Defiant Mistress, Ruthless Millionaire(3)

"That's right," she said carefully. "But since you already know all that, why don't you ask me something you don't know?"

A flare of blue flame lit in his eyes and he lifted a hand to stroke the edge of his jaw.

"What would it take to win you over, Callie?"

"Win me over? I think you need to be more specific."

"Now, I know you're an intelligent woman, and I also know that you're  fully aware of the general exodus of staff from Palmer Enterprises to  Tremont Corporation."

Callie nodded, barely trusting herself to speak for fear that she'd let her anger bubble over.

"I wouldn't call it a general exodus, exactly," she managed through tight lips. "Some of us are still loyal."

"Ah," he smiled. "Implying that you are unswerving in your devotion?"

"You think there's a problem with that?" She leaned back in her chair  and crossed her arms, uncaring as to what he analysed by her body  language now. "Seems you ought to be more concerned about the loyalty of  people you can buy."                       
       
           



       

Twin creases formed between Tremont's heavy black brows and his eyes  grew distant. This was the real Josh Tremont, she reminded herself. This  was the man who cold-bloodedly bought information about Palmer  Enterprises and used it to his advantage to underbid or outsupply their  clients-bit by bit, year by year, eating away at their success.

"Good point," he conceded. Before he could say any more, the waiter  brought their plates. "Let's leave this discussion until we've eaten,  hmm? Wouldn't want to spoil your appetite."

Callie allowed herself a short laugh. "It'd take a lot more than conversation to spoil my appetite."

"I'm pleased to hear it," he smiled in return. "I enjoy a woman with healthy appetites."

Callie froze; her fork halfway to her mouth. She had no doubt what  appetites he was talking about. Again that image flashed before her  eyes, this time though it was her body, her skin that he touched. And,  as if he'd reached across the table and stroked his elegant hand across  her shoulder and down, she felt her breasts grow full and heavy-her  nipples beading into tight points, abrading the soft fabric of her bra.

She was relieved when he skilfully turned the conversation to more  general matters while they ate, and she was surprised to find herself  enjoying his sharp wit and broad opinions as they ranged across a  variety of topics.

It was only after the waiter had cleared away their plates and delivered  frothy cappuccinos that Callie began to relax. She picked up her  teaspoon and scooped the chocolate off the froth of her coffee. She  lifted it to her lips and her tongue darted out to savour the hint of  wickedness-her favourite indulgence during the week. Tremont's next  words, however, brought things firmly back to business.

"I want you, Callie, and I'll pay whatever it takes to get you."

There it was. The offer she dreaded but knew she had to accept. She  remembered her discussion with Irene earlier in the week. Play it cool,  she reminded herself.

Callie raised one eyebrow in response. "I already have a job. One I love. With people I respect."

To her surprise Josh Tremont laughed out loud, the sudden sound turning the heads of the diners around them.

"Oh, you're good, Callie. You're very good. It's not everyone who tries  to put me in my place so politely. C'mon, name your price."

Callie took a sip of her coffee then carefully replaced her cup on its  saucer and lifted her gaze to meet his. Instantly she felt the power of  his will behind his stare. Were she a weaker woman, or even someone who  owed the Palmers any less, she had no doubt she'd have capitulated. But  she wasn't that person and she owed them everything. Nothing he could  do, or offer, would change that.

"What if I don't have one?" she finally replied.

"Everybody has a price, Callie," he coaxed.

"Let me think about it. I'll call you," she smiled coolly as she rose  and collected her document case. "Thank you very much for lunch. I  believe our meeting is over."

She tucked her case back under one arm before extending her hand to  Tremont to say goodbye. He got up from his chair, a dangerous glitter  reflected in his eyes. He took her hand, his thumb rubbing gently across  her skin, sending a ripple of warmth to traverse up her arm.

"I haven't given up, you know. Didn't your mother ever warn you about men like me? We enjoy a challenge."

Callie thought briefly of the woman who'd given birth to her. A woman  who'd preferred to dish out abuse-physical or mental, she hadn't been  fussy-rather than advice of any kind.

He leaned in a little closer. "I'll let you go for now, but don't keep me waiting too long," he urged, releasing her hand.

"I said I'll think about it. I won't promise more than that."

Tremont gave a short sharp nod. "I'll take you back to your car."

"That won't be necessary."

"I said I'd take you back to your car, and I will. I'm a man of my word."

"Are you?" she jibed.

"Oh, yes. Don't mistake me, Callie. I say what I mean and I always get what I want. Eventually."





Two


Josh Tremont set his phone back down on his desk and leaned back in his  chair, swivelling it around to view the glittering panorama of Auckland  City's inner harbour. For a moment he savoured the taste of success  before his mind turned to analysing the call he'd just received.

He allowed a small smile to pull at his lips. So Callie Rose Lee had her  price after all. It was high, but he could afford it. Besides, she was  worth so much more to him than she could possibly realise. She'd been  groomed by the Palmer family for the past ten years and losing her would  hopefully send a shock wave through them that would reverberate for  some time. And into the bargain he got an exceptionally clever, and  beautiful, assistant.                       
       
           



       

Now the last pieces of his plan would fall into place just the way he  wanted. This way, at least, he could get right down to business instead  of wasting precious time wooing her away from Irene Palmer's clawlike  grip. The satisfaction that spread through him was a balm to his soul.

Josh got up from his seat and crossed to the shelving unit against his  office wall. He lifted a photo frame from the wooden shelf and stared at  the faded black-and-white picture within. His mother looked so happy in  this shot-so carefree-and, with her hand on his eight-year-old  shoulder, they'd faced the world believing everything was good in their  lives. But it had been a lie. Nothing about his upbringing had been what  it seemed, nor what it should have been-now all that was about to  change.

Bruce Palmer had had his opportunity to make a difference and he'd  chosen not to. Had chosen instead the unemotional frozen woman who ruled  his empire at his side. Had chosen his legal-born son over his  illegitimate bastard.

Palmer's curt dismissal of Josh's notification when his mother had  died-a single sheet of paper with "No contact" typed in bold black  letters-had sealed his fate. Then eighteen, Josh had been shocked to  finally discover who his father really was and the searing pain of  emphatic rejection, hard on the heels of the death of the only parent he  had ever known, had been the catalyst that continued to drive him.

If Palmer had been half the man the country believed he was Josh's  mother wouldn't have had to work up to three jobs at a time to make sure  Josh never missed out.

In return, he'd vowed that one day he'd make things right for her and  give her the luxuries she deserved. Sadly, her illness had denied him  the chance to ever spoil her. Josh still cursed himself that, wrapped up  in his studies, he hadn't noticed her slow deterioration or realised  that her perpetual weariness was a far more ominous indicator than  simply her body's response to the physical demands of her work.

The doctors had said it was too late to do anything for her by the time  they'd detected the cancer. Too late to do anything but hope against  hope that she wouldn't slip away while he was at school during the day,  or at the cleaning job he'd taken over from her late at night to help  cover their living costs.

She'd lingered for two years and her end, when it came, had been without  him by her side. He'd been at the graduation ceremony for school, where  he'd been awarded top honours in his year group and a scholarship to  attend Victoria University in Wellington, only a short journey from  their home.

He'd felt the emptiness the instant he'd set foot inside the door, both  in the house and in his heart. An emptiness that remained, locked deep  inside.

His fingers tightened around the frame, knuckles whitening as the  helpless rage that had filled him as an angry and confused teen came  rushing back. He forced himself to relax and carefully replaced the  photo on the shelf, then closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the  happier image to imprint over the one that always lingered in the back  of his mind.