stared. It was every boyhood dream he’d ever had about the beach and what he’d do with his life if he could ever get away from the dingy inner-city slum where he’d grown up. But, while the town might be a boyhood dream, there was nothing here other than the beach.

Were there any schools? What about doctors or a clinic? Did the town boast a sporting team of any kind? Who lived here—retirees? Singles and young couples? Families?

He pulled out his phone…no service. He shook it, but that didn’t make a scrap of difference.

‘We’re in a black spot here, love,’ a waitress said, bustling up. ‘A block in either direction, and you can pick up service again, but here…’ She trailed off, her shrug eloquent. ‘What can I get for you?’

He glanced at the specials board. ‘What would you recommend?’

‘The fish tacos are particularly good,’ she said without hesitation.

He ordered the fish tacos, and was about to add a long black coffee to his order, but glanced out at the beach, changed his mind and requested a glass of iced tea instead.

To his surprise, the place filled up around him. Where had all these people come from?

‘Have you heard? Word’s out that the resort has fallen through.’

His ears pricked up.

‘Nah, mate, it’ll be those darn environmentalists up to their old tricks again. What’s the bet?’

‘What—like them stupid sods who tried to stop that development on the other side of Byron for some rare orchid that had supposedly been found?’ a third voice asked.

‘Yeah, but turns out they’d planted it themselves to try and scare the developer off.’

‘Fingers crossed our guy has more gumption than that.’

‘So far all you’ve got is an unconfirmed rumour, Ron Seymour,’ the waitress said, cutting through their chatter. ‘I’ll thank you not to go starting a panic just yet.’

‘Evie Clark’ll know,’ someone said.

‘We can ask her at the meeting tonight.’

A meeting?

Damon swung round on his stool to face the table behind. ‘Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Please allow me to introduce myself…’

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