A year with the billionaire

Chapter 2

Donald’s pov

Though none of my grief slips into my voice. It never pays to appear weak. My mother taught me that and life reinforced it. ‘I don’t see why we can’t get this over and done with now.’

He chokes on thin air and wets his lips—the gesture tests my patience and my nerves further.

‘I’m sure they will be here very soon. They promised they would be. And I promised your grandmother I would abide by their wishes.’

‘If I’m to be made to wait for this person, surely I deserve a name?’

My ears are primed for their identity...yet, nothing. What’s he so afraid of?

‘Come now, Nathan. I must know them. Unless you’ve managed to dig up some distant relative that no one has ever heard of and declare Tessa’s entire—’

‘I’m so sorry I’m late!’

The breathless voice permeates the heavy oak door to Nathan’s office and the man himself shoots up out of his seat, wiping his palms down his trousers as the door opens on his secretary.

‘Miss Evans has arrived, Mr McAllister.’

‘Thank you, Tracy.’

He’s already striding forward, his smile warm as he looks past Tracy to the woman I’ve heard but haven’t yet set eyes on.

Miss Evans?

Who on earth is...?

The faintest of bells ring in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind... The slight rasp to that feminine tone...the unidentifiable accent...

I rise and turn, good manners overriding my mental flurry as I seek to greet our new arrival, but the ground shifts beneath my feet, my vision narrowing until all I see is her.

/Amanda/.

It’s not... It can’t be...

I force my body to straighten, smooth out my tie on impulse as my head refuses to believe what my eyes are seeing. At first all I register is an abundance of blonde hair and bronze skin—far too much skin for autumn in Scotland—and clothing that seems so mismatched it’s like she’s walked into a charity shop and paid no heed to size nor colour. Her walking boots are as worn as her backpack, which is almost as big as her and likely weighs much more.

Where the hell does she think she is? Her whole get-up is better suited to a trek across the sunny beaches of Bali than the streets of Edinburgh in the damp and dreary depths of autumn.

Does she not realise what season we’re in? Does she not care that she looks so out of place?

Did she ever?

My head taunts me, reminds me, teases me.

This is Amanda, who never cared for anyone’s opinion but her own.

And that’s when I meet her gaze and it truly hits home. Amanda. Amanda Evans. She’s the person we’ve been waiting for. She’s the person Gran insisted be here for this.

A thousand memories surge forth as my heart stutters in my chest.

Though she hasn’t got the heart for remorse.

I’m the one choking on thin air now, and she has the decency to look away, to hesitate. She combs unsteady fingers through her hair, sweeps the rain-dampened strands off her flushed cheeks and she secures it back with some brightly coloured cloth.

Where on earth has she come from? Where has she been all this time? And, more importantly, why is she here?

She grips her backpack tightly now, her knuckles flashing white, and I realise the room has fallen silent and all eyes are on me. Waiting on me.

Her throat bobs, her lashes flutter. ‘Well, shall we sit?’

Sit? With her? To hear my grandmother’s will? This has to be a joke. Some weird, twisted joke.

‘Yes, let’s sit.’

Nathan is all over the idea, ushering her to a seat, helping her deposit her bag on the floor, and I’m... I’m stood there like some bloody lemon. My eyes tracking her, devouring her. Does the woman not own a coat? It’s raining cats and dogs out there and her bare arms shine with it, her clothes cling to her skin...

And just like that I’m back at the loch over two decades ago, and the fire is as immediate as it is unwelcome.

‘Can I get you a drink, Miss Evans?’

Nathan persists in trying to make her welcome...trying to make up for my obvious hostility, I’m sure.

‘A coffee? Tea? Water...?’

I can almost sense Gran looking down on me in disapproval, her tut-tut-tut echoing through my soul.

If Gran wants her here, my mind tries to reason, you need to play nice.

‘Water would be lovely,’ she murmurs softly, and I want to shut myself off from the way her voice sings through my blood. ‘Thank you.’

‘Sparkling? Still?’

‘Either’s fine,’ she says, her eyes returning to me, hesitant, wary...

She’s completely out of her depth.

It should make me feel better.

It doesn’t.

It does make me move, though.

Dragging a hand over my face, I return to my seat and force normal service to resume—the projection of an outward calm strong enough to mask the inner storm.

Oh, Gran, what have you done?

Amanda’s pov

‘GRAN’SDONEWHAT?’

I leap a little in my seat at Donald’s outburst. I’m not sure what’s worse: his initial greeting or his response to the will.

Not that I can blame him for either.

And I’m just as stunned. Speechless, in fact. Not a trait I’m experienced in, let alone know how to handle. But I’m still struggling to believe we’re in the same room together...never mind the unbelievable news Mr McAllister has just delivered.

‘Would y-you like me to re-read it from the beginning?’

McAllister dabs at his forehead, his wrinkles deepening. Poor man. Donald is fierce. Like, seriously fierce. The sharp cut of his deep blue suit adds to his severity, and his carefully groomed brown hair is unmoving in its swept-back style, the hard angle to his designer stubble precise and accentuating his prominent cheekbones and strong jaw.

Gone is the twenty-year-old I met all those years ago. The clean-shaven, ex-public schoolboy with his foppish hair, quiet, reserved smiles and sweet nature.

This is a man with the full weight of his years, wealth and success behind him. Not to mention his obvious dislike of me...

‘No. No, I don’t need you to read it from the beginning, Nathan. I understood. I just—’

His chocolate-brown eyes flit to me, razor-sharp, and my heart gives an involuntary flip. I don’t even have time to recover before he’s looking back at McAllister, accusation flaring in his depths.

‘She can’t have been thinking straight. You were supposed to...’ he waves a hand at the man ‘...make sure she was in her right mind when she made such decisions.’

‘Donald!’ I erupt, driven by my innate need to defend her. ‘Don’t you dare question Tessa’s mind; she was perfectly sane.’

‘Really?’

His eyes return to me and I can’t breathe for the emotion I see there. Anger. Hatred. Pain...

He clenches the end of the armrest closest to me, the veins in his hand popping, his entire body emanating a physical strength he didn’t possess before.

‘And what would you know of her mind when you haven’t seen her in twenty years?’

Bullseye—he might as well have thrown a dart straight through my grieving heart.

‘I’ve always been around,’ I say quietly, my cheeks burning with the direct hit.

‘Around?’His mouth lifts into a chilling one-sided smile. ‘Is that what you call it?’

‘Now, now...’

McAllister comes to my rescue. I half expect him to add children to the end and inwardly cringe. I don’t need him to fight my battles. Especially in front of Edward—against Edward.

‘Can we focus on the necessary? Tessa knew this would come as a...how shall I put it?...a shock. But she was very clear in her request, and felt it was in both your interests to see the conditions of her will through to fruition.’

His voice softens and yet strengthens as he speaks, as if he’s warming up to the idea as he watches us closely. I don’t know what he sees in us to warrant such sudden positivity. Maybe there’s more than just water in the crystal glass he’s drinking from.

I take a sip from my own glass, wishing it really was something stronger.

‘You were friends once,’ he adds into the strained silence. ‘I think Tessa thought you could readily be so again.’

‘And what if we can’t?’ I say, ignoring the pang his words evoke. ‘Stick to the terms, I mean?’

Beside me Donald makes a sound behind his fist—was that a snort? I give him the side-eye, but his gaze is fixed on McAllister.

‘Yes. What she said...’

The grin she gives me is accentuated by lines that suggest she smiles often. The nose that has seen a bump or two lifts marginally and her eyes...her eyes transport me back twenty years, to those same bright blue eyes, the same rebellious grin...

I snap my gaze away.

‘What the hell is she doing here?’ I fire at Nathan, and his sweat makes a prompt return, his smile falters.

‘Well, if you’ll both sit down,’ he blusters, ‘I can explain just that.’

‘It’s a pleasure to see you too,’ she directs at me, and although her voice is strong, her eyes show a hint of what I’d like to think is remorse.