A man worth knowing🤔🤔👟👟

💋Chapter One💋

‘What do you mean the boutique is
bankrupt?’
Mandisa Mbatha struggled to keep
the panic from her voice. She didn’t
want the customers in the cosy
coffee shop in the Manor View
shopping centre to overhear her
conversation. With a grim face, her
accountant slid a printed document
towards her.
‘These are your latest cash flow
statements,’ he said. ‘There’s
not enough money in your business
account to cover your rent for the
boutique at the end of the month.’
Mandi’s eyes widened in shock. Her
slim fingers tightened around her
coffee cup. She’d never been good
with finances. After all, she was a
fashion designer. But even she knew
the situation was bad.
‘What does this mean?’
‘You will have to close the
boutique,’ came the blunt reply.
‘No cash flow – no business.’
‘There has to be a mistake,’ she
argued softly. ‘Midnight Rose has
just had its best month ever.’
It was true. Her designs were flying
off the shelves. Just last week
Andrew Morena, her assistant
designer, had a fainting fit in the
studio due to the high volume of
work. Of course, he is a bit of a
drama queen, she tagged on silently.
The accountant cleared his throat.
‘No mistake. Your sales stats are
up, but your expenses are rising
faster than sales.’
‘What about a loan?’ she asked.
‘Couldn’t I approach my bank for
a short-term loan?’
‘I don’t think they would extend
you any more credit without
collateral. Besides, it would take too
long. You need cash now to keep the
boutique in business.’
‘How bad is it?’
‘You won’t be able to pay your
staff salaries this month,’ he said.
For a horrible moment, Mandi saw her
future crumble before her eyes. She
didn’t care about her own salary,
but not to be able to pay her loyal
staff tightened her stomach into a
hard anguished knot. Mandi stared
down into the cold cup of black
coffee before her.
‘What’s the bottom line?’
‘Unless you can come up with a
hundred and fifty thousand rand,’
he said, ‘you will have to close your
doors at the end of the month.’
She issued a dry laugh. ‘You don’t
sugar-coat your words, do you?’
The accountant cleared his throat.
‘I’m sorry to give you bad news,
but I thought you must know the
truth.’
‘Thank you.’ She struggled to get
the words out. ‘Could you send me
all the financial statements? I’d
like to go through them myself.’
‘Of course,’ he smoothly agreed.
‘I’ll have them sent to the
boutique.’
She nodded, too numb to say another
word.
As Mandi watched him leave, she
fought back the tears burning behind
her eyes. Outside the coffee shop’s
window, she saw the shoppers in the
centre pass in a blur.
Midnight Rose was her dream. When
her beloved uncle had died, he’d
left her and her sister a small
inheritance each. She’d used her
portion of the money to start the
small boutique. Uncle Jakes would
have been so disappointed if he knew
she’d made a mess of things.
A waitress appeared at her side.
‘Will there be anything else?’
‘Just the bill, please.’
Drumming her fingers on the coffee
table, Mandi thought about her
predicament. A hundred and fifty
thousand big ones to save the day.
Cold needles of fear stabbed at her
skin. Where was she going to find
that kind of money at short notice?
Feeling defeated, she started to pack
her diary and cellphone back into her
handbag. Then she noticed her
accountant had left behind his copy
of Business Day.
From the front page, a pair of
familiar stone-black eyes stared back
at her. She felt a deep shiver
convulse her slender body. She knew
those eyes! She sometimes still saw
those eyes in her dreams. Pulling the
paper closer, she scanned the
article.
Themba Dlane was being interviewed
for his opinions on investment
strategies for corporate clients. Her
heart beating faster, she read on. It
seemed that in the last five years,
Themba had moved from being a
brilliant investment broker in a top
firm to launching Dlane Investments,
his own multi-million rand financial
services company.
When she’d known him, he’d
always been ambitious. In fact, it
was his hunger to succeed that drove
her to break up with him, even
though she eventually regretted that
reckless, impulsive decision. Now it
seemed he’d made it to the top in
his field. Themba Dlane was obviously
a man worth a lot of money.
A thought struck her. What’s a
hundred and fifty thousand rand to
someone who has millions? What
would it take for him to loan her the
money to keep Midnight Rose’s
doors open; to persuade him to make
a business deal with her?
He probably didn’t even remember
her.
No, he’d remember her. Perhaps
he’d never loved her – he’d never
said the words, claiming love was for
stupid Hollywood movies – but he’d
wanted her in his life five years ago.
He’d wanted her in his bed, too.
Her hands shook so badly she had to
put the paper down on the table and
clasp them between her thighs. Hot
tears pricked at her eyes, but she
blinked them away as she stared at
his picture. Damn him! Why did he still
have to look so good? Even in the
grainy newspaper print he looked
more than just handsome. Cool and
breathtaking and utterly masculine,
he still had the power to make her
body react.
When her fingers were steady
enough, she snatched up her sleek
little cellphone and
connected to the Internet via her
mobile connection. A few minutes
later, she was online and typing his
company name into a search engine.
It didn’t take long to get the
contact information for his office in
Cape Town.
Mandi was about to dial the number
when another attack of dark, swift
fear froze her slender body. What
was she doing? Her fingers stilled on
the cellphone’s keypad. Was she
crazy? If she contacted Themba,
that would involve him in her life
again. He’d already broken her
heart once before, all those years
ago in Cape Town – to contemplate
allowing him back into her life would
mean opening old wounds and
dangerous resentments.
She shook her head. Crazy didn’t
even begin to describe her behaviour.
There had to be another way to save
her business from ruin. She was
smart, resourceful, a true fighter. It
might take a bit of time, but she
would come up with a solution,
she’d find the money. She’d
designed a new collection and it
would be ready to launch for the
spring season.
You don’t have until September , a
voice inside reminded her. The end of
the month was less than two weeks
away; she couldn’t ignore the
reality of her situation.
All she had to do was speak to him.
Themba was in Cape Town; she in
Johannesburg. They wouldn’t even
have to see each other. She could
explain her situation on the phone
and maybe – just maybe – come to
some sort of agreement. She put the
call through to his office in Cape
Town.
‘Dlane Investments,’ a female
voice answered.
Mandi spoke as calmly as she was
able to. ‘I’d like to speak to
Themba Dlane please.’
‘Mr Dlane is not available.’
‘It’s rather urgent that I speak
with him,’ she responded. ‘My
name is Mandisa Mbatha. I’m sure
he will take my call.’
‘I’m afraid he’s not in the office.
He’s in Johannesburg.’
Mandi felt her heart constrict.
‘Jo’burg?’
‘Yes, he’s up there for a finance
forum.’
‘Do you have a contact number for
him?’ Mandi asked tentatively.
There was a hesitation on the other
end of the line. ‘I’m not allowed to
give out his cell number.’
She sighed. ‘I understand.’
The receptionist must have heard the
bleak note of despair and frustration
in her voice because she added,
‘He’s at the Sandton Convention
Centre if it truly is an emergency.’
‘Thank you,’ Mandi said, ending
the call.
So! Themba was right here . In
Johannesburg. On her home turf.
That bit of luck could count in her
favour.
The waitress returned with a small
leather folder containing her bill. She
rummaged for a crisp note and
slipped it inside. Taking a deep
breath as she waited for the
waitress to collect it, she chewed on
her lip, tasting the faint flavour of
cherry gloss. A telephone call was
never going to cut it in terms of what
she needed from him.
She would have to see him, she
thought, forcing herself to stand up
and collect her purse. Face to face!
There was a late winter chill in the
air as an early dusk crept over
Sandton. In her black suede
stilettos, Mandi carefully negotiated
the cobbled street in front of the
convention centre. The shoes added
some much-needed height to her
petite frame. God only knew she
needed to feel tall when she was
coming face to face with Themba.
Oh, yes, she definitely needed to feel
tall when she met the man who had
dominated her life all those years
ago!
She clutched the chic yellow-and-
black purse under her arm a little
tighter than necessary as she
approached the glass doors of the
convention centre. What if she
missed him? What if she lost her
nerve? The glass doors of the
conference centre swished open. She
walked into the massive foyer.
Andrew had helped her pick out the
outfit.
‘You’ll look fabulous,’ he’d
promised dramatically. ‘No man in
his right mind could resist you in this
creation, dah-ling!’
Mandi hoped her sassy assistant
designer was right!
She wore a bold yellow bolero jacket,
long sleeved chocolate silk top with a
sexy ruffled collar and a deep aqua
slash-cut skirt. She wasn’t wearing
the outfit to show him how attractive
she still was to the opposite sex. No,
she was dressing to impress a
potential investor. Mandi was a
fashion designer, a boutique owner.
She needed to look the part – to
prove she knew what she was talking
about when it came to fashion.
There was a message board at the
entrance, near the escalators. A sign
directed her to the finance forum on
the second floor. She decided to take
the elevator instead. She needed a
few minutes to collect her thoughts.
Fiddling with the chunky multi-
coloured beads around her neck, she
waited for it to arrive.What was her strategy? She would
act the part of the career woman.
She would not even mention the past,
make no reference to their former
relationship. Play it cool, play it
professional.
Her head shot up as she heard a
muted ping . The doors slithered open.
Throat dry, palms sweaty, Mandi
stepped into the elevator. Her
manicured finger pushed the relevant
button.
No turning back now.
As it slid up to the second floor, she
listened to the rehearsed speech
playing in her head, but she knew
she’d never get the words out
right. She closed her eyes, willed
herself to be calm, and focused on
her goal. She had to think about her
staff. Not just her future, but also
their futures.
As she stepped out of the elevator
and turned the corner towards the
conference room, the first person
that came into her line of vision was
him .
It was a cliché but it was true.
Themba Dlane stood out in a crowd.
There was a throng of well-dressed
men and women in business attire
surrounding him, but he was the only
man she saw. He was at least a head
or so taller than the other men who
surrounded him. His magnetism was
so compelling she could feel it right
across the massive hall of the
conference centre.
Themba!
At that moment, he looked up and
their eyes connected. Blood punched
through her veins. Her skin was
covered first with a hot rash of
awareness, then a chilling prickle of
apprehension.
One look at Themba Dlane and she
realised just how wrong she had
been. She thought she’d been so
clever, clear and cool-headed. But
there was no way she could go
through with this insane plan of hers.
There was only one thing on her mind
at that moment: escape .
She turned her face away, swung on
her stilettos and dashed towards the
elevator, a sick sensation in her
stomach. Her impatient finger
stabbing at the call button, she bit
her lip to stop the swell of emotion
inside her chest. The elevator door
slid open and she dashed inside,
frantically pushing the button for the
ground floor.
Closing her eyes, a sense of relief
washed through her. She clasped her
hands tighter on her purse to stop
them from shaking. A minute or so
later, the doors rolled opened on the
ground floor.
‘Hello, Mandisa.’
The voice reverberated against her
skin, a dark, rich masculine voice. It
stirred up a hundred different
memories and years of regrets. She
looked up into ink-black eyes.
‘Themba.’
‘Nothing’s changed in five years,
has it?’ Dark sarcasm underscored
his words. ‘Why are you still
running away from me?