Hired by the Mysterious Millionaire

by Ally Blake

  She said, “I’ll kill the problem and you’ll bury it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Okay, then.” She cocked her head and got back to work.

  Her quiet focus became magnetic, as if she’d drawn all that cracking energy back inside of her. Headphones back on her head, she rocked from side to side.

  Armand craned his head to listen. But it was a song he didn’t know. A song young people liked. Young Australian people with no cares in the world.

  When Armand realised he was staring he took his subconscious by the throat and gave it a good shake. Now was not the time for distraction. He’d been skirting around the edges of the playing field until today. Now it was game on.

  He grabbed his paperwork and began to read.

  * * *

  Evie jiggled her key in the door of Zoe’s apartment, bumped the door open with her shoulder and threw her backpack, beanie and scarf onto the futon before collapsing into a heap with a sigh.

  “Work was that good, huh?” asked Zoe.

  Evie lifted her eyes to find her flatmate standing in the door of her bedroom, one leg hooked up on the other knee, eating tuna from the tin.

  Voice muffled by a cushion, Evie said, “It was amazing.”

  The code she’d been hired to investigate was brilliant. Elegant and clean. So neat it shone. Meaning any kind of error ought to stand out like a lump of coal. But the best part of her day? When she’d been gifted a glimpse behind Armand’s hard outer shell to the private man beneath.

  Zoe said, “Tell me all about it.”

  “The job itself... I can’t talk about.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “Used to that.”

  “For all the laid-back, geek-boy first impression, the infrastructure is slick. Sharp. Fast. And the technology we are working with... I think I’m in love. No, I’m definitely in love.”

  “And the people?”

  With the word love ringing in her ears, and Armand’s deep voice rumbling in his ear as he told her about the time he’d saved that little girl... She cleared her throat. “Men. Pretty much all men.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “You think?”

  Zoe loped back into the kitchenette. “Yeah, I get it. For me, in fashion, it’s pretty much the opposite. Anytime we get a man at work, gay or straight, the poor guy’s mobbed. Any particular men we need to talk about?”

  Evie tried to pull up Jamie’s face, but all she got was light hair, teeth, a general air of flirtation. Then the vague image instantly morphed into dark angles and stormy blue eyes. Elegant slouch and constant scowl. A ridiculously sexy accent saying, “Lovers are found where they are found...”

  “Nope,” Evie said. “Not a one.”

  Zoe slapped herself on the head. “I’d nearly forgotten. What about Mr Lonely Heart?”

  Which was when Evie realised she’d forgotten to tell Zoe that whole tale. And there was no way she could see around it. Squeezing one eye shut, she said, “Turns out he works for Game Plan too.”

  Zoe’s eyes near popped out of her head. “Noooo. Wow. That’s...fate.”

  “Yes... No.” She told Zoe about the book, the folders. “A simple case of subliminal messaging.”

  “But what about the lonely heart...?”

  “Not him.” She was almost one hundred percent sure.

  “Bummer.”

  “It’s a good thing. Means we can have a normal working relationship—cool, distant, professional.” Evie rolled off the futon and landed on her hands and knees before crawling into the bathroom, where she started up a hot bath.

  Then, a moment later, Zoe’s voice came through the keyhole. “If it wasn’t him, then who? Any man who writes poetry should be given a chance.”

  Evie reached into the bath and turned the taps to full blast, the noise of the spray giving her the excuse not to answer.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE NEXT MORNING Zoe and Evie sat in their usual seats on the train.

  It was a gorgeous Melbourne winter’s day—crisp blue skies and a brisk chill in the air. Yet Evie felt warm. Scratchy. She took off her bright red bomber jacket, then put it back on again. She fiddled with her beanie—black today, with double pom-poms that looked like teddy-bear ears. And she tried to stop staring at the electronic sign telling them how many stops to Armand’s South Yarra stop.

  Thankfully, Zoe was too busy sexting Lance, who’d landed back in Australia after his final overseas army posting. A few days, then, till Evie had to find somewhere else to live.

  She rocked forward as the train came to a halt. Her eyes zoomed to the doors. And a familiar form filled the space like liquid darkness.

  Cool, distant, professional, she told herself. But, as Armand’s eyes swept over the carriage before landing on hers, her nerves zapped and zinged, the hairs on her arms standing on end.

  Zoe’s hand flapped in the corner of Evie’s vision as she waved for Armand to join them.

  “Zoe,” Evie hissed. “Leave him be.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Eyes still locked onto Armand, Evie saw the squaring of his shoulders before he excused himself as he made his way up the busy aisle.

  “Good morning, Evie.”

  “Hey, Armand. Um, this is my friend Zoe. Zoe, Armand.”

  Zoe held out a hand and shook Armand’s with relish. “Sit.”

  The schoolboys must have had a day off, as there was a spare seat across from them. While Armand settled in Evie rearranged herself so as not to spend the trip playing footsie with the guy.

  Zoe said, “I hear you two are working together.”

  Evie caught Armand’s gaze, inscrutable as ever. “I only mentioned we were working together, not what we’re working on.”

  Zoe scoffed. “I wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

  “She really wouldn’t. Then again, neither would Armand.”

  Armand’s intense gaze darkened, just a fraction. It was quite the thing.

  After three solid seconds of eye contact, his gaze swept to Zoe. “She thinks I’m a Luddite.”

  “I thought you were French. Didn’t you say he’s French?”

  “I did. He is.” Evie’s mouth kicked into a grin and Armand’s eyes seemed to spark in shared amusement. A secret shared. Evie’s heart took a little tumble.

  She swallowed quickly and turned to Zoe—much safer—to explain the history of the Luddites and their aversion to new technology.

  The conversation then moved on to the design program Zoe was being forced to learn for work, to when it might be cold enough for proper coats, to the underfloor heating in Armand’s penthouse apartment in South Yarra.

  “Posh,” Zoe said. “Does it have an extra bedroom?”

  It took Evie a moment to break free from the Zen of listening to Armand talk and realise where Zoe was going. She gave her friend an elbow in the ribs.

  “Ouch. It’s a perfectly reasonable question.” Zoe sat forward. “Beneath the cool exterior, our girl here is brimming with panic as she is under the mistaken impression she has to move out of my place this week.”

  “She mentioned she was moving,” Armand said.

  “My boyfriend is moving in, so she thinks she has to leave.”

  “It’s a one-bedroom place. I sleep on a futon in the lounge. When Lance moves in it will be a little...”

  “Cramped,” Evie said right as Armand joined in with,

  “Intimate.”

  “That too,” Evie said, her voice a little rough. Their eyes locked. Evie swallowed. So much for “cool, distant, professional”.

  Taking Armand’s loaded silence for disapproval, Zoe added, “Don’t worry. It won’t distract her from work.”

  He shook his head, his mussed hair unsettling and resettling in an even more appealing alignment. “I’ve seen her work
. It would take an air-strike siren to distract her.”

  Zoe laughed. “And you’ve only known her a day. I wish my boss saw me like that. I’ve been working there a year and a half and she still thinks my name is Zelda.” Zoe nodded towards the door. “Your stop, guys.”

  Armand stood.

  This time Evie knew better than to try to keep up, so she made a play out of slowly collecting her things.

  “Don’t be late,” he instructed. Then with a nod he was gone.

  Evie saluted his back, then scrambled to get her backpack from under the seat.

  “I like him,” said Zoe as Evie stepped over her legs.

  “Then you can have him.”

  * * *

  Not wanting to look as if she was following Armand, Evie had dawdled to work. In the end she ran late, puffing by the time she reached the Bullpen.

  Naturally the first person she banged into was her boss.

  “Mr Montrose!”

  “Evie. How goes it? Settling in all right? Making friends? Getting the lie of the land?”

  “Great!” she enthused. “All is great!”

  “I see. Armand has scared you witless, has he?”

  Evie laughed. “He’s rather intense.” Arrogant, short-tempered, closed-off. Mysterious, hunky, fascinating.

  “Can be. Comes from being a genius among mere mortals.”

  “Then how come you’re so nice?”

  Jonathon blinked, then looked at her. Really looked at her for the first time since they had met. Notice me. See me. And please don’t fire me.

  Thankfully he laughed. “You’ll keep.”

  He looked ready to move on when he turned back to her. “Keep me in the loop, Evie.”

  “Of course.”

  “Not merely apropos the investigation. With regards to Armand.”

  Evie swallowed, not quite sure how to answer. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “The usual. If he’s playing nice, if he’s giving you enough space to do your job, how goes his state of mind.”

  “State of mind?”

  Jonathon glanced over her shoulder, the very image of nonchalant. “Has he spoken much about his life before he came here?”

  Apart from the story about the little girl, he’d barely spoken at all. “We’ve mostly talked about the work.”

  “Is he settling in? Making friends?”

  Help.

  The only time she’d seen him interact with anyone was when he’d glared down at Jamie at lunch. “I can’t really say.”

  A flash of a smile. “You’re loyal to him already. Good to see.”

  Was it loyalty? Or the fact she didn’t know him at all?

  Suddenly Evie’s stomach tightened and her ears began to burn as she remembered a similar conversation with her last boss, asking her how things were going with Eric. On that occasion she’d completely misunderstood—blustering over the fact that they’d broken up, kind of, that they were in the process of moving on, not realising her boss was asking if she’d noticed anything untoward.

  Not that Armand seemed anything like Eric. Polar opposite, in fact.

  Eric had been affable, like a St Bernard puppy. He’d appeared harmless and wasn’t.

  While Armand... He was far more at the Doberman pinscher end of the scale. A stunning specimen, but instinct said it was best not to stray too close. And yet he read actual books. Stood on the train so old ladies could sit. Had seemed genuinely concerned—in his own intangible way—that she might soon be out on her ear.

  Before she could come to any logical conclusions, Jonathon gave her a nod and left her to hurry to her office.

  She went to press her thumbprint against the security pad, only to find it was missing, the door unlocked and Armand working on the security pad, coloured cords poking out every which way.

  She edged in behind him, intrigued. Electrical circuits were one of the first things her granddad had taught her about when he’d realised it was easier to answer her zillion questions than hope they’d go away on their own.

  Making to “play nice”, she went to point out he had the wrong micro-screwdriver, when he reached into a small toolbox and pulled out the right one.

  The man might not know a gigabyte from a bug bite, but he clearly was capable in countless other ways. Of course, it only served to make him even more intriguing when she really needed him to become less.

  He grunted. Then said something in... Swedish? She realised he was also on the phone. A regular old landline tucked between ear and shoulder.

  But it was the tone of his voice that was the biggest surprise. It could almost be mistaken for chipper.

  She glanced towards Jonathon’s office, wondering if she ought to tell him. But it didn’t feel right. If Jonathon wanted them to get along, then she’d make it her focus to get along.

  She caught Armand’s eye as she moved to her desk to let him know she’d arrived. He gave her a small nod as she passed—practically a hug in Armand world.

  Then stopped when she found a new addition to her little corner—a small cabinet, elegant, wooden, most likely antique, with enough room for her backpack and a shelf for personal touches she’d brought from home. And, above, a pair of fat knobs nailed to the wall, the perfect size for her scarf. And her beanie.

  She turned to ask Armand if he knew who to thank but stopped short when she saw him leaning back in his chair, ankle hooked over the opposite knee, a hand waving through the air as he illustrated some point the person on the other end of the line could not see.

  It was the smile that got her. Wide, crooked, creasing the edges of his eyes until they were no longer stormy. Her blood rushed so hard and fast she could hear it in her ears.

  Gaze sweeping unseeingly over the room, those eyes caught on hers. A mercurial, sparkling blue-grey, like sunlight on water.

  The swinging stopped. His hand dropped. The smile slowly melted away.

  But the light in his eyes remained. Just for a moment. A breath really. But enough for something to rage to life deep in Evie’s belly.

  Then he blinked, his gaze sliding away from her as if it had never caught, his chair turned to face the other wall as he continued his discourse, the foreign words quieting, easing down the phone lines.

  Evie sat. Switched on her computer. Got to work. But it was a while before her heart slowed. Before she could even see the screen.

  A half-hour later she jumped when Armand said, in English this time, “Team meeting.”

  She turned to find him at the lounge. The halfway mark of the office. No-man’s-land.

  Evie played with the zip on her bomber jacket as she moved out to join him. Then sat primly on the edge of the couch. Her hands clasped together.

  Armand said, “You go first.”

  “Who was on the phone?”

  He baulked. “A colleague.”

  “A colleague...?”

  “Performing background checks.”

  She waited for more, to get some insight into who in his life could make him smile that way. But nope. She got nothing. “Have they found anything to report?”

  His eyebrow jumped.

  Evie brought her hand to her chest. “Or am I not allowed to ask?”

  Armand’s inscrutable gaze flickered and she half expected him to say, no, she was not allowed to ask.

  In the end he waved a conciliatory hand and went on to outline the work he’d done so far. The accounting errors that seemed just that. The dead ends he’d reached. The players he was targeting as suspicious. It was an impressive amount of work. She wondered that he’d had time to sleep, much less settle in, make friends.

  “I bumped into Jonathon this morning,” she said when he was done.

  “And?”

  “He asked me to keep him in the loop.”

  Armand stilled. No,
he stiffened, his entire body going rigid. But his voice was smooth, giving nothing away as he said, “It is his business.”

  “It wasn’t about the business. He asked me to keep an eye on you.”

  Armand shot to his feet, pacing back and forth over the same small patch of floor, muttering in French and a little English about “trust” and “allegiance”, with a few choice swear words thrown in for flavour. It was more emotion than she had ever seen him display—anger, disappointment, regret. The mix volatile, unexpected; she couldn’t hope to pin each down.

  Evie stood, running suddenly sweating palms down the front of her jacket. “Armand, I told you because I have no intention of following through.”

  Armand stopped mid-stride. “What do you mean?”

  “The way I see it, we are a team. If one of us is playing the other it won’t work. Been there, done that, don’t ever want to go through it again. But if I’m wrong, if this is more than Jonathon stirring, if there’s something about you I should know...”

  Armand pinned her with a dark glare. “You said it yourself—we are a team. We are not friends. There is nothing you need to know bar the report I just gave.”

  The burn travelled fast, singeing her cheeks till they flared. She held up both hands in surrender. “Forget I said anything.”

  He gave her one last, long look before he walked slowly to his chair, where he sat and watched her from his place in the semi-darkness.

  Evie crossed her arms. “I take it the team meeting is over?”

  Armand waved a hand in agreement before he scraped his fingernails through his stubble.

  Evie scooted back to her own desk, where she sat, stiff-backed, staring unseeingly at her monitors.

  A few moments later, Armand’s voice came to her. “If this job is so important to you, why not do as Jonathon asked? Why tell me at all?”

  She turned, keeping her fingers poised on the keyboard. “I didn’t think it was fair.” One thing she had taken out of the implosion of her last job and her part in it was that whatever happened she had to be able to live with herself.

  Armand sank his face into his hands a moment before giving it a good scrub and looking at her with haunted eyes. “Bad things happen to good people in this world. I’ve seen it time and time again. If you don’t toughen up, grow a thicker skin, I fear for you, Evie. I really do.”