Singapore Fling with the Millionaire

by Michelle Douglas

  She planted her hands on her hips. ‘I had a great time last night—it was an amazing experience. But today was every bit as fun.’ Golden eyes speared to his, full of challenge. ‘Are you up for an adventure?’

  He should back off. Instead he found his chin coming up. ‘Always.’

  ‘Excellent,’ she purred. ‘Meet me in the foyer at seven p.m. Dinner’s on me tonight.’

  * * *

  Christy glanced around at the crowded food hall and things inside her took flight, just as they had earlier in the day when she’d been walking through Chinatown—taking her time to browse the market stalls and to just...feel free for a few hours from all the worries that had been weighing her down for the last twelve months. Today had been such a delight.

  Jamie didn’t know what a gift he’d given her. It was why she’d so foolishly and impulsively invited him to dinner tonight. She’d wanted to give something back.

  She shouldn’t have done it. They both knew it’d be far wiser to put a little—or a lot—of distance between them until that kiss had become a faint memory. It was why he’d left her to her own devices today rather than accompanying her to protect his investment. So why had he accepted the invitation?

  Maybe that kiss had already become a faint memory for him? It took all her strength to stop her lip from curling at that thought.

  ‘This place is hopping.’

  She snapped to at his words. ‘It is.’ But as her guidebook described it as one of the best food halls in the Arts District that should be no surprise. ‘Free table,’ she squeaked, pushing him towards a table for two. ‘What would you like to eat?’

  They’d done two full circuits, just taking in the myriad food options. She’d counted sixteen different vendors in this one hall, all offering a variety of delicious-looking dishes. The vegetables looked fresh and bright, and the scent of cooking spices made her mouth water.

  ‘I don’t—’ A crafty expression flitted across his face. ‘I chose last night, so how about I leave tonight’s choice to you.’

  It made her laugh. ‘Well, I’m going to work on the premise that it’s all good.’

  ‘Excellent premise.’

  She made for one of the vendors whose display of fresh ingredients appealed to her artist’s eye before she could find herself too caught up in Jamie’s smile and the blue of his eyes. She chose two traditional specialities, all the while lecturing herself that she was an adult woman and not a giddy adolescent, returning to the table with a laden tray and a renewed sense of resolution.

  She set a bowl in front of him—‘Apparently we get a free soup with our meals’—before unloading the rest of the dishes from the tray.

  He stared at her. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, maybe it’s a thing. I suggest we just roll with it.’

  ‘Roger.’

  ‘And this is Hainanese Chicken Rice—widely considered Singapore’s national dish. And this—’ she pointed to the noodle, minced pork and prawn dish ‘—is Wonton Mee—another local speciality. Oh, and some satay sticks to share because they smelled so good.’ And because she didn’t know how hungry he was. Last of all she handed him a soda.

  He stared at it all, his gaze taking in every detail. ‘Which dish do you want?’

  ‘I love the sound of them both. So you can have whichever you want.’ She watched his eyes dart from one to the other. ‘Or,’ she added, ‘we can do what my girlfriends and I sometimes do and share.’

  ‘Perfect solution.’

  They each pulled the nearest dish in close to sample it, watching each other’s expressions. The food was fresh and wholesome and unbelievably cheap. ‘OMG,’ she muttered. ‘This is really good.’

  He nodded his agreement, reaching for a satay stick. ‘Seriously good.’

  When she’d read the words food hall in her guidebook it had brought to mind the eating area of her local shopping centre in Australia—a place that served generic fast food. This was fast but there was nothing generic about it.

  Jamie gestured at his plate. ‘You have to try the Wonton Mee.’

  They swapped dishes and ate in silence until Christy couldn’t fit another bite in, leaving Jamie to finish off the last of their food ‘More?’ she asked when he was done.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m full. I just couldn’t bear to waste any of it.’ He sat back with a satisfied sigh, glancing around. ‘I had no idea this place was almost on our doorstep. It’s a gem.’

  ‘I’m guessing it’s not the kind of place your colleagues are likely to bring you. They probably think you prefer five-star dining. Oh! Not that five-star dining isn’t great—’

  ‘But so is this. It feels real. In a way that takeout pizza feels real.’

  He liked pizza?

  ‘Thanks for bringing me here, Christy. It’s an adventure I’d have not missed for the world.’

  The way he looked at her made her toes curl. ‘I thought you’d like it.’ She fiddled with her shirtsleeves, trying to ignore the temptation curling through her. In this setting, wearing casual clothes and gazing around at everything with a lively interest, he looked disturbingly real too, and nothing like the ice prince who’d met her at the airport.

  As for their kiss... She’d never experienced anything like it. Not just its intensity and the speed with which she’d been ready to throw all caution to the wind, but its beauty. Which was a strange word to use to describe a kiss, but she couldn’t think of another that better captured the magic she’d experienced in Jamie’s arms.

  Except she had to try and put that kiss out of her mind.

  With a mental shake, she forced her mind into a different channel. This food-hall experience was such a tiny adventure. Jamie should expand his horizons. ‘I think you’d get a kick out of Chinatown too...and the Buddhist temple.’

  For a long moment he didn’t answer. ‘You think I’m nothing more than a spoiled rich kid who doesn’t have a clue how to live in the real world without a driver, personal assistant, and his credit card.’

  A bitter smile lurked at the corners of his mouth, and she automatically started to shake her head but stopped. What did she really know about him after all?

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘If I said I wasn’t, you wouldn’t believe me.’

  ‘I suspect you have enough life skills to get by if your credit card happened to be mysteriously cancelled or if your driver and PA were on holiday and out of contact.’

  ‘But?’

  She shrugged. In for a penny... ‘We’ve already established that your real world is very different from my real world. And that gives the two of us very different perspectives on the lives of the women I’ve been working with in Africa, China and Central America.’

  He leaned towards her, and she had the feeling that his every sense had sharpened. ‘And what’s your take away from that?’

  ‘That you don’t understand the importance to their lives of the work I send their way.’

  ‘Then tell me.’

  So she did. She sourced her textiles, beads and other embellishments from village co-ops in Africa, China and Central America, and the trade she sent their way was having a major impact on those communities. In one instance it was helping to improve local infrastructure, like roads and bridges. In one village it meant the younger generation of girls could be sent to school. In yet another, women who had been cast out of their communities due to fistulas—a childbirth injury—were able to get life-changing surgery. These were things that mattered, that made a significant difference to people’s lives. It wasn’t something she could just walk away from.

  When she was done, he dragged a hand down his face. ‘You’re right. I’ve no notion of how hard these people’s lives are.’

  ‘Neither do I. I’ve not suffered the kinds of hardships they’re facing. And I know it’s only a drop in the ocean, but it means a lot to me.’


  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘And whoever I sell Beach Monday to has to promise to maintain those same links, and to continue the education programmes I’ve helped set in place.’

  ‘That goes without saying.’

  Did it? She wasn’t so sure. ‘What guarantees can you give me that it would continue to be the case? Once Beach Monday is yours, you can do whatever you damn well please.’ MA could trade on Beach Monday’s good name without lifting a finger to continue her company’s good work.

  He leaned towards her. ‘Christy, it’s these very contacts that I want and need. It’s why Beach Monday is such an attractive proposition to me. You already have the contacts I want in place. Your stance on ethical issues, the awards you’ve won, are well known. In buying Beach Monday, Molto Arketa would be tacitly pledging to continue that work.’

  ‘Or, in buying Beach Monday, Molto Arketa could simply be capitalising on Beach Monday’s impeccable reputation in an attempt to rehabilitate its own tarnished one. Without any intention of following through on promises made.’

  ‘I could have specific clauses written into the contract legally binding MA to the co-ops.’

  Her lips twisted. ‘Along with a thousand loopholes for the express purpose of breaking it when things became too hard or not cost-effective enough.’

  ‘I’ve already told you it’s important to me to rebuild MA’s reputation. There’s no denying that buying Beach Monday would turn public perception around, but it’s equally true that I share your vision.’

  She folded her arms, resting them on the table. ‘What’s more important to you, Jamie—rehabilitating MA’s reputation or creating a more equitable world?’

  ‘You don’t think I can do both?’

  And there was her answer. She had the distinct impression that Jamie focused on the wrong things. But she didn’t know why. She knew he was kind—she’d had first-hand experience of it. But he was also driven.

  Her heart gave a kick and her pulse started to race. What if she could find a way to direct that drive and determination in the service of more altruistic goals?

  The idea had her straightening. Well, why not? If she could convince someone like Jamie to support the same causes she did, then the benefit to communities in developing countries would be tremendous. MA’s scale was a thousand times greater than hers.

  ‘You know, Jamie, what worries me is that you work too hard and don’t take enough notice of the amazing things around you. I don’t think you appreciate it the way you ought to.’ She leaned towards him. ‘Just because you were born to wealth and privilege doesn’t mean you’re not entitled to a holiday. At the rate you’re going, you will burn out. When that happens, someone else will be made CEO—one of the old fogeys you’re currently fighting, no doubt. I don’t want someone like that in charge of Beach Monday.’

  Not that it’d be Beach Monday any more. It’d be part of MA.

  ‘Has it occurred to you that you have an over-inflated sense of responsibility to these village co-ops of yours?’

  ‘Not for a moment.’

  He nodded as if her words didn’t surprise him. ‘I don’t know how much information you gathered when you did that online search on me and MA, but I’m thinking you wouldn’t have had to dig far to discover that my father was...’

  A notorious playboy, but she didn’t say the words out loud. The man had been Jamie’s father, and he’d died when Jamie was only twelve—and twelve was an impressionable age. He could’ve been a playboy and a good father. One didn’t necessarily cancel the other out.

  ‘He was one of those people who took his good fortune for granted. He went through money like there was no tomorrow and lived like a prince.’

  Okay, then. Perhaps not such a good father.

  ‘He was selfish and spoiled and lazy...except when it came to pursuing women he wasn’t married to.’

  Her insides clenched. Denise Cooper-Ford should’ve kicked his sorry butt to the kerb and divorced him. But she hadn’t. Had she loved her husband? Or was it the Cooper-Ford name that she loved?

  None of her business.

  ‘When he was dying, he had a change of heart—told me he was sorry he hadn’t been a better father, said he wished he’d spent more time with me.’

  Her heart burned at the expression in Jamie’s eyes. What effect had his parents’ tumultuous marriage had on him? He’d been so young. It must’ve been awful. No amount of wealth could make up for that.

  ‘He made me promise to not make the same mistakes he had.’

  She leaned across the table to grip his hand. ‘And you haven’t—you’re neither a spendthrift nor a playboy. But it doesn’t mean you’re never allowed to let your hair down.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘Christy, even as a child I wasn’t much of one for letting my hair down.’

  ‘It’s never too late to learn.’

  She reclaimed her hand. His touch could undo her. And she had no intention of being undone. She’d been proven wrong about men in the past. She was the figurehead of a company that advocated for issues of social justice. She wasn’t making a fool of herself over a man again. Not when it had the potential to play out in the rarefied atmosphere of the Cooper-Ford world. She couldn’t do anything that would reflect badly on her company.

  Jamie’s brow pleated, and for a moment she had the oddest sensation that his perfect self had fallen away and what she was looking at now was the real man beneath the façade. And as his eyes met hers, all the noise and bustle of the food hall fell away for a brief moment and nothing existed beyond the two of them. And then one of them blinked—she couldn’t have said which—and so did the other, and all the noise and bustle flooded back.

  She stared at her hands, motionless in her lap, and wished for another napkin to shred.

  ‘We’re taking a table that someone else could use.’ He leaned towards her, his eyes intent. ‘Would you like to go for a drink?’

  She shouldn’t. She should make her excuses and go back to the apartment. Alone.

  Do you want to say no?

  Of course not. It was, therefore, probably imperative that she did.

  ‘I’d like to continue our conversation.’

  Conversation?

  Oh, yes! They’d been talking about her village co-ops. She’d do everything she could to promote them. ‘Please tell me you know some fabulous funky place down on the Quay because I’d kill for a G & T.’

  Amusement chased across his face. ‘Of course I do.’

  * * *

  Half an hour later they were in an upstairs bar overlooking the river—and the plethora of bright young things thronging the Quay’s eateries. It felt like a party. Christy pressed her hands together and stared at it all. ‘This is brilliant!’

  Noting the serious expression in his eyes, she reined in her enthusiasm for the bar, the Quay, and Singapore itself. ‘You said you wanted to continue our conversation. What did you want to ask me?’

  ‘I’m puzzled.’ He held his glass of Scotch in his hands. He hadn’t yet taken a sip. ‘You’re proud of everything you’ve achieved with Beach Monday?’

  What a strange question. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you feel strongly about your village co-ops and education programmes and the charities you’re involved in?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  That frown deepened. ‘Then why do you want to sell? Why hand the reins to someone else? Why give up your control of a company you’ve built from scratch?’

  She stirred her straw through her drink. ‘Two reasons. The first is that Beach Monday is on the brink of major international success.’

  He nodded his agreement.

  ‘I don’t have the business skills to take the company to the next level.’

  He leaned back but didn’t say anything.

  She nodded anyway as if he had. ‘I can learn
them and I could become good at them.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But the shocking truth is that I don’t want to. I’ve discovered I’ve no liking for the business and administration side of things. Which leads me to my second reason. I’m a designer. I want to design.’

  His brow cleared. ‘And being in charge leaves you no time for that.’

  She took a fortifying sip of her G & T. ‘It’s not only that. Being in charge wrings me dry.’ His eyes narrowed and she had no idea if he understood what she meant or not. ‘For the last year I’ve struggled to come up with a single design concept of any worth. Until I arrived here in Singapore, I was starting to worry that my creativity was gone for ever.’

  His every muscle stiffened as if in protest. ‘But it hasn’t. Since you’ve been here it’s been firing on all cylinders.’

  ‘Yes.’ She closed her eyes briefly and sent up a prayer of thanks. ‘Which proves to me that the business side of things is definitely impacting on my creativity in a detrimental way.’

  ‘It is possible to find a balance, Christy.’

  She didn’t want to.

  ‘And you’ve had a lot on your mind as well—your mother’s health scare would’ve had an impact.’

  She nodded in acknowledgement. But it didn’t change the facts.

  ‘And you could take on a partner—someone to run the business side of things. That would free you up to focus on designing.’

  She nodded at that too. It was her Plan B. A plan she had no enthusiasm for.

  ‘But you don’t want to.’ He finally sipped his Scotch and she did her best not to notice the way his mouth touched the glass. ‘You’re an all-or-nothing person,’ he finally said, setting the glass back down.

  She hadn’t considered it in those terms before. ‘I guess I am. If I can’t sell Beach Monday to a company I trust, however, a partner is the route I’ll take.’

  Yay. Not.

  ‘But?’ Those blue eyes sharpened. ‘Why the lamentable lack of enthusiasm? I’d have thought you’d welcome the chance to maintain ties to your company.’