The Rock Star and the Billionaire

ONE Only the sky cried at Morrigan Vasse's funeral. Every mourner's eyes were dry beneath the canopy of black umbrellas – including those of Morrigan's only daughter and heiress, Gaia Vasse. It wasn't that she didn't care. Gaia's emotionless exterior hid a storm of feelings that ranged from desolation at her loss to triumph at the chance to prove herself, with a strong strand of anger at her mother for dying without warning. But if there was one thing Gaia's mother had taught her, it was never to share her thoughts with her inferiors. And these people in their cheap black clothes were definitely her inferiors. They all owed Morrigan their livelihood. At least, they had until a heart attack had conquered the powerful mining magnate. Now, they and the whole of Vasse Prospecting belonged to Gaia. "Would Miss Vasse like to say a few words?" Gaia met the eyes of the celebrant. This was not on the carefully laid out order of service she'd paid him for. A glance at the mourners made her reconsider the refusal on the tip of her tongue, for the air of expectancy was thicker than the drizzle falling from the sky. Morrigan had always insisted on taking every opportunity to address her people, as she'd called her employees, if only to remind them that she was in charge. And Gaia was Morrigan's daughter, trained from her earliest days to take over her mother's responsibilities. She'd been pushed into public speaking in preschool, learned the principles of business before she'd finished primary school. All preparation for the life she'd live. Starting today. Clearing her throat, Gaia waited for silence to fall before she clearly enunciated, "Vale, Mother." With practiced ease, she tossed the white lilium she'd clutched in her gloved fingers. It landed at the head of the coffin, over where Gaia imagined Morrigan's traitorous heart now lay, silenced forever. The celebrant waited for a moment, as if he expected her to say more, but at Gaia's sharp nod, he continued the service to its merciful end. The lesser mourners tossed their flowers with less precision than Gaia, until the coffin was buried in them. Gaia suppressed a snort. Her mother had always despised cut flowers. She'd likened them to tortured slaves. First, they were cut and separated from their parent plant, then kept alive by artificial means in water while being imprisoned in freezing cold, airless refrigerators until they were displayed in all their dying glory on some table, to be admired as they perished. That hadn't stopped Morrigan from filling her house and office with the things – quite the opposite. What most people didn't know was that Morrigan had enjoyed arranging the displays with her own hands. It was one of her few hobbies, to create works of floral art in the Japanese ikebana style. When people frustrated her, Morrigan had resorted to torturing flowers and bending them to her implacable will. She wouldn't push her frustrations on flowers like her mother had, bottling it all up until her heart perished from the stress. No, Gaia intended to do business differently, by bending people to her will. She might be her mother's daughter, but she was not her mother, as the departing mourners would soon learn. In her distraction, she found herself alone by her mother's graveside. No, not quite alone – one man stood on the other side of the coffin, his face obscured by his low-held umbrella. For a moment, Gaia's heart leaped as she wondered if it was her father, but the man folded his umbrella under his arm and she recognised her mother's managing director, James Stewart. The only man her mother had ever listened to, or so she said. Gaia thought she'd only listened to him long enough to formulate an argument to do the complete opposite of whatever he'd advised. Did he intend to antagonise her here, of all places? At her mother's damn funeral? Stewart met her glare with irritating calm. He strode around the hole that held her mother's boxed body and offered Gaia his hand. "Miss Vasse, my condolences for your loss." She accepted the handshake out of politeness, more than anything else. Stewart was older than her mother. Older than she had been when she died, Gaia reminded herself. It would take her a long time to get used to the fact that she was gone. He coughed. "May I ask when you'll feel ready to take up the reins of Vasse Prospecting?" When she didn't immediately reply, he continued, "Of course, I understand that your mother's death was quite a shock to you, as it was to us all, so I wouldn't want to intrude on your grief. If you'll tell me when you plan on coming into the office, I can arrange – " "Tomorrow," Gaia interrupted. "You'll get your new chairman tomorrow." She hid her smile at the shock on his face. Stewart closed his mouth, then cleared his throat again. "If you're sure you're ready, Miss Vasse. There's the urgent matter of Lorikeet Island and we need a decision – " "Tomorrow, Stewart. It can wait until tomorrow." Now she let her face twist into a grim smile. "I buried my mother today. She's not even cold in her grave. A bit of respect, please." "Of course." He still looked like he wanted to argue. Before he could decide that Lorikeet Island needed her attention more than common courtesy would allow, Gaia set off toward her car. She had a wake to attend, wearing a false smile as she accepted the condolences of all the mourners who'd been at the cemetery and now expected a free feed. Freeloaders at funerals. If she had any say in it, there'd be none at hers. If people wanted to eat and drink themselves stupid when she died, they could pay for it out of their own pockets. She ground the accelerator under her custom-made black shoe, and her car left a satisfying spray of gravel in its wake.