The Package Deal. Marion Lennox

it another way. The witness statements are contradictory. I now have two colleagues’ legal opinions that you have no case to answer.

      ‘With your permission we’ll present that to the nurses’ registration body, together, if you wish, with your sworn statement that you don’t wish your family to be put on trial for perjury. That will protect your job.

      ‘As well as that, you’ve suffered significant financial and personal loss because of their perjury. Your stepmother has agreed to write this cheque on the grounds that you take it no further.’

      He handed her the cheque. She looked at it and gasped.

      ‘My father...’ she managed.

      The lawyer’s tone gentled. ‘I believe your father is appalled at the lies that have been told about you.’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t believe he has the strength to stand up against your stepmother. He would wish to apologise but I doubt he will. He sees this cheque as an apology and he hopes you’ll take it.’

      It let them off the hook, she thought. She thought of all the lies, all the hurt.

      Her father saw this cheque as an apology?

      Standing there before the lawyer that Ben had sent, she thought suddenly that she’d never felt so alone.

      Ben hadn’t come to see her. He’d sent a lawyer.

      Her father hadn’t come to see her. He’d sent a cheque.

      She was used to being alone, though. She could do this. She’d stood in the sun and forced herself to think of the ramifications of this money. Of the steps this lawyer—under Ben’s instructions—had taken to help her.

      ‘Ben asked you to do this?’

      ‘He was aware you might think he has no right to interfere. I’ve done nothing except examine evidence in the public domain and present it to your family.’

      ‘But on Ben’s instructions.’

      ‘On Mr Logan’s instructions.’

      It felt weird. It felt wrong. She was being paid off.

      By Ben as well as her family?

      It was a dumb thing to think. Unfair. But she stared at the cheque and thought of the difference it could make.

      And she thought about a faint blue line—and she knew she needed to talk to Ben regardless.

      ‘I’ll tell Mr Logan you’ll accept?’ the lawyer asked.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said faintly. ‘But I need to thank Mr Logan myself.

      So a month later, here she was, in Manhattan, in Logan House, a building whose foyer looked as it it’d swallow half of Taikohe. To say it was intimidating was to put it mildly.

      ‘Mr Logan’s waiting.’ An efficient-looking woman in a crisp grey suit was waiting to escort her upstairs. ‘There’s to be no interruptions under any circumstances,’ the woman told the receptionist. ‘Mr Logan’s orders. He’s out for the rest of the day.’

      ‘If he’s busy...’ Mary faltered.

      ‘He’s not busy for you, dear,’ the woman said, and led the way.

      Dear...

      Did she look like someone who needed TLC?

      ‘I bet she doesn’t address company moguls as dear,’ she muttered under her breath.

      She should have dressed up more. She should have...turned corporate?

      She was wearing her weddings and funerals suit. It was a bit old. She should have worn more make-up. She should have bought new shoes.

      It didn’t matter. She didn’t belong here, no matter what she wore, and she wasn’t here for corporate reasons.

      The lift stopped at the highest floor. The door slid open, and the woman put a gentle hand in the small of her back to guide her out.

      Bet she didn’t do that to company moguls either.

      But maybe she needed it. ‘I don’t...’ To say panic was setting in was an understatement. ‘I shouldn’t...’

      ‘Mr Logan’s waiting,’ the woman told her. She swung open the inner doors—and Ben was rising from a massive desk, walking forward to greet her.

      Ben?

      The last time she’d seen this man he’d been battered and wounded. He’d been in pain and he hadn’t been sure if his twin was dead or alive. She’d held him in the storm and they’d taken and given comfort to each other.

      But now...

      This guy was a suit plus. No one she’d ever met wore a suit like this. It was deepest black with a fine grey pinstripe, and it fitted him as if it was moulded onto his beautiful body. It screamed quality, as did his gorgeous blue tie and the crisp white linen beneath it. Even his shoes screamed quality.

      He was clean-shaven. His dark hair was neatly cut and immaculately groomed.

      His shadowed grey eyes surveyed her from the toes up and she was reminded suddenly of an eagle, his fierce, intelligent eyes capable of seeing things no man should see.

      She was imagining things. He was scaring her.

      She shouldn’t have come.

      And then he smiled, striding towards her with his hands held out, and with his smile suddenly he was the Ben she’d held. The Ben she’d made love to.

      ‘Mary,’ he said, with all the welcome in the world. ‘Smash ’em Mary, here in my office. I’m honoured.’

      He hugged her fiercely but briefly and then held her at arm’s length to look at her. Once more she got that sensation that he could see far more than she wished to tell him.

      Ben.

      She wanted a longer hug but after that one brief hold he was back under control.

      How could she think she knew this man?

      ‘Thanks, Elspeth,’ Ben said.

      And she thought, This guy really is a billionaire. Those two words had been a dismissal to his secretary, mild and brief, but the authority behind them had been absolute.

      He was a man in command of his world—and what a world!

      In the last weeks she’d looked him up on the internet—of course she had. His brother Jake the actor was famous. Ben seemed to fly under the radar but his business credentials were so impressive they’d made her gasp.

      She thought of the cheque her father and stepmother had given her and what a difference it was making in her life.

      This guy’s fortune was enough to make her eyes water.

      How could she possibly tell him what she needed to tell him without him taking it the wrong way? And what was the wrong way anyway? She was in uncharted territory.

      His secretary had disappeared. They were alone in his half-acre office, with the view that looked right out over the harbour to the Statue of Liberty. Mary had been in town for twenty-four hours, working up courage to come and see him. She’d queued to climb the Empire State Building to see all over New York.

      She needn’t have bothered. The view from Logan House was almost the same.

      ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ he said, and she struggled to get her words in order. She was here for a reason and she needed to get it right.

      ‘I need to thank you.’

      ‘I believe you’ve already thanked me,’ he said gravely. ‘Both through my lawyer and through the very nice card you sent me.’

      ‘You make me sound like a ten-year-old writing thank-you notes.’

      ‘I kept the card,’ he said. ‘I believe I’ll always keep