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would curve his mouth but then his lips settled into a familiar, inflexible line. ‘That’s blackmail.’
    ‘Really? My father called it negotiating.’
    She steeled herself against the memories of her father’s cold eyes as he cut her off mid-stammer and shut the study door in her face. Their negotiation had only ever been one way.
    Kade examined Mia’s suddenly set and ashen face. Just like in her office, when she’d realised she’d be living at Berrilea to work with Tilly, he caught a glimpse of unexpected vulnerability. And such vulnerability disturbed him. She might continue to pin him with her trade-mark stare but she couldn’t fool him anymore. Beneath her take-no-prisoners exterior lurked very real human pain.
    He knew he shouldn’t agree to her conditions. In his old life he wouldn’t even be standing here hesitating. But he couldn’t think of anything but easing her hurt. Before he could flip the safety-switch on his mouth, he spoke. ‘You’re lucky I don’t have time to…negotiate…all day. You have a deal.’
    Tilly cheered and waved an orange puppet in his direction and he immediately wished he could retract his words.
    ‘Wise decision,’ Mia said, not looking at him as she again sat in her chair. ‘Let’s get started.’
    He too sat, careful to keep a gap between himself and his niece. He rested his elbows on the table and checked his watch. Mia sat opposite him. Her loose auburn curls bright against the cloudless sky. A faded memory stirred.
    Yesterday in the drawing room, she’d mentioned knowing her way around an office and seeing as there was no middle management, let alone upper management, within an eight-hour radius, she must be referring to her life before the outback. A city life? A boyfriend? Husband? He ignored his growing disquiet. Despite the message of her bare ring finger, it shouldn’t mean anything to him that she might otherwise be attached.
    The memory hovering on the fringe of his subconscious crystallised into a man’s face. His mind clicked into gear.
    Surname Windsor.
    No. Surely not. She couldn’t be related to Langford Windsor. The Bondi Brawler. Kade considered the burnished sheen of Mia’s long curls that fell over her shoulders. She shot him a hard look.
    Possible.
    Red hair. Rapid-fire tongue. Razor-sharp glare.
    It was common knowledge that his wife had died from cancer years ago. But the whispers about him having a daughter hadn’t ever been substantiated. There was a sure way to find out.
    ‘Mia, you aren’t related to a Langford Windsor, are you?’
    The dilation of her pupils confirmed his suspicions even before her subdued, tense words sounded.
    ‘Now there’s a name I didn’t think I’d hear west of the Blue Mountains, but yes,’ she paused, ‘I am related to him.’ She rummaged through her basket as though her life depended on reaching a particular item at the bottom.
    Kade could almost hear the click of the stop button on their conversation. But he wasn’t done talking, not by a long shot, even if he had a crucial call to make. It wasn’t every day that someone surprised or intrigued him. This woman who sat across from him, who’d shown such empathy and kindness toward his ward, couldn’t be hard-hearted Langford’s flesh and blood. In all the dealings he’d had with him he’d never seen him thank anyone, let alone crack a smile. Compassion and altruism simply weren’t part of his DNA.
    ‘Father? Uncle?’ Kade prompted.
    ‘Father. Past tense.’
    He examined her strained profile as she passed Tilly a second orange puppet. ‘I’m sorry. I hadn’t realised he’d passed away.’
    ‘He. Hasn’t.’
    Her two concise words told him more than a whole sentence that her relationship with her father was a non-existent one. ‘I see.’
    But what he didn’t see was how Langford’s daughter could be out here in the dust and heat as far away as possible from harbour views and water-front restaurants. Langford’s power-broking status