One Night With The Billionaire. Sarah M. Anderson

if I could …’ she whispered, and for a moment, for just a fraction of a lonely evening after a hard and frightening day, she gave herself permission to fantasise.

      Mathew holding her. Mathew smiling at her with that gentle, laughing smile she’d barely glimpsed but she knew was there.

      Mathew taking her into his arms. Mathew …

      No! If she went there, she might not be able to pull back. She had to work with the man for the next two weeks.

      ‘This is nonsense,’ she told the dogs. ‘Crazy stuff. We’ll concentrate on the telly like we do every night. Half an hour to settle, then bed, and we’ll leave the hormones where they belong—outside with my boots.’

      It was sensible advice. It was what a girl had to do—and then someone knocked on the door of the van.

      Mathew. She sensed it was him before she opened the door.

      He was standing in front of her, looking slightly ruffled.

      He was wearing that fabulous coat again.

      Mathew.

      What was he doing, standing in the grounds of the circus at nine at night, holding a contract in one hand, knocking on the door of a woman in pink sequins with the other?

      This was business, he told himself fiercely—and she wouldn’t be in pink sequins.

      She wasn’t. She was still in her jeans. Her windcheater was sky-blue, soft, warm and vaguely fuzzy.

      She looked scrubbed clean and fresh, a little bit tousled—and very confused to see him.

      The dogs were going nuts at her feet, which was just as well. It gave him an excuse to stoop to greet them and get his face in order, telling himself again—fiercely—that he was here on business.

      She stooped to hush the dogs and their noses were suddenly inches apart. She looked … she looked …

      Like he couldn’t be interested in her looking. He stood up fast and stepped back.

      ‘Good evening,’ he said, absurdly formal, and he saw a twinkle appear at the back of her eyes. She could see his discomfort? She was laughing?

      ‘Good evening,’ she said back, rising and becoming just as formal. ‘How can I help you?’

      He held up his contract and she looked at it as she might look at a death adder. The twinkle died.

      ‘What is it?’

      ‘It’s an agreement by you that these two weeks are not in any way a concession or notice by the bank that we’ve waived our legal rights. Our control over the circus starts now; you’re here for the next two weeks on our terms.’

      ‘I can’t sign that,’ she whispered. ‘Grandpa …’

      ‘You can sign it. You agreed before the show that you wouldn’t interfere with foreclosure. Your grandfather has named you on the loan documents as having power of attorney but, even so, we don’t actually need you to have legal rights. We don’t need to disturb Henry. As the person nominally in charge right now, all we’re saying is that your presence here for the next two weeks doesn’t interfere with legal processes already in place.’

      She pushed her fingers through her hair, brushing it back from her face. Wearily. ‘Isn’t that assumed?’ she asked. ‘That the next two weeks doesn’t stop you from turning into a vulture at the end of it?’

      He didn’t reply, just stood and looked at her. She looked exhausted, he thought. She looked beat.

      She looked a slip of a girl, too young to bear the brunt of responsibility her grandfather had placed on her.

      ‘Have you told everyone?’ he asked and she nodded.

      ‘I asked Grandpa whether I should tell the crew, and he said yes. He’s known this was coming. He should have told us and he’s feeling bad. He asked me to give everyone as much notice as possible.’

      So she’d had to break the bad news herself.

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘So am I,’ she said wearily. ‘Do I have to sign this now?’

      It could have waited until morning, he thought. Why had it seemed so important to get this on a business footing right now? Was it to make it clear—to himself more than anyone—that he wasn’t being tugged into an emotional minefield?

      ‘We might as well,’ he said. ‘Seeing I’m here.’

      ‘I’ll need to read it first. Are we talking a thirty page document?’

      ‘Two.’

      ‘Fine.’ She sighed and pushed the door wide so he could enter. The dogs stood at each side of her, looking wary.

      How well trained were they?

      ‘They’re not lions,’ she said, following his look. ‘They don’t go for the jugular. They’re very good at hoops, though.’

      They were. He’d seen them at work today and they were amazing. They were two acrobatic canines, who now looked like two wary house pets, here to protect their mistress.

      ‘Basket,’ she said and they checked her face, as if to make sure she really meant it, then obligingly jumped into their basket.

      It was tucked into a neat slot under the table where feet didn’t need to go—about the only space in the van a basket would fit. The van was a mastery of a home in miniature, he thought. Unlike Bella and Henry’s, it wasn’t cluttered. It looked feminine and workable, and very, very comfortable.

      ‘Nice,’ he said approvingly and she gave a sort-of smile.

      ‘It’s the way we live. It’ll be hard to get used to a house that doesn’t move.’

      ‘Will you work for another circus?’

      ‘No!’ That was definite. ‘Most circuses are nomadic and I can’t leave Gran and Grandpa. The only circus that works around here is Carvers and I won’t go near them in a pink fit.’

      ‘So what will you do?’

      ‘I’m a trained accountant,’ she said and he blinked because of all the unlikely professions …

      ‘I know,’ she added bleakly. ‘I’m a qualified accountant for a circus that’s gone bankrupt. What a joke.’

      ‘But how can you be a qualified accountant?’

      ‘Online university,’ she said curtly. ‘Doesn’t that fit the image? Circus folk. Inbred and weird.’

      ‘I never said that.’

      ‘You never thought that? Why the astonishment, then? Because we’re bankrupt? It’s not my fault. Professionally, this is a bombshell. I wasn’t given the facts.’

      ‘Which wasn’t fair.’

      ‘Maybe it was,’ she said wearily. ‘I wasn’t given the facts to protect me. Grandpa could never have afforded to keep our animals into their old age. He took on the debt for me. I loved those elephants, and even now I’ll never agree to have them put down, even though I foresee a lifetime of debt in front of me.’ She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if gathering strength for a lifetime of elephant support, then took the document and sat at her table-in-miniature and read.

      He stood and watched her read.

      Her head was bowed over the paper. Her gorgeous curls were tumbled so he couldn’t see her face.

      A lifetime of debt … A lifetime of bookkeeping for a girl in pink sequins.

      ‘There might be charities that’ll help with the animals,’ he ventured at last, and she nodded without looking up.

      ‘I’ll sort it. Not your problem. According to this, Bond’s owns this circus and all its assets