Australian Bachelors: Masterful Magnates: Purchased: His Perfect Wife. HELEN BIANCHIN

hour.’

      His expression didn’t change, and the smooth silkiness in his voice held a silent warning. ‘Take care of it, Lara.’

      ‘Or you will?’

      One eyebrow lifted in silent cynicism. ‘Yes.’

      Time out for a deep breath or three. ‘Hiring someone,’ she managed with attempted calm, ‘is my responsibility.’

      ‘Make it a priority. A celebrant will conduct our marriage on Sunday morning, after which we fly to New York.’

      Her stomach executed a quick somersault and refused to settle. ‘Excuse me?’

      Wolfe leaned back in his chair and regarded her steadily. ‘You heard.’

      The nerves deep inside pulled tight almost to the point of pain, and she pushed her plate aside. ‘Do I have a choice?’

      ‘No.’

      Succinct, adamant and spoken with an indolence that made her wary.

      ‘Why? My presence in New York will be totally unnecessary. You’ll be wheeling and dealing by day, and—’

      ‘Sharing your bed at night.’

      Did hearts stop? She was willing to swear hers had. What was more, for several long seconds it seemed her whole body shut down. Then she remembered to breathe.

      ‘Payback time,’ she managed. ‘How could I have forgotten?’

      ‘Should I be flattered or flattened?’

      Lara summoned a deliberate smile. ‘Flattened, definitely.’

      His faint laughter sent goosebumps scudding down her spine. A reaction she refused to examine in any detail.

      In order to survive, living with Wolfe would mean adopting a façade. Something she shouldn’t find too difficult, given she’d had practice presenting a sociable mask on the occasion she’d found herself in Wolfe’s presence.

      ‘Finish your coffee.’ He checked his watch. ‘We need to leave.’ Without a further word he crossed to the console and collected a set of keys.

      She wanted to protest, and almost did. Except one look into those dark grey eyes was sufficient warning she couldn’t win.

      He moved in close and pressed a forefinger to her lips. ‘Don’t push it.’

      Within minutes she slid her feet into comfortable shoes, applied lipgloss, then caught up her shoulderbag and accompanied Wolfe from the suite.

      The legalities were straightforward; the lawyer’s explanation merely endorsed Wolfe’s instructions, and the pre-nuptial agreement drawn at Lara’s insistence absolved Wolfe from providing her with anything other than a home, and a generous allowance. Any children issuing from the marriage would become their joint financial responsibility.

      Signatures were applied to various documentation and duly witnessed, the lawyer offered his congratulations and best wishes … and it was done.

      Sunday. Dear heaven. Five days.

      Don’t think about it, she cautioned silently as she accompanied Wolfe down to the car. Just take what each day throws at you, and achieve what you can.

      Not the best scenario for someone who coveted perfection in most things. Especially finding a suitable sous chef in so short a time.

      Or the number of things quickly escalating in her mind as Wolfe eased the Lexus out of its parking bay.

      ‘Is there a close relative you’d like to witness our civil ceremony on Sunday? Your father, perhaps?’

      Suzanne had been an only child; there were no aunts, uncles or cousins. Just her father … a man who’d declined to attend his ex-wife’s funeral, and was unlikely to accept an invitation to his daughter’s wedding.

      ‘No.’

      It didn’t take long to reach the Rocks, and she released the safety belt as soon as he slid to a halt adjacent to her restaurant.

      She reached for the door latch. ‘Thanks.’

      ‘Call my mobile phone when you’re done for the evening.’

      Lara paused in the process of closing the passenger door, a refusal on the tip of her lips, only to have him lean towards her.

      ‘Do it, Lara,’ he reiterated, and she simply pushed the door closed and filched a set of keys from her bag.

      The rest of the day proved hectic, with a discrepancy in produce supplies necessitating phone calls and an adjustment to the lunch menu.

      The title ‘chef’, in Lara’s instance, covered a broad spectrum as she checked food preparation, utilized her cooking skills, took care of business, and ensured everything ran smoothly to plan.

      Temperament, swearing and hissy fits were not tolerated, and the motto in her kitchen varied from ‘just do it’, ‘suck it up’, to ‘customer satisfaction rules’.

      The team comprised junior chefs and wait staff who worked well together, surmounting the inevitable daily hiccup with minimum angst and occasional humour.

      By early afternoon Lara had apprised the staff of her temporary absence in New York, her marriage, and provided assurance their jobs were secure.

      News which both Shontelle and Sally refused to accept without voiced concern, and they urged a confrontation as the staff returned to their positions.

      ‘Like, why … and why the rush?’ Sally quietly demanded.

      ‘Wolfe has to get back to New York, and he wants to get married before we leave.’

      ‘I can go with that. Except there are holes in the overall story,’ Shontelle pursued with a faint frown.

      ‘Uh-huh,’ Sally agreed. ‘You’re not exactly the ecstatic, starry-eyed bride-to-be. So what gives?’

      They deserved her honesty, for they’d worked together, shared much, and had provided unstinting support when Paul, her business partner, had left her financially bereft.

      Lara provided the expurgated version, encapsulating it in one sentence, and went on to explain, ‘I hated that my trust in Paul was totally misplaced … ashamed he managed to fool me so successfully. I’ve fought hard to hold on to Lara’s … something I couldn’t have managed without your support, and your willingness to go that extra mile for me,’ she added with sincerity. ‘I care for Wolfe, and I know he’s an honourable man with whom I’ll share a pleasant life. Our forthcoming marriage is a sensible solution,’ she concluded.

      ‘And you’re OK to settle with sensible?’ Sally queried with concern. ‘If he gives you grief, he’ll pay—big time,’ Sally promised.

      Shontelle added fiercely, ‘When do we get to meet him?’

      ‘For the visual once-over and a verbal third degree?’ Lara teased.

      ***

      A few phone calls resulted in two interviews arranged for mid-afternoon, each applicant presenting an impressive CV … although proof involved follow-up calls to their current or previous employers, which if satisfactory then relied heavily upon a hands-on trial. Something she organized to occur over the next two consecutive days.

      Evening reservations ensured efficient handling in the kitchen. Not an easy task when operating on minimum staff.

      However, they managed—just—and shortly after nine the orders for mains lessened and progressed towards desserts and coffee.

      ‘Party of five, and a gorgeous hunk—solo,’ Sally imparted with an appreciative rolling of her eyes as she presented their order. ‘On a score of one to ten, he’s an eleven.’

      Lara merely lifted speculative eyebrows, checked the order and set to filling it.

      Sally