Signed, Sealed, Married (A Diamond in the Rough #4)

Prologue

‘THEY’RE ALL PROMISING OPTIONS.’ Adam looked up from his desktop monitor. ‘The team’s done an excellent job. Thanks.’

His chief acquisitions advisor nodded. ‘They’ll be glad to hear that, thank you.’ He paused. ‘Of course, there’s a clear winner in terms of potential profit.’

Adam nodded. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll read it thoroughly before deciding.’

The need for profit had driven his endeavours since he was a schoolkid, holding down multiple part-time jobs. Adam had worked like a demon to get where he was, saving, taking calculated risks, and building a commercial empire that had rescued his mother from dragging poverty and put him at the top of Australia’s rich list.

Now it wasn’t simply about profit. Money wasn’t his prime consideration.

Though he’d ensure his acquisition was as successful as the rest of Wilde Holdings. He had the Midas touch and he expected his employees to earn the substantial bonuses and excellent conditions he provided.

His advisor left and Adam settled down to review the options.

An elite champagne house that had been producing fine wines for centuries. An innovative startup promising to revolutionise the sportscar market with genius engineering and gutsy, ultra-modern lines. A cosmetics and perfume company whose name was synonymous with refinement.

He dismissed the couture clothing brand. Having sat through a Paris fashion show with a lover, he’d found the hype over a collection of outlandish designs mystifying.

Then there was the shipbuilding company that made luxurious superyachts for the mega-rich.

The icing on the cake of his success would be acquiring a high-prestige company, synonymous worldwide with luxury.

He was no longer the hungry kid shunned by the establishment families in town while his mother cleaned their homes. But the memory of their contempt lingered.

Money alone wasn’t enough. Nor success.

Adam wanted an entrée to the world of old money privilege. That final social echelon that barred brash newcomers. What better way to prove he’d arrived than via a company to which the world’s elite flocked?

He’d almost decided to take the shipbuilding company, but made himself open the final file.

The famous House of Fontaine. Established and run by the same French family for generations. Perfumes and cosmetics weren’t his style, despite his mother loving its products. But the figures stacked up, or had done until recently when poor decisions had left the company teetering on the brink of disaster.

Nevertheless, he felt his interest waning.

Until he clicked onto a video of a company press conference.

The woman didn’t need a microphone to snare his attention. The quality of her silence as she waited for the journalists to settle made him sit straighter.

Her face was arresting rather than beautiful, with flawless skin, well-marked eyebrows and a wide mouth set beneath a strong nose. Her blonde hair was sleekly pulled back and would have looked uncompromising if not for the pearls at her throat and her well-shaped ears. Even a fashion ignoramus like Adam realised her plain black dress had been made for her slender frame.

She had it, that indefinable something he’d never had. Class.

The result of bred-in privilege. This was Gisèle Fontaine, acting CEO of the House of Fontaine.

Not that she looked down on the reporters. She waited patiently, exchanging small talk. Her expression betrayed only ease and confidence, her posture perfect as if she hadn’t a care in the world, despite what he’d read in the confidential financial investigation.

When she finally spoke, her tone was measured and cool, but with a slightly husky timbre that furred his flesh as each hair on his body lifted in awareness.

Something stirred low in his belly.

Adam blinked, watching her fend off questions with detached politeness and a measured smile that made him wonder what she’d look like if someone dared to disrupt her rarefied, ordered world. She looked as if nothing ever ruffled her. Perhaps it didn’t. Maybe her family’s wealth had protected her from any discomfort.

The interview ended and Adam reached out to close the recording when the reporter closest to her said something he didn’t catch. Gisèle Fontaine turned and smiled, really smiled.

Humour lit her face, making her eyes sparkle. It transformed her demeanour from cultured reserve to gut-punching sexiness.

The recording ended and Adam stared at the screen.

He had that feeling, the tingle along his spine and quickening in his gut that he’d learned not to ignore. Not because Gisèle Fontaine’s smile aroused primitive male instincts. But because he sensed this was precisely the opportunity he sought.

Methodically he reread the report, revisiting his earlier assessment.

Then he side-tracked, researching the Fontaine family.

Julien Fontaine, in his early thirties, had managed the company after the death of his grandfather several years ago. Recently Julien had stepped aside, leaving his younger sister Gisèle to act in his stead.

Adam rubbed his unshaven jaw, considering.

He reached for the phone. ‘Lien, I need a meeting organised as soon as possible, and a flight to France.’