‘Who?’
‘The owner. He’s turned up unexpectedly.’
‘The French guy?’ Son of the folly man? Given the old dude hadn’t lived to see the chateau finished, she guessed the son to be in his late forties or fifties.
Nathan nodded vehemently. ‘We have to do whatever it takes to convince him this is the place.’
Ellie didn’t want to stay here a moment longer than necessary, not when she had that other guest to avoid. Besides, securing permission to film onsite wasn’t usually a problem. Business owners were thrilled to get the exposure. Plus they were well compensated. Although this place was in a class of its own. The elite of the elite retreated here where every luxury was on tap—and the key was its privacy. ‘What’s your plan?’
Nathan was frowning at her outfit. ‘I thought you might toy with the man or something?’
‘Pardon?’ Ellie asked, certain she’d heard wrong.
‘You know, charm him.’ He was still frowning at her outfit. ‘Flirt him round your finger.’
Ellie blinked as the real Nathan was revealed. Yeah, now the smooth had been removed—she realised that was what he did. Oozed charm to get what he wanted. All those compliments and the coy flirting he’d done with her? What had he really been after? Clearly not sex. She’d known the industry she worked in was all about the illusion—but this was killing the dream too much for her. ‘We might work for film-makers, but the casting couch doesn’t happen when it comes to locations.’
Lying back in bed—still recovering from his interrupted sleep—Ruben was glad for the open window and the way words spoken in the courtyard were carried up to his ears. The conversation going on down there was supremely interesting.
‘He’s French, isn’t he? Frenchmen love an elegant woman. Not sure they like jeans.’
‘Actually denim was originally created in France,’ Ellie—Ruben liked her name—snapped back at the Nathan prat.
‘Well, don’t you have anything sexier? What about a skirt or something?’
‘I don’t think skin is going to get us far. He’s probably married.’
Ruben bit back a chuckle at that suggestion.
‘Can’t you make the effort? This is a major deal—you know that, don’t you?’
‘I’m not going to prostitute myself just to land a contract, Nathan. That’s not the way I operate.’
‘You know this industry is all about image,’ Nathan lectured her. ‘I wanted you here because you’re so boringly together with paperwork, but you have to step up to the plate when the heat is on.’ Nathan began with the clichéd metaphors. ‘You need the killer instinct. You do whatever it takes to impress him.’
Ruben couldn’t believe she’d wanted to get it on with this idiot. What had she been thinking?
‘You might flirt your way into getting what you want, but that’s not what I’m about,’ Ellie answered back.
Go, the spitfire.
‘Don’t you want to win?’ the doofus asked.
‘Not at that price,’ she answered smartly.
No, he’d known she wasn’t ruthless or cynical. Ruben frowned at the hint of real hurt in her tone. Had she really had feelings for the jerk?
‘Fingers crossed the guy is gay, Nathan, so you can be the one to flash the skin.’
Ruben got out of bed and walked into his bathroom. He couldn’t wait to get down there. But by the time he did, she was alone, the only sign of any lingering annoyance the light flush on her cheeks. A flush that deepened when she saw him.
‘Good morning,’ he said to her for the second time that day.
‘Oh.’ She looked startled he’d spoken, as if she’d thought he was a mirage or something. ‘Hello.’
Ms Cautious herself.
‘You never mentioned your plans this morning.’ He walked to the table that was laden with breakfast options. ‘It’s a beautiful place—are you going to explore it some more?’
She shook her head and looked everywhere but at him. ‘I’m here to work.’
‘But you don’t much like your work. You’re supposed to come here to relax and escape. Have you hunted out the spa facilities yet?’
Her flush deepened again. ‘I don’t have time for the spa. I really have to work and I really do need to get on with it so...’
‘Maybe you ought to have some breakfast first. You must be hungry after last night.’
He sat down at the table, aware of the frustrated look she directed at him. No, he wasn’t going to leave her alone. He bit into a croissant to hide his smile.
‘I think I’ll just have a coffee.’
He reached for the pot before she did, pouring a cup and handing it to her with deliberate care.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled.
Ruben sent her a hot look. He didn’t like her reserve; he preferred the tease he’d seen up in his room. And he knew there was a bomb going off behind that frozen exterior.
‘Ruben Theroux!’ a guy called loudly, striding out from inside, a huge smile on his face. ‘Wonderful to see you.’
Ruben knew the difference between sycophantic and genuine warmth. This was a no-brainer. He glanced at Ellie—a total ‘what were you thinking?’ look. Then he turned back to Nathan.
‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure who you are,’ Ruben answered coolly, not bothering to stand, just looking up from the table.
But clearly Nathan had done his homework—unlike his sidekick.
‘I’m Nathan, I’m here with CineSpace. You know we’re interested in your fabulous property. It would be just perfect for—’
‘I’d like to finish my breakfast first,’ Ruben interrupted, blatantly dismissive. ‘Perhaps we can talk later?’
‘Oh.’ Nathan rallied in less than a second, his reply too collegial. ‘Of course.’
‘Why don’t you go down to the stables? I’ll be sure to find you there.’
Having sent the pain in the neck away, Ruben looked at the stop-sign-red face of his curvy midnight caller and felt that foreign tug in his chest again. To cover the awkward moment he went for the usual—tease. ‘So, what are you going to do next to impress me?’
Ellie forced back the faint feeling. The guy she’d slept with was the owner Nathan reckoned she had to ‘do anything to impress’—and he’d listened in to that conversation?
‘How else?’ Her temper flared. Did he think last night had been her attempt at the casting couch? ‘Look, I didn’t know who you were. It was a genuine—’
His laughter cut her off. ‘I know that, sweetheart. I got in really late, no one knew until this morning that I was here. I know you weren’t trying to convince me to say yes in time-honoured fashion.’
She still didn’t believe he was the owner. ‘You’re supposed to be French.’
‘I’m half French but I’ve lived in New Zealand since I was six.’
‘You’re not old enough to own this place.’ He looked late twenties. Dressed in jeans and a tee he looked more like the gardener than the owner. But that fitting-too-good tee shirt had ‘Lucky’ emblazoned across his chest and Ellie already knew the guy got lucky—every, single, time.
‘My father was an old man when I was born.’