A Parisian Proposition. Barbara Hannay

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СКАЧАТЬ things like that. With her hands wrapped around a warm mug, she inhaled the familiar aroma of her favourite beverage and took a quick, fortifying sip before they reached their table near a window in the corner. Jonno had bought two packets of sandwiches as well. Wholesome, grainy, country bread filled with cold roast meat, pickles and salad.

      ‘So you want help to get rid of your cattle,’ he said, once they were settled.

      Camille nodded. ‘Yes, please.’ Then she took another deep sip of coffee before setting down her mug. ‘You wouldn’t like to buy them, would you?’

      His mouth tilted into the familiar, crooked smile that had caused so much of a stir in the Girl Talk office. She noticed that the hazel in his eyes was a fascinating mixture of brown and gold with little flecks of green.

      ‘No, thanks,’ he said. ‘I came to these sales today to sell, not to buy. It’s not exactly a buyers’ market.’

      She sighed. So much for a simple, straightforward solution. ‘Can I throw them right back on the market and sell them tomorrow?’

      His smile faded as he looked thoughtful. ‘It’s possible…But before we get too worried about that, why don’t you tell me why you’ve come all the way up here from Sydney?’

      Camille’s breath escaped on a gasp of surprise. Buying a pen of cattle had a good side? It got Jonno Rivers talking? Wow! She hadn’t expected this breakthrough moment, but she might as well cut straight to the chase. ‘I’m here to find out what game you’re playing.’

      ‘I’m not playing anything.’

      ‘You know you’ve been playing games with our magazine. You haven’t answered our letters or phone calls.’

      He showed no sign of apology. ‘Why should I cooperate with totally irresponsible journalism?’

      ‘Irresponsible?’ Her right eyebrow lifted, but she willed herself to stay calm. Now that she had him in her sights, she had to take extra care not to frighten him off. ‘Why do you say that?’

      ‘You expect me to fuel the dangerous illusions of a mob of silly, gullible women, who believe these bachelors you’ve unearthed are desperate for marriage and commitment.’

      ‘We never gave the impression our bachelors are desperate. Heavens, Jonno, they’re all heartthrobs.’ After a beat, she added, ‘Like you.’

      He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

      ‘We chose gorgeous, well-heeled guys, who for some reason—whether it’s geographical isolation or twenty-four-seven commitment to their brilliant careers—are still single, but seeking a wife.’

      When he didn’t respond, she added, ‘The reaction from readers has been amazing. We had no idea there were still so many women actively hunting for husbands.’

      ‘Unlike you,’ he challenged. ‘That’s another thing. How can someone who doesn’t even believe in marriage pretend that it’s so damn wonderful?’

      ‘How do you know what I think of marriage?’ Camille asked, then flinched. ‘Oh, yeah. It was the seminal text of my sermon in the cattle stalls, wasn’t it?’

      She felt strangely caught out—embarrassed to realise that in the heat of the moment she’d aired her personal views about relationships to this man. This too, too sexy man.

      She jabbed her finger at a piece of shredded lettuce that had fallen from her sandwich. ‘So I take it there’s been a mistake. You’re as allergic to marriage as I am.’

      ‘I never said I didn’t want marriage.’

      Her head jerked up. Jonno’s eyes were an unsettling mixture of mild amusement and something else…something private and deep.

      ‘But—’

      ‘I don’t have any hang-ups about marriage,’ he said slowly. ‘But when I choose a wife I’d like to do the chasing. Nothing turns me off faster than a woman who blatantly chases after me.’

      Camille frowned. ‘OK, so you’d better explain why on earth you agreed to take part in our project.’

      His face grew hard and tight. ‘I didn’t.’

      ‘Hello? I have a signed statement saying otherwise.’

      A bleak shadow darkened his eyes and his mouth twisted bitterly. ‘Look, I don’t want to go into details about how I ended up in your magazine.’

      ‘Are you saying…?’ Camille pressed a hand to her stomach. Right from the very start she’d had a strange gut feeling that there’d been something a little different about Jonno’s entry. ‘Are you telling me that you were entered against your will?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Framed?’

      He nodded.

      ‘So who sent us your photo? Your signature?’

      ‘I told you I’m not prepared to give details, but, believe me, it was a mistake. A huge mistake.’

      Camille was surprised by how readily she believed him. Nevertheless, the urge to press him for details was strong. In the past she’d never shied away from getting to the bottom of a story and she longed to know how a handsome devil like Jonathan Rivers could end up in Girl Talk by mistake. Her magazine and its readers deserved to know.

      But even as the questions lined up in her head, something in his face stopped her from voicing them.

      Her experience of interviewing people from all walks of life told her that the door on this particular conversation had clanged shut. It was locked as securely as the gate to his property, and she sensed that to pry would be useless—even dangerous. She could alienate him completely if she pushed too hard.

      But her job was in jeopardy if she didn’t.

      ‘I don’t think it’s possible for you to simply bow out,’ she told him. ‘We can’t retract you from the project now. Our readers are hanging out for the follow-up stories.’

      ‘Of course you can drop me. I might have fallen under a bus. Anything’s possible.’

      ‘But you’re one of our most popular bachelors.’ In actual fact he was the most popular, but she decided nothing was to be gained by pumping up his ego more than necessary.

      He glared at her. ‘Too bad.’

      As he drained his coffee, Camille’s mind raced. If only she knew who had set Jonno up. Was it a practical joker? Or someone in town who had a grudge against him? A rejected lover? A misguided secret admirer?

      His voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘What’s your position at Girl Talk?’

      Her shoulders squared. ‘I’m an associate editor.’

      ‘How much say do you have?’

      ‘In “The Bachelor Project”? It’s my responsibility.’ Now wasn’t the moment to add that she still had to report to Edith King, the editor-in-chief.

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