The Millionaire (8 page)

“There are some things I only do in the flesh, Ellie.”

She pushed her fingers through her hair and fiddled with her earring, the one that wasn’t being crushed into her skull by the pressure she was using on her phone.

“I really am on deadline, Mr. Malone. Just a few questions.”

“Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”

Not another one? Was anything about dealing with Chris Malone going to be easy? She already knew the answer to that question and it was a big fat no.

“You’re quite the negotiator, Mr. Malone.”

“There’s a coffee shop across the road from your office. If you want the interview, I’ll meet you there in ten.”

“How do you know—” The line went silent. Of course he knew where she worked.

“Fine,” she announced to the overly attentive audience all around her. “I’ll see you there. Thanks, Mr. Malone. I appreciate your time.”

Ellie ignored their stares, tucked her phone in to the pocket of her trousers, and crossed the road.

As she stepped on to the footpath, she dialled her best friend, Bron.

“Hey, Ellie.”

“Listen. I can’t talk. I’m about to interview Chris Malone. He came to my place last night and I managed to get him to donate a photo shoot for the charity ball. And now I’m getting some quotes for the story I have to write in about three minutes.” Ellie’s heart pounded and she felt a little breathless as she dodged the traffic and weaved around a parked car to reach the footpath on the other side.

“What the
what
?” Bron asked down the line. “He was at your house? Last night? And you wait until now to call me? You’d better tell me everything, Ellie.”

“I will. Apparently he saw the story that got picked up from your original Facebook post and wanted to put things right. Oh, I’m here. Gotta go.”

“Ellie!” Bron demanded, but Ellie ended the call, took in a deep breath, and walked into the cafe.

*

Chris backed into
a park on the busy suburban street. He locked his car and, as he walked to the coffee shop, he looked around him and had to remind himself how regular and normal this was.

And how irregular and damn crazy he’d let his life become over the past decade. To be able to walk around freely, without the dubious protection of a press pass or a bulletproof vest, was something he would never again take for granted. The shops and small businesses he passed were filled with customers and stock. None of them were boarded up, and people were happily going about their business without fear of being car-bombed or kidnapped. He tucked his hands into his pockets and smiled. Sometimes it was the little things about being home that hit him square in the solar plexus.

He was home.

And when he was back in Sydney, he left his camera uncharged and in its bag. It was a relief not to have to look at the world through a frame. He could let the colourful, normal, happy humanity of his hometown wash over him and envelop him.

He walked past a florist and then doubled back. There were a dozen black buckets overflowing with blooms of every shade and hue, from the palest pinks to deep reds and oranges. He didn’t second-guess the reason why he walked inside, pulled out his wallet, and handed over a note in exchange for a bunch of white roses.

Chris was on his way to meet a woman and damn it, he could take her flowers if he wanted to. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made such a gesture. Paris, maybe, a couple of years before, because that was what the city of lovers did to people, even when they were planning nothing more than one night with a foreign correspondent from New York, who was as wild as her home town.

He held the roses to his nose and sniffed their perfume. He couldn’t wait to see Ellie’s reaction when he handed them to her. Which game would she bring to their encounter today? Would it be the wide-eyed adoration or the sassy woman? He wasn’t sure which he liked more. Sure, he was a professional and he liked that she admired his reputation and his work.

But when he went to bed at night, he was a man. And his very male ego got a huge kick out of her sass, sparring with her, the way she bit back and teased him, too. It had been a long time since he’d let himself play like that. And the part of him that was all man wanted, no needed, to see those legs again. Not to mention that mouth.

Yeah, all that was the reason for the flowers.

When he reached the coffee shop, he hid the flowers behind his back and walked inside.

Ellie was sitting at a table for two, right in the front window, swiping the face of her phone determinedly. Despite the heat, she was wearing a long sleeved shirt, buttoned up to the neck. It looked like silk, something shiny and soft.

“Hello.”

Ellie looked up and dropped her phone on the table.

He tried not to grin but was so happy to see her he couldn’t hold it in. “These are for you.” He held out the bunch. It was so huge that his gesture momentarily blocked his view of her. When he lowered the blooms, he was met with a suspicious expression instead of the smile he’d been hoping for after.

“Flowers,” she said with a frown.

“You’re not a reporter for nothing, are you? Very observant.”

“This isn’t a date, Mr. Malone. This is an interview.”

“I thought I should thank you for the dinner and the wine last night. If that’s all right with you.”

“Thank you,” she managed with a tight smile.

Chris pulled up a chair and sat. “Coffee?”

Ellie checked her watch. “I don’t have time, unfortunately. You of all people know what deadlines are like.”

“I understand.”

“And my editor wants this now. She thinks you’re a good story.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Ellie looked him right in the eyes, determined suddenly. “Depends on what you tell me.”

“Anything you want.”

Chris decided the blush in her cheeks was worth every cent of the flowers.

“Okay.” Ellie positioned the flowers on the left of the table and placed her phone on what space remained. She checked it was recording and looked over at him.

“Mr. Malone, you originally said no to a request to help out a much-admired charity. Why was that?”

Ouch.
He expected a few fluffy questions, not this. “I do get numerous requests every year from charities, and I did originally say no, that’s correct.”

Ellie straightened her shoulders and there was a gleam in her eye he hadn’t noticed before. “So why did you backtrack, after your initial refusal about making a donation to the Royal Flying Doctors’ charity auction?”

He leaned in. “A beautiful woman convinced me it was a good idea.”

Her beautiful mouth flatlined. “Funny. You know I can’t use that quote.”

“Why not?”

“Because… because I’m not the story, that’s why.”

“Oh, I forgot,” he said with a wry grin. “It’s all about me.”

“Were you worried about your family’s reputation after the news went viral? Were there concerns that the story would damage Malone Enterprises and a time when it’s bidding for major contracts in this city?”

Straight for the jugular. And, potentially, straight for the truth, he noticed. Where had this terrier come from?

He raised an eyebrow, glad that couldn’t be recorded, and leaned forward. “When I discovered exactly what the fundraiser was for, of course I changed my mind. I’ve travelled widely during my career and I’ve been in places around the world where there is no medical care for people who are injured or ill. I know how devastating that can be to families, communities, and, in fact, to whole countries. So, the Royal Flying Doctor Service seemed like a perfect fit with a cause that’s close to my own heart.”

None of that was spin or PR. Every word was true and, judging by the way Ellie’s mouth had dropped open, Chris figured he might have checkmated her.

He continued. “And when I heard the personal story of someone whose life had been saved, I wanted to do all I could to help raise money, and raise the profile of this truly Australian organisation. I hope there are guests with big pockets on the night. They’ll be doing their bit for a fantastic cause.”

He leaned back in his chair.

Ellie looked at him for a long moment.

“Any more questions?” he asked.

“No, that was just what I need. Thanks.” She stopped the recording app on her phone. “Wow, you’re good,” she commented with a shake of her head.

“Why so cynical?”

“How many PR people prepped you for that?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “None, actually. But don’t believe they weren’t primed and ready to go. When my brother saw they original story, he wanted to send in the big guns to shut you down, but I called them off.”

“Your brother? You mean Callum, the CEO of Malone Enterprises?”

Chris nodded.

“Why is he involved in this? Why did you call them off?” Her lips were pursed and her eyes bright.

He leaned in. She looked pissed off and it was damn hot.

“I called them off, Ellie Flannery of the Western Gazette, because I can handle you all on my own.”

And he wanted to handle her. In all kinds of ways.

Ellie grabbed her phone. “I don’t need handling, Malone.”

She might not need it, but he could see in her eyes that she wanted it. That she wanted him. And he felt a rush of blood to his groin at the sure knowledge that he damn well wanted her, too. “Need and want are two very different things, Ellie.”

She took a deep breath. “I need to get this interview finished. But I have one more question, Malone.” She leaned in close, her elbows crossed on the table. Chris noticed she wasn’t recording this one.

“What’s that?” He leaned in, too.

Her face was serious now, her eyes slightly narrowed with curiosity in them. “Why are you back in Australia?”

He met her gaze with his own. “It’s summer. I missed the beach.”

“Thanks for the quotes. I’ve got to get back and write this up.”

“The pleasure was all mine. I’ll see you Saturday.”

“Yes.” Ellie’s eyes were soft and she’d pulled her lips together. She grabbed her phone, scooped up the flowers, and left.

A gentleman would have stood as she walked away. Chris decided that unless he wanted to create another headline, he’d better remain seated.

‡

E
llie had been
a reporter for more than a decade. She was thirty-two, not a rookie anymore. She’d interviewed her fair share of famous people. Well, semi-famous people. Mayors, politicians, minor pop stars, and the occasional television celebrity chef. One of them had even hit on her, despite the fact that he’d brought his wife along to the interview. She never got bent out of shape about talking to people who were famous.

Until now.

Until Chris Malone. That had to be the explanation for the half-sick, half-thrilled feeling that was coursing through her veins and moistening her brow.

She’d just spent an hour-long flight, thigh-to-thigh and shoulder-to-very-broad shoulder, with Chris in what felt like the world’s smallest plane. There was barely any room in front of the seat for his long legs so he had to spread them wide to fit into the tiny space, which meant he’d been forced to nudge up against her the whole flight. He smelt good, he felt good and, oh boy, did he send every nerve ending in her body thrumming louder than the plane itself. It was too noisy to have a conversation, which was just fine by her, because all this up close and personal time with Chris was sheer agony.

When he’d knocked on her door that morning, she’d trembled at the sight of him. Chris was dressed in what seemed to be his uniform of loose V-necked T-shirt and khaki shorts, the kind with multiple pockets, no doubt for holding all sorts of international photographer things like batteries and passports and foreign currency. A frayed straw hat sat at an angle atop his golden hair and his beard highlighted a fine pair of cheekbones. His sapphire eyes were hidden behind aviator glasses but nothing could disguise his grin.

“G’day,” he’d said and handed her a takeaway coffee. “I figured you’re a cappuccino.”

Ellie took it from his hand and when she did, their fingers touched. It wasn’t the beverage that sent a bolt of heat right through her. She lifted it from his hands and took a sip, which gave her a moment to think and to gather herself.
Be calm. This is a job. You are a professional.