The Millionaire by Victoria Purman Page B

about your generous offer.” Ellie looked around the newsroom and was met with uncharacteristic silence. Everyone else had stopped what they were doing and were leaning back in their chairs to listen to her conversation. She cursed the management consultants who thought open plan offices and hot-desking were such great ideas. Not only was it embarrassing enough to have to be calling Malone, but every single one of her colleagues was witness to her nervous questions. “Would you be available now for a quick chat? It won’t take more than a couple of minutes, I promise.”
    “There are some things I only do in the flesh, Ellie.”
    She pushed her fingers through her hair and fiddled with her earring, the one that wasn’t being crushed into her skull by the pressure she was using on her phone.
    “I really am on deadline, Mr. Malone. Just a few questions.”
    “Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”
    Not another one? Was anything about dealing with Chris Malone going to be easy? She already knew the answer to that question and it was a big fat no.
    “You’re quite the negotiator, Mr. Malone.”
    “There’s a coffee shop across the road from your office. If you want the interview, I’ll meet you there in ten.”
    “How do you know—” The line went silent. Of course he knew where she worked.
    “Fine,” she announced to the overly attentive audience all around her. “I’ll see you there. Thanks, Mr. Malone. I appreciate your time.”
    Ellie ignored their stares, tucked her phone in to the pocket of her trousers, and crossed the road.
    As she stepped on to the footpath, she dialled her best friend, Bron.
    “Hey, Ellie.”
    “Listen. I can’t talk. I’m about to interview Chris Malone. He came to my place last night and I managed to get him to donate a photo shoot for the charity ball. And now I’m getting some quotes for the story I have to write in about three minutes.” Ellie’s heart pounded and she felt a little breathless as she dodged the traffic and weaved around a parked car to reach the footpath on the other side.
    “What the what ?” Bron asked down the line. “He was at your house? Last night? And you wait until now to call me? You’d better tell me everything, Ellie.”
    “I will. Apparently he saw the story that got picked up from your original Facebook post and wanted to put things right. Oh, I’m here. Gotta go.”
    “Ellie!” Bron demanded, but Ellie ended the call, took in a deep breath, and walked into the cafe.
    *
    Chris backed into a park on the busy suburban street. He locked his car and, as he walked to the coffee shop, he looked around him and had to remind himself how regular and normal this was.
    And how irregular and damn crazy he’d let his life become over the past decade. To be able to walk around freely, without the dubious protection of a press pass or a bulletproof vest, was something he would never again take for granted. The shops and small businesses he passed were filled with customers and stock. None of them were boarded up, and people were happily going about their business without fear of being car-bombed or kidnapped. He tucked his hands into his pockets and smiled. Sometimes it was the little things about being home that hit him square in the solar plexus.
    He was home.
    And when he was back in Sydney, he left his camera uncharged and in its bag. It was a relief not to have to look at the world through a frame. He could let the colourful, normal, happy humanity of his hometown wash over him and envelop him.
    He walked past a florist and then doubled back. There were a dozen black buckets overflowing with blooms of every shade and hue, from the palest pinks to deep reds and oranges. He didn’t second-guess the reason why he walked inside, pulled out his wallet, and handed over a note in exchange for a bunch of white roses.
    Chris was on his way to meet a woman and damn it, he could take her flowers if he wanted to. He couldn’t remember the last time