Free Blaze by Di Morrissey Page A

magazine.
    Clara had been utterly supportive. ‘Darling, we came here with nothing but a beautiful piece of jewellery from your grandmother. I never had to sell it, though I came close. But we managed. If you lose everything, you have had the satisfaction of trying to snatch a star, so here, I give you now the pin. I think of it as our good fortune, a lucky pin. As your Grandmother Bubacic wished. You might never need it, but if you do, it is yours to sell.’ And, despite Nina’s protests, Clara had retrieved from the safe the exquisite ruby, sapphire and diamond brooch, in the shape of a delicate dragonfly, and given it to a teary Nina with a hug.
    But Clara had refused to answer Nina’s questions, as she always had, about the details of their life in Zagreb. ‘One day, darling, one day when the time is right you will go back there and then I will tell you why.’
    Within two years Nina’s magazine, which she’d titled Blaze , had been embraced by readers and advertisers and had become so successful it was the target of several buyout offers. She’d chosen a tiny dragonfly as the logo for the magazine and it perched atop the masthead, a reminder of her grandmother and mother. Nina always wore the diamond dragonfly pin on special occasions and it had become her trademark. It was a happy marketing accident as well. Research surveys had shown that the picture of a dragonfly was instantly associated with Blaze and Nina. Despite the lucrative offers, Nina had kept control and she’d driven the magazine forward to undreamed success. Then she’d sat down to reassess her life.
    She was alone. She had her mother and a small circle of close friends, but there was no constant lover. A few cautious and discreet affairs, yes, but the only passion in her life was her work. She had scarcely had a break from the office since the launch of Blaze – except for one weekend with her sales manager and a client on the Great Barrier Reef.
    And it was while she was on the small up-market island off the tip of the Australian coast that she’d received a message to phone her office. Fearing a problem with Clara, she’d called in and was quickly reassured her mother was fine. But Baron Oscar Von Triton was trying to reach her. ‘He’s in Brussels,’ her secretary, sounding impressed, told her. ‘He’s the head of Triton Communications and he’s very insistent you talk to him.’
    â€˜It can’t be urgent enough to interrupt my weekend. I will be back in Sydney on Monday, ask him to call me then.’
    The Baron hadn’t phoned. He’d walked into her office instead, charming, handsome and all business.
    â€˜Congratulations on what you’ve done with Blaze , Madame Jansous. It is an outstanding publication.’
    â€˜I’m glad you like it.’ Nina was trying not to be swayed by either the man or what he represented.
    â€˜I like it so much, I’d like to buy it.’
    Nina had burst out laughing. ‘Thank you. But Blaze is not for sale.’
    The Baron had been unfazed and laid before her a plan where Blaze could become part of his international media empire, pointing out, ‘A company like yours could, after time, find shares spread in many hands and the company becomes vulnerable to a takeover or being split up due to unfriendly attacks.’
    Nina nodded. ‘I’m aware of that. It’s one reason I’ve never wanted to go public. I’m flattered, of course, though there is a streak of self-preservation in me which asks – are you planning on moving into this part of the world and what better way to dispense with any opposition than buying it and burying it?’
    â€˜I would prefer to own Blaze than attempt to try to challenge, recreate or kill it,’ he replied.
    Nina was frank. ‘You have caught me unawares. I am still deeply involved in the magazine. I’m not a figurehead, what would I do with