Fiona mentally reviewed her wardrobe. ‘I’ll be ready for it.’
‘Perhaps between us we can get her to stop blocking the plans at every turn.’ Brent waited while she seated herself, and then he pushed her door closed.
She started the engine and rolled down the window.
He leaned in. ‘Drive safely. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Goodnight, Brent.’ He’d given her some things to think about. The family he had built and her questions about where he might have come from. His emotional guardedness. That regimented work lined up in his living room and in his office. The privacy he sought in his home and his work.
‘Goodnight,’ he murmured.
With a final wave and an odd reluctance to leave him, and with myriad questions flitting through her mind and no answers anywhere in sight, Fiona drove away.
Chapter Three
‘MRS FULLER will either have to get on board during this visit, or we cut our losses and dump the project. The work is interchangeable with a dozen other projects that all need my attention. At some point I have to assess what’s going to be best financially for the company overall and, right now, letting her mess us around further isn’t.’ Brent murmured the words as he and Fiona waited in the formal sitting room of the woman’s ritzy Sydney home.
They’d been kept cooling their heels here for twenty minutes now with no sign of their hostess.
‘I agree. This isn’t a smart use of your time. The woman’s behaviour is insulting to you.’ And that insult made Fiona feel…protective towards her boss.
Which was fine, because she was his employee. She had the right to feel that way. Even if she had been somewhat too personally conscious of her boss initially.
The door to the room swished open and a maid entered with a tea tray.
Rose Fuller swept in behind her. ‘Thank you, Lilly. You may pour and leave us.’
Mrs Fuller waved a slender, well-tended hand towards the maid before she turned to greet her guests. ‘Oh, I see you’ve brought an assistant, Mr MacKay?’
A very lowly one, her tone seemed to suggest.
‘Mrs Fuller, meet my graphic designer, Fiona Donner. We were about to leave but, since you’ve managed the appointment belatedly after all, we’ll do what we can in the limited time we have left.’ Brent’s voice held just the right amount of firmness. He got to his feet to shake hands with the woman and stepped back so Fiona could do the same. ‘Fiona, meet Mrs Rose Fuller.’
The familiarity of name and face clicked into place when Fiona received a very practised smile and a rather limp hand to shake, though the woman had looked slightly chagrined by the end of Brent’s speech.
Husband in politics. Big aspirations. Lots of media coverage as they did their best to climb the ranks.
Ah…
‘It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Fuller. I’ve been studying the project plans Brent has drawn up for you.’ Fiona towered over Mrs Fuller by an entire head and shoulders. In the dainty room, with the maid pouring cups of tea into translucent china cups, Fiona had to fight off feeling oversized and, subsequently, unfeminine.
The two assessments did not necessarily have to go together, no matter what her mother may have said to the contrary at various times throughout Fiona’s life. ‘You must be pleased to have Brent on board for your landscaping work. He’s the best in the city.’
‘Well, of course I know Mr MacKay has a decent reputation, though he can be extremely elusive about contact outside of his work channels.’
‘I apologise for turning down the dinner invitation, Mrs Fuller.’ Brent’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I saw the write-up in all the major papers the next day.’
‘Yes, we made quite a splash.’ Mrs Fuller went on, ‘I’m afraid I just can’t decide on any one of the plans we’ve discussed. My husband is very exacting and everything has to serve our lifestyle and our business interactions perfectly.’ Their hostess gestured for them to take their seats, did so herself and waited while her maid handed out the teacups and left the room.
‘Of course.’ Fiona took a deep breath and turned her attention to the view from the bay windows for a moment.
The house was elevated and the grounds rolled away to a seemingly endless stretch of Sydney coast. The scene from this window once the design work was completed in the grounds below would make an ideal painting for the client. If they could get the woman to start cooperating.
‘Mrs Fuller, you’ve expressed what you want out of this landscaping project. Now it’s time to trust us to provide it for you.’ Brent placed his tea, untouched, onto the small table beside his chair and his fingers curled against his thighs as though he wanted to do something with them but was stopping himself.
Fiona took up the conversation where Brent had left off. ‘The exciting news for you, Mrs Fuller, is that you’ll be one of our first clients to have the benefit of an original artwork gifted to you at the completion of your project. I think a two metre by one metre canvas would work here. Of course, if you’re unable to settle on our plans we’ll need to move on. You’ll understand my employer is highly sought after, and my paintings are award-winning works that will always find a welcome home…’
‘That’s a substantial-sized painting. I wasn’t aware—What awards have you won?’ The woman’s eyes gleamed.
And Fiona ran with that. Just a little, and only because she truly did want her boss to get something back for the time he’d invested in this project so far. She named the prestigious awards.
Brent knew of them, of course. They’d been listed in her curriculum vitae and she’d included copies of the works in her portfolio.
‘I recall now.’ Mrs Fuller straightened her perfectly straight back even more. ‘You’re that Fiona Donner. One of the paintings was a landscape…’
‘Yes. They both were. It’s a favourite medium of mine.’ Fiona could almost see the cogs turning in their hostess’s brain.
She smiled at the woman. ‘At this stage we are utterly one hundred per cent informed of your needs, Mrs Fuller. You’ve discussed them in detail with my employer, and he has explained everything to me. Now you can let it go, take that burden off shoulders that no doubt have many other responsibilities. Your husband, your social engagements.’
A suppressed hint of sound came from Brent that could have been a snort, though a quick glance his way revealed nothing but the blandest of facial expressions.
‘It will be our pleasure to take care of the hard work and stress and decisions for you, Mrs Fuller.’ Brent offered this assurance with calm confidence. ‘All you need to do is enjoy the finished product when your landscape design is in place. Shall we discuss the original plans? I truly still believe they are what’s going to be best to meet your needs.’
They talked. Or, rather, Brent did most of the talking in a firm, determined way. Mrs Fuller occasionally tried to get off track or waffle about some aspect or another she wasn’t quite certain about. Invariably, Brent pulled her back.
Fiona sipped her tea until it was all gone while Mrs Fuller did the same.
Eventually, with all of his case put forward again as succinctly as possible, Brent leaned back in his chair. ‘Well, Mrs Fuller. What do you say? Do we have a plan, or do we leave this here, cut our losses and both move on?’
‘I’d like you to begin work, using the plan you originally produced, and providing a painting.’ Mrs Fuller replaced her teacup in its saucer with a small