Good Girl or Gold-Digger?. Kate Hardy

extra cash that she could feed into the fairground, to give them a breathing space until they found a sponsor who understood where they were coming from. ‘I’m glad you realise that.’ She lifted her chin a fraction higher. ‘And don’t be fooled by my name. I’m not a delicate little flower.’

      ‘Daisy.’ He tipped his head on one side. ‘You’re right. “Boots” suits you better.’

      ‘Boots?’

      He indicated her Doc Martens. ‘And then there’s the Cockney rhyming slang.’

      Daisy roots: boots. She knew that. Although normally she loved puns, and adored tormenting her brothers with them, it annoyed her that Felix was being clever with her. She was about to say something tart when he spoke again.

      ‘Have dinner with me at my hotel tonight.’

      It sounded more like an order than a request, raising her hackles higher still. Why did he want to have dinner with her anyway? Was he trying to come on to her?

      ‘A working dinner,’ he clarified.

      She could feel the blush staining her cheeks; clearly he’d worked out what she was thinking. Well, of course he hadn’t been coming on to her. Men like Felix Gisbourne dated glamorous women who wore high heels and nail polish and earrings and expensive hairdos. He wouldn’t be interested in the likes of her.

      Besides, she wasn’t interested in him as anything more than an investor. Couldn’t be. The fairground was too important.

      ‘Sure. I think Bill’s free, too.’

      ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I was thinking just you and me. If you’ve been working as his number two for as long as he says you have, then you’ll have the answers, and I won’t have to drag him away from his family.’

      Another assumption: that she didn’t have anyone in her life to be dragged away from. Then again, he was right, so there was no point in arguing; she had no plans to spend her evening with anyone other than Titan.

      ‘By the way,’ he added, ‘the hotel isn’t really a jeans and boiler suits place.’

      For a moment, she thought about telling him to get lost. In a truly pithy manner.

      But then she thought of Bill, and the people who depended on them for jobs, and forced her temper to simmer. ‘Just tell me where and when to meet you.’

      ‘Seven o’clock.’

      He named a hotel five miles away, on the coast, the poshest one in the area; its restaurant had two Michelin stars. And it wasn’t really within cycling distance—not with a skirt on, anyway—so she’d better organise a taxi. ‘That’s fine,’ she said coolly. ‘I’ll see you at seven.’

      His smile did weird things to her stomach. Oh, this was bad. She had to ignore the surge of attraction. Even if there hadn’t been a business deal in the way, they were too different for it to work, because she wasn’t suitable girlfriend-material.

      ‘I’ll look forward to it, Boots.’ He sketched a salute, following up with another of those devastating smiles. She’d bet he knew the effect it had on women. ‘I’ll find my own way over to Bill.’

      ‘I’ll take you.’

      ‘You’re busy. I wouldn’t want to disturb you.’

      Too late. He already had disturbed her.

      ‘À bientôt,’ he said softly. ‘Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.’

      Like she had been for their meeting this morning? That had been an aberration, she thought. As Felix Gisbourne was about to find out.