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Her head told her success was unlikely.
Her heart urged her on. Not with logic, but with desperate hope.
She’d never been courageous or adventurous. From infancy she’d been trained to do as she was told, never make waves or put herself forward. Her one attempt to break free and make her own decisions had been disastrous.
But that was years ago. She’d changed, reinventing herself in the aftermath of tragedy and pain. Caro might not be naturally intrepid but she was determined. She breathed deep, swallowing sharp, sustaining Alpine air. She’d do whatever it took now to succeed.
Caro looked up the street of the famous Swiss ski resort, ultra-exclusive with its astronomically high prices. Tourists gaped at the elegant shop windows, but they’d be gone by evening, driven away by the chic resort’s unaffordability.
Up a nearby valley was one of the world’s most iconic mountains. In the other direction lay her destination. Setting her jaw, she crunched over a dusting of late snow and got into her small rental car.
Twenty minutes later Caro nosed the car around a bend and emerged in a cleared space that hung partway up a mountain. The view was spectacular but she barely noticed.
She’d assumed she was driving to a ski lodge or an architect-designed home positioned for a multimillion-dollar vista. Instead she looked up at a wall of pale stone, a fairy-tale profusion of towers with steep, angular roofs. There was even a portcullis, raised to reveal a cobbled courtyard.
Caro stared at the centuries-old castle. This was no romantic ruin. It looked solid and meticulously maintained.
She’d known Jake Maynard was rich but he must have money to burn to live here. Her research told her he hadn’t inherited it. His permanent home was in Australia.
She set her jaw. Caro had seen behind the scenes of the rich and famous and knew human frailties lurked there as they did everywhere. Wealth and overt luxury didn’t awe her.
That was the one tiny advantage she had. Caro clung to it, feeling the nervous lurch of her stomach, tasting desperation on her tongue. Slowly she drove under the portcullis with its security camera, feeling each bump of the old cobblestones. Then she parked in the corner of the courtyard, next to a sleek, black vehicle.
It was only when she switched off the ignition and heard the silence thicken around her that she realised her hands shook.
Firming her lips, she reached for her purse, flicked a look in the mirror and pushed the door open.
She could do this.
She would do it.
Two lives depended on it.
* * *
‘Ms Rivage is here.’
At the sound of his secretary’s voice, Jake reluctantly looked up from behind his desk. Neil stood in the doorway, his expression bland.
Logic had urged Jake to excise this woman from the shortlist. She didn’t have the experience of the front-running applicants. Yet one small detail in her application had caught Neil’s eye, and Jake’s. Small but vitally important. He raked a hand through his hair and told himself he’d give her fifteen minutes.
Neil stood aside and she walked in.
Jake felt his eyebrows channel down in a frown, his senses humming like the rigging on a yacht when a sudden wind rose. The nape of his neck prickled and his nostrils flared as if sensing...something.
She looked like a nanny straight from central casting. Yet at the same time not. He surveyed her plain skirt suit, scraped-back hair and apparent lack of make-up.
What was it about her that didn’t fit? He’d learned to rely on his instincts and right now they sensed...something.
He got to his feet and walked around the desk, hand outstretched.
‘Ms Rivage.’
His hand engulfed slim, soft fingers, yet her grip was firm as she returned his gesture. Most of the other applicants had non-existent handshakes. Either they’d simpered up at him, or were content to let him take the lead. This one looked him square in the eye.
But only for a moment. Then her brown gaze slewed from his and he knew she stifled anxiety.
Of course she’s anxious. She’s applying for a job. She must know her qualifications aren’t impressive.
