Hired by the Brooding Billionaire Read Free

restored and with a lot of money thrown at it.
    She followed him to a small sitting room that led off the hallway. It was furnished simply and elegantly and she got the impression it was rarely used. Heavy, embroidered curtains were drawn across the windows so she couldn’t glimpse the garden through them.
    He indicated for her to take a seat on one of the overstuffed sofas. She perched on its edge, conscious of her gardening trousers on the pristine fabric. He sat opposite, a coffee table between them. The polished surface was just asking for a bowl of fresh flowers from the garden to sit in the centre. That was, if anything was blooming in that jungle outside.
    ‘I apologise for mistaking you for a courier the last time we met,’ he said stiffly. ‘I work from home and still had my head in my workspace.’
    Shelley wondered what he did for work but it was not her place to ask. To live in a place like this, in one of Sydney’s most expensive streets, it must be something that earned tons of money. She put aside her fanciful thoughts of him being in witness protection or a criminal on the run. That was when he’d said ‘no’ to the garden. Now it looked likely he was saying ‘yes’.
    ‘That’s okay,’ she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘It was just a misunderstanding.’ She wanted to get off on the right foot with him, make polite conversation. ‘Did your computer part arrive?’
    ‘Eventually, yes.’
    He wasn’t a talkative man, that was for sure. There was an awkward pause that she rushed to fill. ‘So it seems you’ve changed your mind about the garden,’ she said.
    His face contracted into that already familiar scowl. Shelley was glad. She’d been disconcerted by the forced smile. This was the Declan Grant she had been expecting to encounter—that she’d psyched herself up to deal with.
    ‘The damn neighbours and their non-stop complaints. They think my untended garden lowers the tone of the street and therefore their property values. Now I’ve got the council on my back to clear it. That’s why I contacted you.’
    Shelley sat forward on the sofa. ‘You want the garden cleared? Everything cut down and replaced with minimalist paving and some outsize pots?’
    He drew dark brows together. ‘No. I want the garden tidied up. Not annihilated.’
    She heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Good. Because if you want minimalist, I’m not the person for the job. There’s a beautiful, traditional garden under all that growth and I want to free it.’
    ‘That...that’s what someone else said about it,’ he said, tight-lipped, not meeting her eyes.
    ‘I agree with that person one hundred per cent,’ she said, not sure what else to say.
Who shared her views on the garden restoration?
    Her first thought was Declan had talked to another gardener. Which, of course, he had every right to do. But the flash of pain that momentarily tightened his face led her to think it might be more personal. Whatever it might be, it was none of her business. She just wanted to work in that garden.
    He leaned back in his sofa, though he looked anything but relaxed. He crossed one long, black-jeans-clad leg over the other, then uncrossed it. ‘Tell me about your qualifications for the job,’ he said.
    ‘I have a degree in horticultural science from Melbourne University. More importantly, I have loads of experience working in both public and private gardens. When I lived in Victoria I was also lucky enough to work with some of the big commercial nurseries. I ran my own one-woman business for a while, too.’
    ‘You’re from Melbourne?’
    She shook her head. ‘No. I lived most of my life in the Blue Mountains area.’ Her grandmother had given refuge to her, her sister and her mother in the mountain village of Blackheath, some two hours west of Sydney, when her father had destroyed their family. ‘I went down south to Melbourne for university. Then I stayed. They don’t call Victoria “The Garden State” for