âIF YOU donât nail this deal, Cara, weâre sunk.â
Cara stared at her business partner in shock.
âWhat do you mean âsunkâ?â she asked, her palms moistening in mild panic.
Trevor flapped his hands in the air theatrically as he answered, âKaput, finito, washed up.â
She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat as she met his troubled gaze across the desk.
âBut weâre doing all right,â she said. âYou said so only last month at our planning meeting. And with the Pritchard account due any day nowââ
Trevor shook his head.
âI had a meeting with the accountant this morning. Our business loan is stretched to the limit and the paltry Pritchard pennies wonât even cover this weekâs interest, let alone next monthâs. Thatâs why the Rockcliffe account is so crucial. We literally canât survive without it.â
Cara automatically stiffened at the mention of that name. Tiny feathers of fear tickled the length of her spine as she brought its ownerâs dark features to mind.
âWhy me?â she asked after a lengthy silence, her skin still prickling in apprehension.
âBecause youâre the one he asked for, darling,â Trevorâs tone was full of affront as he inspected his perfectly manicured nails. âHe insisted on you handling the whole account. Quite homophobic of him, I thought. But then youâd know all about that since you were once married to him.â
Caraâs eyes gave little away, but inside she felt as if her stomach was unravelling.
âIt was a long time ago, Trevor,â she said as dispassionately as she could. âSeven years, in fact. I hardly even remember what he looks like. Probably got a paunch by now, and a bald patch the size of a lawn,â she added for effect.
âPerhaps thatâs why he asked for you.â He grinned boyishly. âHe might want to refresh your memory a bit.â
She gave him a reproving look.
âIâm sure thereâs nothing wrong with Byron Rockcliffeâs memory,â she said. âItâs his motives that worry me.â
âMotives?â Trevorâs eyes widened expressively. âWho gives a fig about his motives? Heâs doing our business a favour by engaging your services. Think of it! A harbourside mansion in Cremorne. Carte blanche, no questions asked.â
âIt sounds too good to be true,â she cautioned. âIâd prefer to see the fine print before I commit myself.â
âItâs too late for that. Iâve already committed usâI mean you.â He gave her a shame-faced look and continued, âSorry, pet, but I had to do it. I couldnât see all that money going to someone else. You know what they say about looking a gift horse in the mouth.â
âYes,â she said, getting to her feet and reaching for her portfolio. âI do know what they say, and youâd do well to remember it. A horseâs age is commonly assessed by the length of its teeth. You have only to insist on the horseâs mouth being opened to see if what youâre getting is really a good deal.â
âIâm not sure it would have gone down too well if Iâd asked Byron Rockcliffe to open his mouth for me to peer in.â Trevor chuckled. âPerhaps Iâll leave that to you.â
Cara gave him a fulminating look as she opened the office door to leave.
âIf I donât show up for work tomorrow it will be your entire fault. Youâve put me in over my depth and Iâm holding you totally responsible.â
âIf you donât show up for work tomorrow Iâll assume Byron Rockcliffe has talked you back into his bed,â Trevor said with a wolfish grin. âHe sounds so deliciously male. Mmmâ¦such a waste.â
Cara turned on her heel and shut the door on her partnerâs teasing expression.
âGood luck!â Trevorâs voice called from inside.
She didnât answer; she needed more than luck to get through the next hour or so. She needed a miracle.
The offices of Rockcliffe and Associates were huge even by Sydney standards. Cara took the shiny lift to the nineteenth floor, her heart beating a steady tattoo in her chest at the thought of seeing her ex-husband again.
The lift stopped on the thirteenth floor to let some people in and she wondered if it was some sort of omen. She pressed herself to the back of the stainless steel and mirrored walls and tried to concentrate on getting her breathing under some sort of control.