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‘Not a fan, I see.’ Col came forward, crossing the small room in only a few strides.
‘Makes two of us,’ she said, trying to keep her teasing light though it sounded loaded as a drawn weapon. ‘Maybe I should start a Facebook group.’
He wore a pair of fitted jeans, which were beginning to fray at both knees, a white T-shirt that looked so good it should have been illegal and a pair of black Chucks. His dark hair was unstyled, curling at the edges where normally it would be tamed into place with hair product. A thick, leather cuff on his right wrist offset tanned skin. He’d been outside; she could see the sunshine on him. He was too delicious for words and she hated her body for every traitorous reaction it was having.
‘No need to be hostile.’
‘What do you want, Col?’
‘I want you to reconsider.’
He leant against the desk, his scent making her heady. Faded aftershave mixed with sun-drenched skin, a hint of cinnamon and something else...something entirely male.
‘Have you forgotten our chat last night?’ She forced her eyes away from his chest. ‘I gave you my answer already. Twice now, if memory serves me correctly.’
‘So you’ll let this studio fail to spite me?’ He leant forward, brows crinkled. ‘We can help each other.’
‘I don’t want your help.’
‘That might be true, but you do need my help.’
Without the buttoned shirt, the dress trousers and the expensive shoes he looked...normal. Just like the boy she remembered from the night she lost her heart, the night she came undone so badly she’d never been able to piece herself back together. A night of muffled cries, sweat-drenched skin and a passion so intense she’d never been able to replicate it. In fact the last few attempts had fallen so far short she’d about given up.
He stared down at her, his eyes making her skin flame. ‘You could get rid of one of your teachers,’ he went on. ‘Which one? I know you won’t get rid of Jasmine—she’s too good a friend. What about the redhead, Missy? You’ve known her forever too. Could you really put her out of a job? Or there’s that other girl—’
‘Stop it!’ The cry sprang from her with such fury that Col stopped midsentence.
He closed his mouth, quietly assessing her. Her heart pounded a staccato-like beat, the throbbing in her head matching its pace. She felt as if she were about to explode from the stress, the sleeplessness, the frustration. A confused knot of emotion swelled within her, threatening to burst forth with the slightest provocation.
‘You can’t come back here and manipulate me into helping you,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘You don’t get to do that to me. You were the one who left.’
You were the one who ruined everything.
Col’s eyes clouded over, his mouth pulling into a thin line. He pushed up from the desk and turned so he was facing her dead on. His hands landed on the desk’s surface with a hard thud, his face inches from hers. She could see the rolling storm cloud of emotion in his eyes; the passionate anger, the five-year stockpile of guilt, the desire to fight.
‘I did you a favour in leaving, Elise. I did us both a favour.’
‘Bull.’ She dragged her eyes away, wishing for a moment that he would give up on her.
‘I promise if you help me I’ll make sure your ballet studio never suffers again. I’ll make sure you never suffer again, and I will stay well out of your life.’
* * *
For a moment he wondered if she might hold her ground. He knew she must hate him for leaving—hell, he hated himself for leaving—but that didn’t change the fact that it was the best thing for them both. Her family had taken him in and he’d promised her brother that he’d never lay a hand on her...except he did. In fact he’d laid both hands, his mouth and everything else he possessed on her. It had been the best night of his life...but boy had he paid. He’d lost his best friend and thrown the kindness the Johnson family had shown him back in their faces.
Since then he kept things casual, always casual. One-night stands were the preference, though occasionally he let it stretch on to a second or third night. But never longer than that. No one would ever compare to her, so what was the point in trying?
But there was no way he could let history repeat itself. He wasn’t hanging around and he didn’t want to hurt her. That kind of mistake wouldn’t happen twice.
‘Strictly business,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you trying anything funny.’
‘You have my word.’ The tension melted out of his muscles, his shoulders dropping down to their normal position.
She sighed. ‘I still don’t think I’m the right person to help you with this.’
‘You are.’ He nodded. ‘I’m sure of it.’
‘Fine, let’s meet tomorrow to go over the details and then you can tell me what it is you think I can do.’ She waved a hand as if to dismiss him. ‘I’ve got to get home.’
‘Tomorrow it is. We could meet for breakfast?’ He knew she had a weakness for bacon and eggs. Perhaps her favourite food might help her ease into the idea of working with him.
‘The old place we used to go on Saturdays.’ A glimmer of a smile crossed her lips.
‘The one with the green eggs.’
She nodded.
* * *
He got to the café early, though he told himself it was nothing to do with securing the private little booth down the back. He was a morning person, so it made sense to arrive early. Totally rational behaviour.
He put in a call to his office, spoke with his executive assistant and his second in charge. Everything seemed to be running smoothly without him, which was exactly what he demanded when he left. The details for his keynote speech had been locked down; his communications person had already started working on the research to back up his presentation. Everything was swimming along.
Now all he had to do was deal with the not so little problem of his public-speaking phobia. Baby steps—the first thing he needed to do was get Elise to give him some insights into her performance preparation. Then he could figure out which tactics would work for him, and figure out how to practise them in a close-to-real-life scenario. It was how he tackled all of his problems: find someone who was good at what he wanted to do, learn as much as he could, practise over and over, execute.
He was one of those businessmen who believed firmly in surrounding himself with the very best people his money could buy. Elise was no exception.
‘Morning.’ Elise’s voice pulled him into the present.
She slid into the booth across from him, looking about as stunning as one could so early in the morning. Her golden hair was in disarray, the wispy strands fanning out around her shoulders, kinked in places from sleep. She wore denim shorts and a boldly printed top with straps so thin they looked as though they would break with the slightest tug. A long gold chain hung down past her breasts, weighted by a small gold fan, and he knew without even looking that she’d have that delicate anklet around one slender ankle. Against his will, his heart kicked up a notch.
‘You’re looking very spritely,’ he replied, taking a sip of his macchiato and forcing himself not to admire the smooth expanse of skin the summery outfit offered up like a gift from the heavens.
‘And if by spritely you mean I rolled out of bed and happened to land on these clothes...then, yes,’ she drawled, smiling up at the waiter as he came to take their order.
The café was small with their booth offering additional privacy against the other breakfast-goers. They’d spent many a Saturday morning here when Col had first got his licence. He was living with Elise and her family then, and he tried to repay his debts by helping out as much as possible. One of the ways he did that was by ferrying Elise to her ballet lessons on the weekend; they would always come early so she could carb load for a long day of training.
Those breakfasts with her were the highlight of his week. She’d been oblivious to how he felt about her back then, too busy being a bun-head with her sights firmly set on ballet-world domination. How things had changed...
‘So, let’s get down to business,’ she said, pulling a notebook and pen from her bag. She’d come prepared, clearly with the goal of ensuring he stayed true to his word about it being a business-only engagement. ‘What is it you think you want from me?’
‘I told you, I need help preparing for a speech.’
‘How about some details, Col? Because from here I feel like you’re barking up the wrong tree.’
He drew a breath. ‘I need some insights into your preparation for going out on stage, what you do for nerves, how you relax and that kind of stuff.’
She looked at him strangely. ‘I’m usually stretching up against a wall before going on stage, not doing breathing exercises.’
He knew exactly what she looked like when she stretched; he’d spent many a night growing up trying to ignore the insane flexibility she had. He’d mastered the art of peripheral vision so as not to alert her brother or parents to the fact that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. It was not an image he needed in his mind right now. Thinking about that would only lead him to feeling like a horny teenager again.
He shoved the thought aside and ignored the clenching in his stomach. ‘I’m talking about the mental preparation. Breathing exercises, meditation, feng shui...whatever.’
‘I don’t know, I kind of slip straight into it...’ She shook her head.
‘Come on, Elise. You know damn well there’s more to it than that, I saw you practising all the time when we were growing up. You can help me.’
His voice had an edge of desperation that irritated him beyond belief. God, how he hated not having the upper hand. But he knew that going in aggressive was not the way to convince Elise to do something; the second she thought someone was backing her into a corner she’d come out fighting like a kung-fu ninja. He’d borne the wounds of that particular mistake before.
‘Fine,’ she said, throwing her hands up. ‘What else?’
‘I want you to help me prepare for the presentation and I want you to be there when I deliver it.’
‘You want me to be in the audience?’ Her brows arched and she tilted her head. ‘Why?’
‘Because I know I’ll need it.’
He shifted in his seat. Col was about as far out of his comfort zone as he could possibly be. Talking about his weaknesses was generally a no-go area; normally when he hired great people to take care of the different aspects of his business it didn’t involve him talking about any personal failings. His palms itched, his leg bounced an uneven beat. He was ready to run, ready to call the conference organisers and tell them that he couldn’t do the speech. It would be easier.
No, you’re not a quitter. You’re not a failure.
‘It’s non-negotiable,’ he said, squaring his shoulders and slipping into work mode. ‘You have to be there on the day, otherwise there’s no point to this deal.’
She contemplated his demands, plucking at a strand of her golden hair and twirling it around her finger. Her tongue flickered out to the corner of her mouth. She was close to agreeing; he could feel it.
‘Any other deal breakers I should be aware of?’
‘No.’
Their breakfast arrived and Col tucked into his scrambled eggs with gusto. Perhaps if he kept his senses busy with a delicious breakfast, he could stop thinking about the past...stop remembering.
‘What about you?’ He speared a piece of bacon. ‘Don’t you want to know how much I’m going to pay you?’
‘Your generosity has never been in question, Col.’ Her voice softened, the defensiveness seeping out of her posture. ‘I know you’re a fair man.’
He couldn’t handle her when she went all soft on him. That made her far too tempting. ‘That’s poor business practice, you know. Perhaps you need to be a little less trusting when it comes to money—might be better for the studio.’ He gestured towards her with his fork.
She bristled. ‘It’s different when I’m dealing with you. I don’t trust anyone else, I’m not stupid.’
She trusted him? Even after he’d left her, she still trusted him? That was far too confusing a thought to process, so he shook his head and forced himself to stick to business.
‘I know you’re not stupid, Elise, but it worries me that someone will take advantage of you.’
‘How about some of my requirements?’ she said, changing the subject.
‘Shoot.’
‘I don’t want you to thank me.’ Her chin jutted forward, a serious look clouding her usual expression of elfin mischief.
He raised a brow. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘You’re paying me. I don’t owe you anything after it’s over, and you don’t owe me. We’re square, even, finito.’
The fact that she was already thinking about the end of their deal cut him deeper than he wanted it to. ‘Fine. What else?’
‘If you want my help then I don’t expect any attitude if I push you to do things that aren’t comfortable. I don’t accept it from my ballet students, so I won’t accept it from you.’
He nodded. It seemed fair; he wouldn’t accept anything less of himself.
‘Last thing, we keep our focus.’ She dragged her lower lip between her teeth, pausing as if figuring out the correct words to use. ‘I don’t want to talk about the past, I don’t want to ask any questions and I don’t want you to give me any answers.’
His chest ached as if a great, big gaping chasm had split it in two. She wanted to forget that she’d practically saved his life, that she was an integral part of who he was...what he’d become. Suck it up, you left her. Deal with it.
‘Okay?’ She stretched the word out, her grey eyes fixed on him.
‘Okay.’
She nodded, satisfied. ‘Then I’ll help you.’
Relief flooded through him. ‘I’ll have my legal adviser draft up a contract with the terms of our agreement and outline how much I’m willing to pay for your services.’
‘Fine.’ She waved her hand to dismiss him.
Clearly ‘keeping focus’ didn’t include talking financials. He rubbed a hand along his jaw, studying her until she caught his steady gaze.
‘I still find all this strange, you know. I mean, haven’t you done interviews and press conferences before?’
He should have. He’d sold his first computer application at twenty-two, subsequently creating and then selling a start-up company to a technology giant just three years later. He’d been the youngest person to make a million dollars off a company that was less than a year old—though the record had now been broken by a pair of sixteen-year-olds from California.
There had been a lot of media interest at the time of the sale, but he’d staunchly refused interviews and it had become something of a distinguishing feature as his career had grown. One paper had gone so far as to label him ‘the CEO hermit’. In many ways, he knew it was bad for his career to be so media-shy...and this conference was his opportunity to prove to himself that he could conquer his fears. That he was taking steps towards greater success. That he’d moved on from being the charity case he was in school.
‘I tend to focus on what’s important, and that’s building innovative technology.’ He shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth. ‘Not hamming it up for the press. This conference, however, is a great opportunity for my company...so I’m going to do it.’
A cold drip of fear trickled down his spine. Thinking about hundreds of eyes being locked onto him while he stood on stage, the lone occupant of a bright spotlight, was enough to make his chest compress in on itself. His breath became shallow, the muscles in his neck stiffening. Suddenly his breakfast didn’t seem so appealing.
‘I guess you always were a bit of an introvert growing up,’ she conceded, bobbing her head. ‘You were always fiddling with your computers, playing video games. I guess all your passions were indoor activities.’
He didn’t bother to argue; the reason he’d started tinkering with computers in the first place was because he needed something to do to pass the time while his bruises were at their most prominent. Wrinkling his nose, he pushed his plate away from him. He needed to change the topic. Fast.
‘You even helped me indulge some of those indoor activities.’ He made no effort to hide the teasing in his voice.
A flicker of emotion passed over her face, gone as quickly as it appeared. She pushed her breakfast around her plate with her fork; she’d barely touched it. ‘Must be a different life now, having to deal with so many people instead of being holed up on your own.’
‘It is,’ he said. ‘I can’t just think about myself any more. I have a team to lead. They rely on the success of the company, and I have a very big part to play.’
‘I bet they look up to you.’ A soft smile pulled her lips up and for a moment she was lost in her own thoughts.
‘They do.’
Yes, the mask he wore for his team was a good one—solid, practised, comforting. He’d started young, putting on a brave face for the teachers, the doctors, the Johnsons. Being a leader was a learned behaviour, but to the untrained eye it appeared as natural to him as putting his clothes on in the morning. Luckily for him, no one knew what was going on inside...no one except Elise.
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