The Price of Fame

The Price of Fame by Anne Oliver Page A

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Authors: Anne Oliver
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and they all laughed. Unlike Flynn, he wasn’t using his charm to further any agenda. It was professional courtesy and respect and friendly interest all the way. Also unlike Flynn, Nic made time for people because he genuinely cared about others. And he was utterly, utterly gorgeous with it.
    Her heart squeezed tight, then seemed to detach from her body and took off on a journey of its own.
    Oh, no. She rubbed a hand over her chest and mentally dragged her heart back where it belonged and waited the longest time for it to settle.
    She was no expert on men. Apart from co-workers and a forgettable couple of adolescent crushes, her experience was limited to her father and brother who’d loved her and an ex-fiancé who had not. Falling for Nic wasn’t an option. This was a holiday romance, nothing more.
    She turned and continued towards the concierge desk at the end of the open-air structure, taking her time to feel the salty air drifting through the covered walkway while her pulse returned to normal.
    A colourful array of beads caught her eye and she paused to talk to the local women who came in from the nearby village daily and sat in the shade, their handcrafts spread on tarpaulins in front of them.
    By the time she’d chosen a bracelet of tiny lime green stones to match her dress, Nic was waiting, watching her as she approached. She felt as admired and breathless as she had last night.
    ‘
Bula
, Charlotte.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Don’t you look bright and cheerful today.’
    ‘Thanks.’ She smiled. ‘I
feel
bright and cheerful.’ She saw the appreciation in his dark eyes and was glad she’d decided to buy something different.
    As they drove inland and away from the coast in his luxury car she asked Nic about the education system.
    ‘Here they lack the funds for equipment Australian schools take for granted, particularly in the rural areas.’
    ‘Tell me about this school we’re visiting.’
    Nic overtook an ancient, rusted pick-up truck overloaded with workers on their way to the sugar-cane fields. ‘It caters for children from five to twelve years, with two classrooms, two teachers and sixty kids. Kasanita teaches the kids up to the age of eight.’
    ‘So how do they afford computers?’
    ‘They don’t.’ He slowed for a bus stopping to pick up passengers.
    ‘Oh?’ Of course. ‘You donated them.’
    He shrugged a shoulder. ‘It’s a good cause.’
    She nodded. He was a
cause
man. She loved causes. So often she’d found it to be women who put in the time and effort. ‘How often do you visit?’
    ‘When I’m here, I try to make it every couple of weeks. Early intervention’s important, so I spend most of that time with Kas’s class.’
    ‘How do you know Kas?’
    ‘Her father owns a yachting business and takes charter cruises around some of the local islands. But we’ve not talked much about you yet.’ He glanced at her; more specifically at her breasts. ‘I take it you’re a fashion designer.’
    She ignored the heat his gaze invoked and tried not to think about the underwear she’d chosen specifically inthe hope that at some stage he’d take it off her. ‘No. That’s just a hobby.’
    ‘A hobby.’ His tone suggested he thought she lived on her parents’ wealth. ‘What do you do, then?’
    ‘I worked at the winery, in the office.’
    ‘Not any more?’
    ‘I sold the business three weeks ago, so I’m out of a job at the moment.’
    He didn’t reply and maybe she was being oversensitive but she got the feeling he thought she was satisfied with her unemployed status. She hastened to explain she wasn’t some rich chick with nothing to do but take exotic vacations. ‘My ex and I were going to open a cheese and wine cellar door place there until he changed his mind and decided to give politics a go. And now …’
    She looked away, at the green mountains in the distance, and thought how far away her problems seemed on this island paradise. How she had so many things to

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