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CHAPTER1
“Tiger nuts.”
The word was delivered with haughty authority and a toss of ash-blonde hair.
Oliver stared blankly at the woman seated across the desk. “Sorry?”
“We’re going to invest in tiger nuts—aren’t we Duncan?” Sonia Jaycock swivelled towards her husband and pinned him with a Devil-Wears-Prada stare.
Oliver smiled politely. The Jaycocks were clients his father had passed on to him, with the words, “You’ve always been good with a challenge.” And then, he’d added, with an awkward kind of paternal camaraderie, “Besides, it’ll keep your mind off…” This was accompanied by a look that clearly said: “weboth know what I mean”.
Thanks, Dad.
Sonia turned her attention back to Oliver. “I assume you’ve heard of tiger nuts?”
“Can’t say that I—”
Sonia’s feline green eyes widened. “They’re asuperfood,Oliver. Everyone’s talking about them.”
“Like goji berries?” He tried to sound interested. In truth, nothing interested him. Not his forthcoming book, not his business, not even his brother’s wedding—heck,leastof all his brother’s wedding—which just proved he was a mean-spirited prick.
And certainly not tiger nuts.
“They’re a thousand times more nutritious than goji berries.” Sonia dumped a handbag the size of a small suitcase onto the desk and started to forage. “I have the information for you right here.”
If he had any hope of saving Duncan from going spectacularly broke, Oliver knew he needed to be on his toes. Trouble was, his toes—and every other part of him, for that matter—felt like dead wood. Completely numb. He tried to waggle said toes, and registered only a tenuous connection to his brain.
C’mon man. Get a grip.
Sonia brought out a glossy brochure with a flourish. As she handed it over, Oliver noticed her nails.
Shiny shell pink with those unmistakable white tips. French manicured. Leonie’s favourite.
Clunk.Oliver’s heart swung in his chest like a broken gate hanging off a rusty hinge.
It was pathetic, the way his mind went on these miserable feedback loops, memories of Leonie triggered by things that would normally go unnoticed—the flick of honey blonde hair on a TV commercial, the sway of a woman’s hips as she walked past.
A French fucking manicure.
With superhuman effort, he focused on the brochure.
“See that.” Sonia leaned forward in a waft of perfume and prodded the photo on the front of the brochure with one of those damn fingertips. “That’s the plantation site.”
“Right. So where is this exactly?”
“It’s a patch of dirt just past Geraldton,” Duncan muttered.
Sonia glared at him. “It’s notdirt,Duncan. It is exactly the right location. Michael has done all the research, the soil analysis, everything’s perfect.”
“Yes, well… Michael’s research…”
Sonia sliced one shapely leg over the other. “It’s sandy, well-drained soil, which is exactly what tiger nuts need. They grow in California. I mean,hello guys, equivalent climate.” She flapped a hand between her husband and Oliver like they were pesky flies.
“Could we at least get a return on our last investment with them, sweet-pea?” Duncan parried feebly.
“Which one?” Sonia said.
“That app thing that measures the contents of your stomach.”
