Hired by the Brooding Billionaire

In fact he had mentioned to his wife a few times that maybe they should get cracking on the garden. Her reply had always been she wanted it to be perfect—compromise had never been the answer for Lisa—and she needed to concentrate on the house first.

Her shockingly unexpected death had thrown him into such grief and despair he hadn’t cared if the garden had lived or died. He hadn’t cared if he had lived or died. But now, even from the depths of his frozen heart, he knew that Lisa would not have been happy at how he had neglected the garden she had had such plans for.

Grudgingly he conceded that maybe it was a good thing the neighbours had intervened. And a happy chance that Shelley Fairhill had come knocking on his door.

Not that he would ever admit that to anyone.

She looked up as he approached, her face lit by the open sunny smile that seemed to be totally without agenda. Early on in his time as a wealthy widower he had encountered too many smiles of the other kind—greedy, calculating, seductive. It was one of the reasons he had locked himself away in self-imposed exile. He did not want to date, get involved, marry again—and no one could convince him otherwise no matter the enticement.

‘Come on in, the water’s fine,’ Shelley called with her softly chiming laugh.

Declan looked down to see the inch or so of dirty water that had gathered in one corner of the stained and pitted concrete pond. ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,’ he said with a grimace he couldn’t hide.

He intended to stand aloof and discuss the state of the pond in a professional employer-employee manner. But, bemused at his own action, he found himself jumping down into the empty pond to join her.

‘Watch your nice boots,’ she warned. The concrete bottom of the pond was discoloured with black mould and the dark green of long-ago-dried-out algae.