Hot Ticket

By Priscilla Brown

What kinky no-hoper would attach his business cards to the sexiest bras in a luxury boutique?

Ambitious Sydney lawyer Olivia, seconded to Darwin for six months after ending a toxic affair with her boss, looks forward to a rest from men. Yet curiosity leads her to investigate the guy at the café identified on his card. Expecting the climate to be the steamiest aspect of her new life, she’s shocked by the kick of heat when Callum serves her coffee topped by a chocolate heart. Surely such a charmer would not be so romantically challenged he needs to use his cards as date bait. Callum doesn’t have time or inclination for a relationship, but he might make an exception for this classy blonde.

Resolving the enigma of the cards, Olivia learns Callum is not only the waiter she’d assumed. He learns she’s a PhD, out of his league for a boy who left school at fourteen. While the friendship they’d both intended blossoms into love, her departure looms. He knows she’s in line for a law partnership; if he begs her to stay, and she does, she may regret losing this opportunity. Stay or go—her decision.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Feb 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9780228601562

Priscilla Brown

Based in regional New South Wales, Australia, Priscilla has a varied career history, with seven different jobs to date. Some have been worked concurrently, while writing is always a part of her life. These, along with her love of travel in Australia and overseas, and a passion for craft galleries and people watching in cafés, inspire ideas, characters and settings for her contemporary romantic fiction.For more information about Priscilla's books including blurbs, reviews and purchase links, please visit her website: http://priscillabrownauthor.com

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Hot Ticket

By Priscilla Brown

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 978-0-2286-0156-2

Kindle 978-1-77299-237-3

Print ISBN 978-1-77299-352-3

Copyright 2016 by Priscilla Brown

Cover art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher of this book.

Chapter One

Sydney, February

Taking a lunch break at Culpeper & Chipman, Lawyers, was an occurrence as frequent as toothache in hens. After a week of over-carbed desktop rations, Olivia MacIain intended today to snatch at least half an hour, to check out the sale at her favourite shoe shop.

But now…

She scanned the curt email. Chronically anti-social head honcho Culpeper didn’t invite—summon—anyone to lunch unless he intended to promote or fire them. Elevation to a partnership, and she might almost kiss him. Huh, she couldn’t believe there’d be any call for her to approach that craggy face today. And he certainly wouldn’t be desperate for her scintillating company.

So why the lunch? Her work was as up to date as any lawyer’s could be, currently with no major problems. What had she done? Or not done? She sent her acceptance with the kind of enthusiasm she might have for a meal in the tiger enclosure at the zoo.

Goodbye to shoe bargains.

When Olivia arrived at the outdoor restaurant overlooking Sydney Harbour, Culpeper was already seated.

Olivia.

He didn’t stand to welcome her, merely waved a pale hand at the chair opposite him. Chauvinist pig. She didn’t miss his assessing glance sweeping over her. If he comments again on my clothes, I’ll suggest he find a decent tailor who’d make him a better fitting suit in any colour found on the rainbow. Most of the staff at Culpeper & Chipman, male and female, wore black suits with white shirts. The more daring dressed in navy, and the truly courageous wore a blue shirt. It was like working at Funerals Inc. Black and navy held no place in her wardrobe—but surely he wasn’t going to fire her because of her preference for bright clothes?

Today, a chocolate camisole under a tangerine shirt matched the brown-and-orange striped, pleated skirt, while her earrings and chunky beads toned nicely. On each hand, she wore three rings which matched nothing—although she had a drawerful of rings, she could never find the perfect ones for each outfit. Management preferred the female staff to wear shoes and pantyhose, but February in Sydney was heavy with heat, a temperature requiring strappy brown sandals that showed off her tangerine-tipped toes. At least she’d changed out of the socks and sports shoes she wore to walk the thirty minutes to work.

George. He didn’t like being called George, preferring Sir, or at worst, Mr. Culpeper. She didn’t care, he was going to fire her, wasn’t he? She sat down.

He stabbed his finger at the menu. Choose. We have thirty minutes.

Without checking it, she said, I’d like a Caesar salad with prawns, thanks, and a sparkling mineral water.

He beckoned the waiter with a crooked finger gesture that made her cringe, and gave the orders, his merely for a glass of white wine.

Why did you want to see me? Might as well get it over before the food arrived, as hearing bad news while eating would likely give her indigestion.

Olivia, if you weren’t such a good lawyer, I’d have to let you go.

She jerked up straight, slamming her hands on the table. Excuse me? I don’t understand.

You’re outstanding at your work, even if you do sometimes show a little too much compassion.

Er, thanks, but being a lawyer and being compassionate aren’t mutually exclusive.

She didn’t expect him to pick up on that remark. But she did need him to get on with the reason for her presence. George?

I am letting you go. To Darwin.

Darwin! Why Darwin? Shock sent the words flying out of her mouth. The other end of the country! And you’re not letting as in permitting, as if I’d asked for it. She pointed her finger at him. You’re planning on sending me? Why me? How long for? And I don’t want to go.

Olivia, you’re what—thirty?

Not quite, and what has age to do with anything?

I believe you’d like to be our youngest female partner.

He believed? What made him think this was her ambition? The thought hit like a knife slicing clean. Bottom feeder Lance Chipman. She’d never spoken of it to anyone else in the office. Anger knotted with humiliation, while using the office shredder to eliminate said bottom feeder from the primordial slime of his existence flashed through her mind. Lance might part-own the firm, but that didn’t give him the right to vandalise her career for personal revenge.

Her salad and the drinks arrived. Culpeper held his glass up, as if examining the wine for unidentified floating objects. Olivia swallowed on a salvo of choice words, and ate all her prawns instead. She picked up a few slivers of raw carrot with her fingers, and held them toward him.

Is a partnership when I return supposed to be a king-size carrot for this Darwin thing? She could push it, accuse him of blackmail, but it would have no effect. I’d need it in writing.

He shrugged his shoulders, a gesture managing to be both dismissive and vaguely intimidating. He’d never been heard to say no—he simply declined to respond when he considered a question or comment lacking in importance.

Why do you need me to go?

To take the place of the principal, Keith Whitbread, who’s taking six months leave.

She slurped too much water, and coughed. Six months!

He nodded, staring at a couple of seagulls fighting over a crust. They were clearly more important to him than messing with her life.

Supposing I took up the directive to go, when would I start? Exasperation crept around the edge of her voice. Prising information out of him was like trying to exchange dialogue with one of those seagulls.

In five weeks.

Five short weeks! With a thousand things she’d have to do, at work, at home, for the dancing classes, for her horse… She became conscious her mouth was sagging open, and closed it with a considerable expenditure of energy.

The five, he continued, includes three weeks leave the firm is allowing you to order your affairs here, get to Darwin and organise yourself there.

Is the three weeks out of my leave entitlement?

Certainly not. We’re being generous. Also, we will pay travelling expenses and two weeks’ rental on accommodation.

Great. I wouldn’t cross the road for anything less. She paused, but he didn’t react to her sarcasm. Listen, George, about the six months. If this principal is going for so long, he didn’t decide on it just now. So why the short notice?

Culpeper shifted on his chair, picked his glass up and put it down. Well! Was the old guy feeling a tad embarrassed? Would be a first.

A lawyer from our Brisbane office was to go, but he pulled out.

Who?

Irrelevant.

So he didn’t want her checking with Brisbane to find out if there was a reason she should know about, like the Darwin office was infested with tropical creepy crawlies. Unknown to him, she had a good friend in the Brisbane office.

Your sub-contract is ready at Human Resources, the creepy-crawly opposite her added.

Contract? Ready? How come? Everyone except me must know about damn Darwin. You must have been sure I’d agree.

He waved the firm’s platinum credit card at the waiter. We’re showing our confidence in you, as you’ll be leading a four-person practice. You don’t have any choice.

No choice? Don’t threaten me.

Check your contract.

The waiter delivered the bill and a hand-held card processor. Culpeper entered the card and PIN.

With an exaggerated flourish, he stashed the card into an inside jacket pocket. Now excuse me, I’m a busy man.

I wouldn’t keep you. Am I not busy too? Standing, Olivia shook his proffered hand.

Still holding her hand in his limp-fish grip, he spoke so softly she could hardly hear above the restaurant noise. People were starting to talk, Olivia. This is a better way to achieve a partnership. No need to discuss it with Lance.

Then she was right about the source of the information.

Put the partnership in writing. He gave her a wintry smile, as if he wished he could, but it was out of his hands.

Balling her napkin, she tossed it at his retreating back. She sat down, and rubbed at her temples. Bloody men. She’d voiced her opinion, and a woman at the next table gave her a sympathetic smile.

Finishing the remaining croutons, she picked up her napkin, left the restaurant, and marched past Culpeper sitting on a bench speaking earnestly into his phone. Beyond the ferry terminals, she stopped at the edge of the harbour and leaned her arms on the railing. Feeling the need to regroup before going back to work, she stared into the navy-blue water. All this stuff bouncing around in her head needed sorting out. She’d been with Culpeper & Chipman since law school…

The moment she arrived back at the office, she rang her friend Annie in Brisbane, and reported the details of the lunch.

Do you know who was supposed to go to Darwin? Olivia asked.

Peter. The timing of your lunch is suspicious, since for the last ten minutes he’s been dancing around the office shouting Culpeper has called it off.

OMG! So it was Peter he was talking to. The old guy lied to me. Said the Brisbane lawyer had pulled out. Then Peter doesn’t mind not going?

He’s delighted, because he’s in the middle of renovating his house.

Thank God. Now I’m sure why it’s Darwin or no job for me. I’m being banished because I dumped the less than charming Chips three days ago. Poor man, his ego’s shattered.

You dumped him? Great news! And now he’s doing a demolition job on you.

Apparently. I did more than merely dump. I tossed his clothes off my balcony and they landed on top of a passing bus. The only problem was I had to drive him to his house. I was tempted to drive him to the tip.

Annie laughed. I’d have made him walk. I’m proud of you. Look at it this way—he’s done you a favour, six months free of working with him. What triggered it?

Several things built up. You can guess what kind of salary he’s on, yet he treats money like an endangered species. Plus, I was sick of the whingeing about how much his ex-wife costs him.

He isn’t called Cheap-as-Chips for nothing.

Right. He was so needy for sympathy, for attention. The crunch came when he criticised me for being softer on clients than I was on him. I don’t know why I ever got involved with him. She massaged her right temple. How come I’m such an idiot for taking four months to realise what a toxic relationship it was? They say workplace liaisons can sabotage a career, and when it goes belly-up someone gets the push.

For heaven’s sake, Livi, you’re being temporarily re-located, not thrown out. Have you asked yourself why you stay with Culpeper & Chipman?

Actually yes, just now on my way back from lunch. Because I’ve been able to fast-track to executive level. My next step is a partnership. I want it soon. Then I want to change the culture.

A big ask. What about your parents?

Olivia sighed. I don’t like admitting this, but I suppose they do have something to do with it. The pressure to achieve is always there. A pressure which sometimes felt like the weight of the world.

Having a judge for a father and a magistrate for a mother would have to be a handicap.

You’re not wrong. This is why I need the dancing and the riding, to connect me to other worlds.

Dancing you’ll be able to do in Darwin, but what about the riding? Will someone look after your horse?

My grandfather. He lives close to where she is on my parents’ farm. They stay in Sydney most of the time, but I often weekend there. I’ll miss that. She doodled a horse on her notepad. Annie, it’s clear I have to go, so I must get on with it.

Cheer up! I read how the ratio of men to women in the Northern Territory is four to one. There’ll be a whole new line-up of hunky types.

Huh. I need a rest from men. Will you visit me?

Love to. Do you have time to come here before you go? Josh is overseas for another month.

You must really miss him. Olivia had long wished Annie’s gorgeous husband, a pilot with the air force, had a brother. Her mind suddenly launched a tempting idea.

Listen, I’m going to drive to Darwin, and—

Drive? It’ll take over a week! And in your car? Is that sensible?

To hell with sensible. I’ll see places I’d never get to otherwise. And Brisbane can be on the way.

A girls’ weekend, shopping and vodka.

Gotcha!

Olivia headed for Lance Chipman’s office. Barging in without knocking, she kicked the door shut behind her.

You engineered this Darwin thing as punishment for me because I threw you out, and now you’re spreading it around I was sleeping my way to the top. She, who never lost her temper in court or with clients, felt raw anger tightening her voice. Again! Just three days ago, her temper had flared with this same Mr. Snake-in-a-Suit. I’m seriously insulted.

I heard talk. He tapped a pen on his desk, clearly indicating impatience with her.

You heard yourself talk. I’m pleased to be out of this hothouse of innuendo. There’d better be a partnership when I get back.

On condition you increase the Darwin corporate client base.

Condition? She jabbed a finger at him. George didn’t mention any condition. Is that why he won’t put the partnership in writing? I don’t appreciate having conditions put on me.

Read your sub-contract. Take it or leave it. You owe me clothes.

Sue me. She slammed the door behind her so hard the partition walls quivered.

Realising she’d admitted to Chips she would go to Darwin, she collected the contract and spent an hour checking for loopholes. It guaranteed her continuing leadership of the on-line national mediation group, and included augmenting Darwin’s corporate client base. But no mention of a partnership. If she were scrutinising it for a client, she’d challenge this omission, but knowing her employers, she’d be wasting her time.

Opening her diary, she checked commitments before she left Sydney, and flicked ahead to enter her start date in the Darwin office. Hmm, April Fool’s Day. She might have been a fool, but this first of April would mark her transition to a woman with better taste in men.

To Annie, she’d spoken off the top of her head about driving, but the idea did appeal. After half an hour on the Internet, checking the route and discovering interesting places, her simmering resentment of the transfer began to evaporate. A tickle of power ran through her veins. Not only would she be in charge of the branch furthest from Head Office, she’d be in charge of her life.

And if the tropical climate turned out to be the only steamy aspect of this new life, well, she could live with that.

Chapter Two

Darwin, six weeks later

Olivia was looking for a kinky no-hoper.

Not just any no-hoper; specifically, one romantically challenged male on the hunt for a susceptible female.

Yesterday, in Lulu’s Lovelies Lingerie Boutique, she’d found his business card stapled to the swing tags on a selection of the sexiest bras. In the shop to buy a slinky silver 14C, she’d come out not only with this, but also with a luscious lemon-yellow number and said business card. Just her luck the bra was a 14B, but as the only one in this colour and style, she’d squeezed into it and decided her boobs would make it. The bra was exquisite, its lacy cups trimmed with dinky white daisies, and it came with a cute matching brooch, a circlet of daisies on lemon lace framed by tiny pearls.

Surely she could drop one cup size now she was in Darwin. She knew no one to eat sin-laden meals with. Or to join with in any other kind of sin.

Sin-laden anything is off my program, she lectured herself as she parked her car on the Esplanade just before eight on Saturday morning. Firstly, she would make a serious attempt to watch her weight. Without the dancing classes she ran in Sydney, a mere ounce of chocolate would aim straight for her hips. Secondly, any male headed her way would have to pass a string of checks consisting of assorted features which previously had tripped her up. Some Mr. Loveless and Lonely who prowled lingerie shops was unlikely to achieve straight A’s.

Then why was she looking for him? Curiosity. Nothing more. Six weeks into her self-inflicted man-o-pause, she didn’t intend to break the drought just yet.

After five hyperactive days in the new job, she could do with a little light relief. Since leaving Sydney and a round of farewell parties three weeks ago, and a wild weekend with Annie in Brisbane, she’d had no social life at all. That was, if you didn’t count being chatted up in a bar in Mount Isa where she’d spent three days waiting for car repairs. Higher on the respectability scale was Wednesday after work drinks with the three other staff to wish Keith Whitbread a great six-month sailing trip, lucky devil. Otherwise, the social high spot of her first week in Darwin had been meeting a couple of neighbours while removing junk mail from her mailbox. She felt stripped of her party-girl badge.

Maybe this new bra, or rather, the intriguing attached ticket, would ramp up the prospect of a little playful relief. Even if the owner was a kinky no-hoper, he was at least smart enough to spot a gap in the singles marketplace.

Taking the business card from her bag, she scrutinised it for the umpteenth time. The glossy white on black design and quality appeared too classy to belong to someone who pulled women by their bra straps. Callum O’Ferrall. Bites’n’Books Café and Bookshop. What was the protocol for a card-order date? Had he managed one yet? The attractive curly-haired redhead at the boutique’s counter had scanned the bras’ barcodes and processed Olivia’s credit card, without looking at her or moving the tiniest of facial muscles. The assistant—Patsy, according to her fancy embroidered name badge—must have noticed the card. She’d have to be in on the ploy. Perhaps Mr. Loveless and Lonely paid her a commission for each hit.

What would he be like? Puny, lank mousy hair, bad skin, ill-fitting clothes, loser tattooed on his forehead? They probably employed him to wash the dishes, out of sight of the customers so he wouldn’t scare them off. In which case, she was wasting her time—except she did need her power-up-the-day caffeine.

Opposite where she’d parked, Bites’n’Books was housed in a charming old cottage. A row of hibiscus, their blowsy flowers rioting in Technicolor, separated its garden from the street, and frangipani trees edged the timber fences at each side. Cafés and books played important parts in her life maintenance, and this place looked promising for Saturday breakfast. She dropped the card into her bag, pulled her shoulders back under the yellow bra, fingered its brooch pinned to the neck of her T-shirt, and swung out of the car.

From the café garden where he’d just finished putting up the shade umbrellas, Callum watched a nicely built blonde show a fair bit of leg as she slid from a shiny red open-top sports car. Could he be so lucky she was the first customer this morning? She slung an outsize yellow bag over one shoulder, pushed fingers through short hair, adjusted her sunglasses, and headed across the road toward him with a bounce in her step. He tweaked the frangipani blossoms floating in their bowl on the table closest to the steps up to the indoor café, as an invitation for her to sit there. At this table, he could keep an eye on her.

Hi, am I too early?

Good morning. Not at all. Espresso machine’s fired up. Aware she was sizing him up, Callum pulled a chair out from his preferred table, and smiled at her as she sat down. Taking a menu from his apron pocket, he placed it in front of her. Can I get you a coffee while you decide on breakfast?

She hung her bag on the hook on the underside of the table, and linked her hands under her chin. The number of rings she wore intrigued him, but he didn’t have time to inspect them. A party of four was arriving, he should get her order and move on.

I’d love a latte, thanks.

Would you prefer skinny or full cream?

Skinny and extra-shot please.

On its way.

Olivia gave him a smile she was afraid came off her face as flirty.

Yet this was the desperate man! She’d read, embroidered in white on his dark-green polo shirt, Callum. Bites’n’Books. Loveless and Lonely? Surely a grin like his would keep him off the lonely list. He’d probably intended his smile as a courteous greeting to a customer, but a tiny dimple at the corner of his mouth promoted it to cheeky level. She rubbed her temples in an effort to keep surprise from showing.

She watched him take the steps two at a time, neat backside in stylish, black knee-length shorts, tanned, muscular legs, and broad feet in black canvas shoes. Average height and build, with mop of unruly auburn hair.

She toyed with the daisy brooch. And whipped her hand away from it. This action could be interpreted as a come-on, and she didn’t want to appear as needy as Callum apparently was. Lifting a creamy frangipani star, she inhaled its sweet fragrance. She wasn’t needy. Had never been, never would be. If she never met any man who could pass her test, then she could give up the sods forever. Though such a situation might seriously affect her sanity. Wouldn’t do much for her libido either.

Loveless and Lonely gave no sign he recognised the brooch, but of course, he wouldn’t unless he wanted to get to know the wearer. She had no intention of removing her shirt in case he might remember the bra better than the brooch.

While a fragment of her mind remained on Callum, Olivia glanced at her surroundings. Palms in Ali Baba jars stood on each side of the eight wooden steps with handrails. These and a ramp led up to a veranda with more tables around the timber building painted cream with green trim. Bougainvillea, in carnival colours of pink, red, purple and orange, cascaded from tubs in the veranda’s corners. Inside, she guessed, would be the books part of the business. The area appeared well-tended, with neatly mown grass. The green umbrellas and timber furniture looked new. Bites’n’Books must be a popular breakfast hangout, as tables were filling up quickly.

Your latte, ma’am.

She turned her head to see a younger version of Callum, except the red hair was gelled into spikes and he hadn’t shaved. Ryan, his shirt announced.

Water and today’s local newspaper, he added, putting the items down. Cal asks if you’ve decided on brekkie.

Thanks for all this. Absorbed in the attractive setting of the café, she’d given no thought to the food. Glancing at the menu, ricotta cheese caught her eye. Good, low fat.

I’ll go for the ricotta waffle.

He nodded, took a number on a spike from his apron pocket, placed it by the frangipani, and entered her order on an electronic pad. Won’t be long.

She stared at the coffee. On its surface, light froth outlined a feathery heart shape. Was this standard issue? The glass was double-walled, maybe specially toughened so the strength of the latte wouldn’t melt it. She sipped. This was one bold coffee! Just how she liked it.

Not that skim milk alone would result in an easier fit of the new bra. The extra caffeine she did need, to get her mind around the idea of this Callum being the kind of guy who scattered his cards around a lingerie shop.

With a quarter of her attention on the newspaper, she gave the other three-quarters to observing Ryan and Callum taking orders. She wondered who was in the kitchen. Was it a family concern, with father cooking and mother dealing with the bookshop? Any more redheads?

Well, yeah, another one got out of a small, candy-pink car, and wove her way between the tables. This one was familiar—Patsy, from Lulu’s Lovelies. Olivia watched her go up the steps into the café. Minutes later, she was back, carrying a cardboard tray containing a coffee in its corner slot and something wrapped in a cloth napkin. So she’d called at what must be the family café for breakfast. She paused on the bottom step, and looked Olivia straight in the eye.

Hi again! She glanced at the brooch and her mouth quirked. Enjoy your breakfast.

Olivia nodded, fashioning her lips into what she hoped was an upbeat smile, the kind that would hide her embarrassment. Thank goodness she had her sunglasses on and her eyes wouldn’t give her away. The woman would know she was checking out the card’s owner.

Had she said anything to Callum? Like, your customer in the yellow T-shirt with the brooch of white daisies wants to get to know you. Her skin prickled with mortification, and colour climbed her cheeks. She pressed her forefingers against her temples, drained her water from its opaque green goblet, and bent her head over the newspaper.

Yesterday, she read, six crocodiles had been hauled from the sea off Darwin’s beaches. Ugh! She thumbed through the pages to find the crossword. Looking around, she noted most tables held a newspaper, so there were plenty and probably no-one would mind if she worked at the cryptic.

Callum took two orders to the garden. Delivering the first, he exchanged a few words with the regular customer, then headed for the blonde’s table. Patsy had asked him if he’d noticed her, but she and his other sisters were always pointing out this woman or that. Mostly he ignored them—the women and his sisters’ comments. He didn’t have enough hours in the day, and he’d do his noticing when he was ready.

Though this—and nothing to do with Patsy—might be right now.

Everyone had ordered, and all the customers appeared relaxed, eating, talking, reading. He could spare the blonde a couple of minutes. Though he was interrupting her doing the crossword—the cryptic, for God’s sake. The mere sight of a crossword threatened to bring on a headache, and here she was, a quarter of it done in barely ten minutes.

Your waffle, ma’am. Flicking the linen napkin open onto her lap, he couldn’t help but be aware of her neatly rounded knees below a short white skirt. Enjoy.

Thanks, Callum, this looks really good.

Hey, she’d used his