The Risky Business of Romance

By VK Tritschler

Disillusioned and suffering severe anxiety from the Christchurch earthquakes, Samantha Morgan is on the hunt for a rich husband and a quiet life to save her sanity. She moves to Port Victor, a town with the highest per capita millionaires, in the sweeping South Australian countryside. There she meets Max who doesn't fit her strict criteria, and is torn between her attraction for him and her goals for herself.

 

Max Haydon enjoys farming and keeping a low profile in his small town and has no intention of taking over the family's expansive business ventures. But when his parents hire the beautiful, complicated Samantha to uncover a fraudster, he has to think twice about getting involved. With Samantha kidnapped, time is running out.

 

Can they find love despite their different agendas, or will the risks be too costly for them both?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Oct 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781949931907

Book preview

Chapter 1

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As the aeroplane shuddered and dropped, Samantha Morgan dug her fingers in to the armrest, leaving perfect, nail-shaped indentations. Despite the perspiration forming on her brow, she refused to surrender her grasp. Memories—the sounds and images of the buildings falling, sirens screaming, and the ground heaving from the Christchurch earthquakes—plagued her. She tried to rationalise her fear, repeating to herself that turbulence was normal, and she would be fine, but despite her best attempts, her gut would not listen. By the time the plane heaved its last groan and she heard the thud of the wheels on the tarmac once again, her mood had darkened and her body ached from the tension.

Making her way through Adelaide airport, she paused only once to step into the bathroom and refresh herself. Staring in the mirror, she noted how dark the rings around her eyes were. There was no time to fix her makeup, so she instead drew her water bottle out of her handbag and threw two pills down her throat. Almost there, she told herself. You can do this.

The moment she saw the size of her final plane, she felt ill. She had known Port Victor was a rural setting, but the Rex Piper was barely big enough to hold a dozen people, and its seats were well-worn and showing their age. The other passengers bustled around her, smiling and chatting. It was clear they already knew each other. She was overdressed and out of place. It didn’t help that she’d just endured two other flights, which had raised her anxiety to the point of near hysteria, and those had been in reasonable-sized planes, not the tin can she was boarding for this last leg of the journey. It also annoyed her to find the extra leg room she had pre-booked, so she could keep her handbag by her feet, merely ensured she was closer to the front of the plane and the rather young flight attendant who sat across from her.

And where exactly am I supposed to put my hand luggage? she asked of nobody in particular.

Oh, there will be heaps of room in the locker above. The smiling flight attendant reached out, offering to assist. Did you want me to give you a hand?

Sam clutched her Louis Vuitton closer to her chest. No, thank you, she replied, and fell dramatically into her chair, refusing to release the bag.

You have to stow it for take-off and landing, the flight attendant explained. It’s part of our safety requirements.

I have zero intention of leaving my belongings in those inappropriate conditions. She pointed an accusatory finger in the compartment’s direction.

If you are not prepared to adhere to our conditions, I’m afraid you will have to leave the plane. The flight attendant folded her arms across her chest.

Surveying the other passengers, who had all now stopped chatting to watch the commotion, Sam realised there was little she could do. She would have to forgo her moral high ground and relinquish the bag, and the anti-anxiety medication she had stashed inside it.

Fine. She reluctantly passed over the offending article to the hostess, who shoved it in the cabin storage above Sam’s head. But I can assure you I will hold this airline personally responsible for any damage.

Straightening her back and turning to look out the window, she tried to ignore the obvious curiosity among her fellow passengers, and braced for the next flight.

It was worse than she had imagined. The plane shook and shuddered its way for the full fifty minutes. Then to make matters worse, they had to circle the airport twice due to excessive wind gusts. By the time the wheels finally touched down, shudders rocked her body as hard as the plane ever had and she was finding it hard to breathe. With shaking legs, she prepared to leave the plane. Now they had landed, it was action time, so she knew she had to get herself together. Sam was renowned for doing her homework. Nobody could hold a candle to her for research and execution, and she knew the task that lay ahead of her would require every ounce of her concentration and expertise. But as the door swung open, and she shuffled to the exit, her first glance told her everything she needed to know.

This was a terrible mistake, her brain told her. Perhaps the biggest she had ever made. As she clutched her designer bag in one hand and the worn-out guard rail in the other, she knew she had no option now but to go through with it. She gritted her teeth and walked out into the sunshine, adjusting her sunglasses to avoid the glare.

Drawing in her breath and squaring her shoulders, she manoeuvred herself through the rather new-looking airport, which stood in sharp contrast to the farmland it inhabited. She tapped her foot and was painfully aware of the locals’ attention as she waited with the other passengers for her luggage to arrive. And arrive it eventually did, pulled by a small luggage cart through a garage door and straight into the hangar. Aghast, she watched as the other passengers happily jostled and picked through the bags, until the only remaining were the two larger matching versions of her handbag, with their brown and cream designer patterns and gold-embossed locks.

She stepped forward, looking around frantically for a serviceman or someone who might be able to help her lift the cases to the trolley. She knew how heavy they were. But the only person left in the hangar was the cut of a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing fluorescent yellow overalls and looking distinctly like he was a mechanic. He was leaning over the steering wheel of the cart, reading from a clipboard.

Excuse me, she called, stepping toward him.

As he lifted his head and turned, it surprised her to find a pair of startling blue eyes and a chiselled face gazing back. His mop of sun-kissed brown hair fell forward, and he wiped it away, causing a smudge of grease to slide across his forehead. Sorry, are you talking to me? he replied with a strong Australian accent.

She could feel the hot flush of blood seeping into her cheeks as he looked her over.

Yes. She pointed toward the back of the cart, trying to hide the shake of her hand as she did. I need help here.

The man arched an eyebrow and smiled at her, showing clear dimples. You don’t look like someone who needs help.

His gaze returned to the clipboard before he started the engine on the lawnmower-sized luggage cart, and remarked over his shoulder, But I’m sorry, you’ll need to get your own bags off the cart, lady. It’s an airport regulation. They can’t afford me getting injured lifting overweight bags off this thing for some Sheila. Oh, and you’ll need to hurry up, I have another flight coming in soon. He threw her a wink before he returned his gaze to the tarmac.

Sam stared at him, amazed at his audacity.

I beg your pardon! She raised her voice and folded her arms across her chest. As I told you already, I need assistance. Now, will you kindly get off and tend to my bags. Please.

His head pivoted back to her direction.

Look, lady, he replied, the smile having gone from his face and his eyes hardened, Your bags, your problem. I suggest you go chat up the taxi driver who looks like he’s hanging around for you over there. If you’re lucky, bat your eyes, and shut your mouth, Mark might bring them out for you. He pointed to the middle-aged, balding man in a white shirt and black pants who wore a taxi badge near the departure door.

Anger surged through Sam’s veins as she stomped over to him.

Excuse me, growled Sam, as she reached the bedraggled man in question, I understand you own a taxi service?

Yip, Mark replied, grinning. Did you want a ride into town?

Yes, please, said Sam, straightening her shoulders. That horrible man over there refuses to help me with my bags. Would you please be so kind?

Mark looked over her shoulder at the offending luggage cart driver and gave him a wave.

Why, it’d be my pleasure ma’am, he replied, offering a mock bow to her before trundling over to the luggage cart.

Samantha, still glowering, found her way to the taxi and got comfortable in the back seat. The driver struggled with her suitcases, and there were several frustrated groans as he loaded them into the boot of his car. Eventually, after a hint of sweat formed at his brow, he jumped into the front seat.

So, he paused, gathering his breath, where do you need to go?

The Port Victor Hotel, please. Samantha reached into her handbag and switched her iPhone back on. As the screen glowed to life, Mark started their journey into town.

What brings you to Port Victor? He gazed back at her in the rear-view mirror. Are you on holiday?

No. She was not in the mood for small talk. The trip had been traumatic enough without her having to relay the impetus for the journey. They drove past a small cemetery and township before Mark spoke again.

Kiwi, are ya? Thought I heard the twang?

Yes. She wished he would just drive the car and stop the questioning.

Right, so what part of New Zealand are you from?

Samantha debated for a moment telling him the truth and then decided against it. He didn’t need to know. Auckland, she replied, and pretended to have something important to do on her phone.

Taking the hint, Mark stopped questioning her, and as they turned into the driveway of the Port Victor Hotel, with its enviable location, Samantha was a little sorry she had been so rude. She would have liked to ask him more about the area, now she had seen some of it. The beauty of her new surroundings surprised her. Port Victor had a sweeping beachfront, with tall Norfolk pines, and a quaint turn-of-the-century shopping strip of older-style buildings lining the road along the esplanade. She caught herself inspecting them for cracks and then mentally scolded herself for being silly. She wasn’t home anymore; there was no need to keep up with old habits.

As Mark heaved and unloaded her bags into the hotel, she presented to the front desk to organise her room. She found the staff to be friendly, and wondered how a town with so much supposed wealth kept an air of country welcome to it.

As she entered the well-appointed room she had been designated, she yawned. It had been a long day, with her first flight departing before dawn. She had been so nervous about pulling off her venture, she hadn’t slept well for days. That had become a bad habit of late. She sat in a chair, carefully placed by the window, and for a moment enjoyed the view of the ocean. She watched with fascination as a pair of pelicans flew across and landed on the water. It seemed so improbable they could fly at all, being all disproportionate in body shape. And she finally let her shoulders start to relax and her eyelids droop.

***

When she woke, the room was dark. For a moment she didn’t realise where she was, and a flood of panic washed over her. By habit, she reached for her bag where she kept her medication, only to find it wasn’t in the normal position beside her chair. Startled, she jumped up and stumbled around to find a light switch, her heart thumping. With the lights turned on, her memory of where she was returned, and she took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself. Glancing at the clock by her bed, she saw it was only eight. As her pulse returned to normal, her stomach started rumbling, and she decided to be adventurous and explore what they had for restaurants in the vicinity. Being a Wednesday night and the middle of winter, she figured she was unlikely to run into anyone of importance, but she made her way into the bathroom and corrected her makeup and hair just in case. First impressions lasted longest, she told herself as she applied the repairs.

By the time she had made her way downstairs and stepped out to the street, she was surprised by how warm the sea breeze was. Back home, winter had been ferocious, and she had left a minus five-degree morning before she’d landed to fifteen degrees in Sydney. She ambled along the foreshore shops and was glad to see a vast range of goods and services. Some stores could have rivalled the best of Sydney, while others had such a country essence to them she felt a little like she was back at home. Nostalgia flooded her, and she wondered how her family and friends were doing and if they had received her note yet. She had decided the easiest thing to do when she left was simply to advise them all after the fact. She knew if they had any idea of her intentions they would have tried to persuade her to change her mind. And in fairness to her family, who had worried about her for the last few years now, she knew this change would bring them even more consternation. But she had made up her mind and she was determined to make a success.

Toward the end of the esplanade, she stumbled across a lovely Asian restaurant that was still open, and walked inside. She was greeted with a warm smile from the middle-aged host.

Table for one?

Yes. For now at least, she told herself.

After being seated, she was presented with a menu that was vast and varied. She decided to sample some of the local seafood, and ordered a bottle of wine. It was, she decided, time to celebrate the small wins. As she dined, her phone let off a familiar vibration. She glanced down at the screen and recognised the number.

Hi Mum, she said, placing the phone near her ear.

What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?

Calm down, soothed Samantha, getting a little agitated with her mother’s tone. I’ve made my decision and I plan on sticking to it.

But you can’t possibly think this is a good idea! Seriously, Samantha, what are you doing?

Taking a deep breath, Samantha replied. Look, Mum, she said, keeping her voice as calm as she could muster, you and Dad know how difficult it’s been for the last couple of years. I’ve tried my best to get on with it and get ahead at work, but it won’t happen as long as I stay there. I’ll always be under a glass ceiling at work, and waiting constantly for the next big shake. I can’t close my eyes without seeing those images. The fallen buildings, injured people, the fear in people’s faces. So, I’ve been thinking long and hard about it, and decided I don’t want to keep living like that. I want to have a life. I want to be looked after for a change. I’m sick of looking after everyone else before me, and I’m sick of being scared and alone. What about me?

Tears welled in her eyes. Her mother’s voice dropped an octave as she responded. But darling! Why this? Why now? You were doing so well in your job. I know if you had held on for even another six months, they’d have promoted you to partner. And you worked so hard at university to get your degree. It’s like you’re throwing it all aside to live a life where you will be nothing more than a kept woman!

Samantha didn’t expect her mother to understand. If she hadn’t been inside her own head for the last two years, she wouldn’t have understood, either. She would have considered her plan ridiculous, insulting even. But she knew deep down she was mentally, physically, and emotionally tired of being strong all the time. If she could find herself a rich husband, she would have someone to take care of her and she could finally relax.

I don’t expect you or Dad to understand. I’m not asking for your advice, or even your acceptance. As an adult, I am deciding what to do in my life. All I ask is for you to give me time to make my dreams a reality, and accept that my life goals have changed. That’s all.

There was silence at the end of the phone for what seemed like an eternity. Then she heard her mother sniffle. "I know you’re all grown up now, Sam. But your Dad and I worry about you. We won’t ever stop worrying about you. And