At the Billionaire's Beck and Call? by Rachel Bailey Page A

couldn’t afford to waste time.”
    â€œThat’s why weekends were invented,” he said slowly.
    â€œTrue.” She nodded casually and popped a chunk of dragon fruit into her mouth. Some people may want to play at the end of the week, but weekends were perfect for making progress on deadlines and working from the comfort of home.
    Ryder watched her for a moment longer, eyes narrowed. “You didn’t take weekends, did you?”
    â€œNo,” she admitted with a reluctant smile. He had a surprising ability to read her. It wasn’t something she was used to—when she’d been younger, no one had watched her long enough, not with her mother or sister nearby. Andonce she’d struck out on her own, she’d quickly developed an aloof facade that had kept everyone at bay.
    Everyone but this man.
    Under the cover of taking lychees and cubes of matured cheese from the platter with the silver tongs, she observed him. Sunglasses hid his eyes as he slowly slid a piece of moist pawpaw past his lips. Her pulse spiked. Now she could see his point about watching someone eat fruit.
    He blotted his mouth with the napkin then reached for the Swiss cheese. “Where else have you been?”
    She pushed the lychees around her plate, bringing her pulse back under control. “I’ve flown into Perth a few times for meetings.”
    â€œAnd let me guess—” a teasing grin spread across his face “—all you saw was the inside of the car and a meeting room?”
    â€œI did take in a couple of sunsets. It’s on the west coast of Australia and the sunsets were spectacular. The best I’ve seen.”
    She found room for one final piece of kiwifruit, but then edged her plate away and wiped her fingers on her napkin.
    â€œHad enough?” Ryder asked.
    â€œProbably a little past enough, but the flavors were too tempting to leave.”
    He pushed back his chair and stood, then came around to pull her chair out. “Let’s go back to the lower deck.”
    â€œYou like being closer to the water,” she guessed.
    He rewarded her with a smile and held out an arm for her to lead the way. Once they were positioned again at the guardrail, where the wind danced through their hair and the smell of the sea was stronger, he turned to her. “Have you been to Tasmania?”
    â€œNot had an opportunity.”
    â€œI’d like to go one day,” he said, looking up to follow the path of a low-flying seagull.
    Tasmania might have beautiful old growth rainforests and stunning mountains, but she knew the claim it would have on Ryder. “At the time of the Sydney to Hobart, I assume?”
    â€œIt’d be a sight to see, those yachts coming up Storm Bay.” His voice was wistful and his gaze sought the yachts that dotted the Harbour. His staff might call him The Machine, but deep inside, something in Ryder didn’t want to be a workaholic. It was as obvious as the bright sun in the sky that part of him wanted to stop and smell the roses. Or, more accurately, watch the yachts.
    From observing her father, she knew that being a workaholic didn’t bring joy, and she wanted happiness for Ryder.
    â€œYou should do it,” she said softly. “Take some time for yourself and see the race firsthand.”
    His head whipped around to face her again, dark eyebrows raised. “Do you want to be the pot or the kettle in this scenario?”
    Macy laughed and leaned her elbows on the rail, submitting herself to the breeze and the sound of the water rhythmically hitting the hull.
    Time had flown by so quickly, she was surprised a few minutes later when they pulled back in to the jetty near the Opera House. She watched the crew work to secure the cruiser and felt an unwelcome pang of sadness that it was over already. Definitely time to switch back into work mode and leave the casualness of their “lunch break” behind.
    She looked at Ryder who was