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‘That...that must have been a shock.’
‘I can’t go there again, Ben. Can’t stay here waiting for heaven knows how long for you to get the courage to put the past behind you and commit to a future with me.’
Ben looked down at where the water slapped against the posts. She followed his gaze to see a translucent jellyfish floating by to disappear under the dock, its ethereal form as insubstantial as her dreams of a life with Ben.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
She didn’t know whether he was apologising for Jason or because he couldn’t give her the reassurances she wanted.
‘I...I won’t make all the compromises again, Ben,’ she said brokenly. ‘No matter how much I love you.’
She slapped her hand to her mouth.
The ‘L’ word.
She hadn’t meant to say it. It had just slipped out.
Say it, Ben. Tell me you love me. Let me at least take that away with me.
But he didn’t.
Maybe he couldn’t.
And that told her everything.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, his voice as husky as she’d ever heard it. ‘I can’t be what you want me to be.’
If he told her she could do better than him she’d scream so loud they’d hear it all the way to New Zealand.
Instead he pulled her to him, held her tight against his powerful chest. It was the place she most wanted to be in the world. But she’d learned that compromise which was all one way wouldn’t make either of them happy.
‘I’m sorry too,’ she murmured, fighting tears. ‘But I’m not sorry I took that turn-off to Dolphin Bay. Not sorry we had our four-day fling.’
He pulled her to her feet. ‘It’s not over. We still have this evening. Tonight.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s perfect the way it is. I don’t want to ruin the memories. I...I couldn’t deal with counting down the hours to the last time we’ll see each other.’
With fingers that trembled she traced down his cheek to the line of his jaw, trying to memorise every detail of his face. She realised she didn’t have any photos to remember him by. Recalled there’d been a photographer at the dinner dance. She would check the website and download one. But not until she could look at his image and smile rather than weep.
‘Sandy—’ he started.
But she silenced him with a kiss—short, sweet, final.
‘If you say you’re sorry one more time I’ll burst into tears and make a spectacle of myself. I’m going back to my room now. I’ve got phone calls to make. E-mails to send. Packing to do.’
A nerve flickered near the corner of his mouth. ‘I’ll call by later to...to say goodbye.’
‘Sure,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice under control. ‘But I’m saying my goodbye now. No regrets. No what-ifs. Just gratitude for what we had together.’
She kissed him again. And wondered why he didn’t hear the sound of her heart breaking.
* * *
Ben couldn’t bear to watch Sandy walk away. He turned and made his way to the boathouse. Every step was an effort, as if he were fighting his way through a rip.
His house seemed empty and desolate—the home of a solitary widower. There was a glass next to the sink with Sandy’s lipstick on the rim, but no other trace of her. He stripped off his smoke-stained clothes, pulled on his board shorts and headed for Big Ray Beach.
He battled the surf as if it were a foe, not the friend it had always been to him. He let the waves pound him, pummel him, punish him for not being able to break away from his self-imposed exile. The waves reared up over him, as if harnessing his anger at the cruel twist of fate that had brought Sandy back into his life but hadn’t given him the strength to take the second chance she had offered him.
Finally, exhausted, he made his way back to the boathouse.
For one wild moment he let himself imagine what it would be like to come back to the house to find Sandy there. Her bright smile, her welcoming arms, her loving presence.
But the house was bare and sterile, his footsteps loud and lonely on the floorboards. That empty glass on the draining board seemed to mock him. He picked up the photo of him and Sandy on the beach that long-ago summer. All their dreams and hopes had stretched out ahead of them—untainted by betrayal and pain and loss.
He put down the photo with its faded image of first love. He’d lost her then. And he’d been so damned frightened of losing her at some undefined time in the future he’d lost her now.
He slammed his fist down so hard on the dresser that the framed photo flew off the top. He rescued it from shattering on the floor only just in time.
What a damn fool he was.
He’d allowed the fears of the past to choke all hope for the future.
Sandy had offered him a second chance. And he’d blown it.
Sandy. Warm, vibrant, generous Sandy. With her don’t-let-anything-get-you-down attitude.
That special magic she’d brought into his life had nothing to do with the glitter she trailed around with her. Sandy’s magic was hope, it was joy, but most of all it was love.
Love he’d thought he didn’t deserve. With bitterness and self-loathing he’d punished himself too harshly. And by not forgiving himself he’d punished Sandy, too.
The final rusted-over part of him shifted like the seismic movement of tectonic plates deep below the floor of the ocean. It hurt. But not as much as it would hurt to lose Sandy for good.
He had to claim that love—tell her how much she meant to him. Show her he’d found the courage and the purpose to move forward instead of tripping himself up by looking back.
He showered and changed and headed for the hotel.
Practising in his head what he’d say to her, he rode the elevator to Sandy’s room. Knocked on the door. Once. Twice. But no reply.
‘Sandy?’ he called.
He fished out the master key from his wallet and opened the door.
She was gone.
The suitcase with all her stuff spilling out of it was missing. Her bedlinen had been pulled down to the end of the bed. There was just a trace of her vanilla scent lingering in the air. And on the desk a trail of that darn glitter, glinting in the coppery light of the setting sun.
In the midst of the glitter was a page torn out from the fairy notebook she always carried in her bag. It was folded in two and had his name scrawled on the outside.
His gut tightened to an agonising knot. With unsteady hands he unfolded the note.
Ben—thank you for the best four days of my life. I’m so glad I took a chance with you. No regrets. No ‘what ifs’. Sandy xx.’
He fumbled for his mobile. To beg her to come back. But her number went straight to voicemail. Of course it did. She wouldn’t want to talk to him.
He stood rooted to the ground as the implications of it all hit him.
He’d lost her.
Then he gave himself a mental shaking.
He could find her again.
It would take at least ten hours for her to drive to Melbourne. More if she took the coastal road. It wasn’t worth pursuing her by car.
In the morning he’d drive to Sydney, then catch a plane to Melbourne.
He’d seek her out.
And hope like hell that she’d listen to what he had to say.
* * *
Sandy had abandoned her plan to mosey down the coastal road to Melbourne. Instead she cut across the Clyde Mountain and drove to Canberra, where she could connect to the more straightforward route of the Hume Highway.
She didn’t trust herself to drive safely in the dark after the emotional ups and downs of the day. A motel stop in Canberra, then a full day’s driving on Thursday would get her to Melbourne in time to check in to her favourite hotel and be ready to wow the candle people on Friday morning.
She would need to seriously psyche herself up to sound enthusiastic about a retail mall candle shop when she’d fallen in love with a quaint bookshop on a beautiful harbour.
Her hands gripped tight on the steering wheel.
Who was she kidding?
It was her misery at leaving Ben that she’d have to overcome if she was going to impress the franchise owners.
She’d cried all the way from Dolphin Bay. Likely she’d cry all the way from Canberra to Melbourne. Surely she would have run out of tears by the time she faced the interview panel?
She pulled into the motel.
Ben would have read her note by now. Maybe it had been cowardly to leave it. But she could not have endured facing him again, knowing she couldn’t have him.
No regrets. No regrets. No regrets.
Ben was her once-in-a-lifetime love. But love couldn’t thrive in a state of inertia.
She’d got over Ben before. She’d get over him again.
Soon her sojourn in Dolphin Bay would fade into the realm of happy memories. She had to keep on telling herself that.
And pray she’d begin to believe it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BEN REMEMBERED SANDY telling him about her favourite hotel in the inner-city Southbank district of Melbourne—all marble, chandeliers and antiques. He’d teased her that it sounded too girly for words. She’d countered that she liked it so much better than his preferred stark shades of grey.
He’d taken a punt that that was where she would be staying. A call to Reception had confirmed it. He walked from his ultra-contemporary hotel at the other end of the promenade that ran along the banks of the Yarra River. He’d wait all day at her hotel to see her if he had to.
It was a grey, rainy morning in Melbourne, mitigated by the brilliant colours of a myriad umbrellas. Ben watched a hapless duck struggling to swim across the wide, fast-flowing brown waters of the Yarra.
Was his mission doomed to such a struggle?
He found the hotel and settled in one of the comfortable velvet chairs in the reception area. He didn’t have to wait for long. He sensed Sandy was there before he glanced up.
He was shocked at how different she looked. She wore a sleek black suit with a tight skirt that finished above her knees and high-heeled black shoes. A laptop in a designer bag was slung across her shoulder. Her hair was sleek, her mouth glossy with red lipstick.
She looked sexy as hell and every inch the successful businesswoman.
Sandy the city girl.
It jolted him to realise how much he’d be asking her to give up. Now she was back in her own world would she want to settle for running a small-town bookshop in Dolphin Bay?
She must have felt his gaze on her, and stopped mid-stride as he rose from the chair. He was gratified that her first reaction was a joyous smile. But then she schooled her face into something more neutral.
For a moment that seemed to stretch out for ever they stood facing each other in the elegant surrounds of the hotel. He had to get it right this time. There wouldn’t be another chance.
* * *
Sandy’s breath caught.
Ben.
Unbelievably handsome and boldly confident in a superbly cut charcoal-grey suit. Her surf god in the city. She had trouble finding her voice.
‘What are you doing here?’ she finally managed to choke out.
He stepped closer. ‘I’ve come to tell you how much I love you. How I always loved the memory of you.’
Ben. This troubled, scarred man she adored. He had come all the way to Melbourne to tell her he loved her, smack in the middle of a hotel lobby.
She kept her voice low. ‘I love you too. But it doesn’t change the reasons why I left Dolphin Bay.’
‘You gave me the kick in the butt I needed. I’m done with living with past scars. I want a future. With you.’
He looked around. Became aware they were attracting discreet interest.
‘Can we talk?’
‘My room,’ she said.
They had the elevator to themselves and she ached to kiss him, to hold him. That would only complicate things, but for the first time she allowed herself a glimmer of hope for a future with Ben.
* * *
Ben was grateful for the privacy of Sandy’s hotel room. He took both her hands in his. Pulled her close. Looked deep into her eyes. ‘More than anything I want a life with you.’
‘Me too, Ben.’
‘That life would be empty without a child. Our child.’
He watched her face as the emotions flashed over it. She looked more troubled than triumphant.
‘Oh, Ben, you don’t have to say that. I don’t want you to force yourself to do something so important as having children because you think it’s what I want. That...that won’t work.’
The fear he’d been living with for five years had been conquered by her brave action in walking away from him.
‘It’s for your sake, yes. But it’s also for my own.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I want to be a dad again some day.’
The loss of Liam had been tragic. All potential for that little life gone in a terrible, pointless fire. But no matter how much he blamed himself, he knew deep in his gut he had not been responsible for those out-of-control flames. No one could have predicted how the wind had changed. No one could have saved Jodi and his son.
‘I know you were a brilliant father in the little time you were granted with Liam. Everyone told me that.’
‘I did my best.’
The four words echoed with sudden truth.
He deserved a second chance. Another son. A daughter. A baby who would grow into a child, like Amy, and then a teenager like he and Sandy had been when they met. It would not diminish the love he’d felt for Jodi and Liam.
‘I want a family again, Sandy, and I want it with you. We’ll be good parents.’
Exulting, he kissed her—a long, deep kiss. But there was more he needed to talk about before he could take her back home with him. He broke the kiss, but couldn’t bear to release her hands from his.
‘How did your interview go?’ he asked.
‘The Melbourne store is mine if I want it.’ She was notably lacking in enthusiasm.
‘Do you want it? Because if your answer is yes I’ll move to Melbourne.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You’d do that?’
‘If it’s what it takes to keep you,’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘Of course I don’t want it. I want to buy Bay Books from Ida and knock through into the space next door to make a bookshop/café. I want to have author talks. Cooking demonstrations. A children’s storyteller.’
The words bubbled out of her—and they were everything he wanted to hear.
‘I want to ask Ida to order matching carvings for the café from her Balinese woodcarver.’
‘That can be arranged. I own the café. The lease is yours.’ He ran his finger down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. ‘Will you come back to Dolphin Bay with me?’
* * *
Sandy was reeling from Ben’s revelations. But he hadn’t mentioned marriage—and she wanted to be married before she had children.
She’d feared he was too damaged to love again—and look what had happened. What was to stop her proposing?
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I want to come back to Dolphin Bay. Be with you. But I—’
He silenced her with a finger over her mouth. ‘One more thing.’
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘Life is short. There’s no time to waste. We could date some more. Live together. But I’d rather we made it permanent. Marry me?’
In spite of all his pain and angst and loss he’d come through it strong enough to love again. To commit.
But she didn’t kid herself that Ben’s demons were completely vanquished. He’d still need a whole lot of love, support and understanding. As his wife, she could give it to him by the bucketload. Ben still had scars—and she’d help him to heal.
‘Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes, yes and yes.’
He picked her up and whirled her around until she was dizzy.
They were laughing and trying to talk at the same time, interspersing words with quick, urgent kisses.
‘I don’t want a big white wedding,’ she said.
‘I thought on the beach?’
‘Oh, yes! In bare feet. With Amy as a flower girl. And Hobo with a big bow around his neck.’
Her fairy notebook would be filling up rapidly with lists.
‘We can live in the boathouse.’
‘I’d love that.’
‘Build a big, new house for when we have kids.’
Maybe it was because her emotions had been pulled every which way, but tears welled in her eyes again. Ben had come so far. And they had so far to go together.
She blinked them away, but her voice was wobbly when she got the words out. ‘That sounds like everything I’ve ever dreamed of...’
She thought back to her goals, written in pink.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from DARING TO TRUST THE BOSS by Susan Meier.
CHAPTER ONE
“I’M OLIVIA PRENTISS, here for my first day in Accounting.”
The gray-haired Human Resources director glanced up with a smile. “Good morning, Olivia. Welcome to Inferno.” She happily flipped through the files in a box on her desk, but when she found the one with “Olivia Prentiss” written on the tab, she winced. “I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans.”
Vivi’s stomach dropped to the floor. “I’m not hired?”
“No. No. Nothing like that. You’ve been reassigned temporarily.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Tucker Engle’s assistant was in an accident last week.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She knew Tucker Engle was the CEO and chairman of the board of Inferno. Before she’d interviewed for this job, she’d researched the company and his name had popped up. But the company’s annual statements had said little about the reclusive billionaire. When she’d searched the internet, she’d only found an interview with the Wall Street Journal and a Facebook rant by a former employee who had called him the Grim Reaper because the only time he came out of his ivory tower was to fire someone. Still, none of that information gave her any clue what his assistant’s accident had to do with her.
“As the newest employee in the company, it falls to you to stand in for Betsy.”
Her already-fallen stomach soured. She had to work directly with a guy called the Grim Reaper by his staff?
She gulped. “An accountant stands in for a personal assistant?”
“You won’t be a personal assistant.”
Following the sound of the deep male voice, Vivi swung around. A tall, dark-haired man leaned against the door frame. Her gaze crawled from his shiny black loafers up his black trousers and suit jacket, past his white shirt and sky-blue tie to a pair of emerald-green eyes.
Wow.
“Or even an administrative assistant. You’ll be an assistant.” He pushed away from the door frame and walked over to her. “The assistant to the chairman of the board. The assistant who must be able to read financial reports and change things I need to have changed. An assistant who has to be able to keep up.” His lush mouth thinned. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Intimidation froze her limbs, her tongue, and she could only stare.
“Good.” Obviously taking her silence for acceptance, he headed for the door. “Spend the twenty minutes you need with Mrs. Martin to get your ID badge and fill out your paperwork then report to my office.”
He strode out and she stared at the empty space he left in his wake.
“He’s a whirlwind.”
Obviously, Mrs. Martin was paid to say nice things because Vivi wouldn’t call him a whirlwind. He was more like a bully. A really good-looking bully, but still a bully.
Bile rose to her throat, but she shoved it down again. She’d dealt with bullies before. “I take it that’s Tucker Engle.”
“In the gorgeous flesh.”
“He demoted me even before I started.”
Mrs. Martin shook her head. “It’s not a demotion. That’s what he was telling you. The assistant job is a lot more than you think it is.”
“But I need to start my real job now. I have to keep my skills sharp to take the CPA exam. I don’t want to fall behind.”
“You’ll be working with the Tucker Engle. The man who leads Inferno. You’ll see everything he does—learn everything he knows.”
That didn’t mesh with the picture painted in the Facebook rant, but it sounded promising. Like something she could cling to to force herself to be able to work with him. “So he’ll teach me things?”
“I don’t know about teaching, per se.” Mrs. Martin motioned for her to sit in the chair in front of her desk. She pointed to a little camera attached to her computer monitor. “Take a seat so I can get your employee picture.”
Vivi sat.
“Anyway, I don’t know about him teaching you, but you’ll learn a lot working with him. He built this company—”
“With help.”
“Help?” Mrs. Martin laughed. “You think he had help? Everybody who works here supports him. He’s the idea man. No one else.”
That did mesh with what she’d read. In the interview he’d given the Wall Street Journal, he’d bragged that he used only accountants, lawyers, PR people—support staff. He didn’t want, or need, an equal.
“Fantastic.”
Mrs. Martin smiled sympathetically. “I understand you’re disappointed. You see this as a setback. And I probably can’t talk you out of that.” She paused and sucked in a resigned breath. “So, I’m going to stop the sugarcoating and be totally honest with you. Tucker Engle is a suspicious prima donna. He gives assignments piecemeal so that no one can figure out what he’s working on. He’s so demanding that none of our employees would volunteer to replace Betsy—even for a few weeks.”
Her heart stuttered. “And you think I can?”
“I didn’t pick you. We gave Mr. Engle the files of the accountants starting today and he chose you. Like it or not, you’re stuck. But Betsy won’t be out forever. Eight weeks—”
Her eyes bulged. “Eight weeks?”
Mrs. Martin grimaced. “Twelve tops.”
“Oh, my God!”
“But you still get your accountant’s salary. And your time with Mr. Engle counts in your seniority with the company. It’s not as if you’ll be starting over when Betsy returns.”
“No, thanks. I’ll just keep my job in Accounting.”
Mrs. Martin sighed. “How good do you think it’s going to look on your employee records if you refuse your first assignment?”
“It’s not the position I was hired for.”
“Nonetheless, it’s your first assignment and if you don’t take it, he may tell us to fire you.”
She was really, really sorry she’d found that Facebook rant because she couldn’t even argue that. “Of course he will.”
Mrs. Martin’s face fell into sympathetic lines. “The other option is to quit.”
* * *
“The other option is to quit.”
Vivi muttered those words under her breath as she made her way through the maze of red-,
orange- and yellow-walled corridors, looking for the private elevator to the executive office. She finally reached it and inserted the magic key card that would start the plush car, giving her access to the inner sanctum of Inferno. Which, she was beginning to think, had been named appropriately since this company really might be the pits of hell.
The doors swished closed and she shut her eyes. She was the toughest person she knew. She had survived an attack at university that had nearly ended in her being raped and the bullying that had resulted when she’d tried to prosecute the boy involved—the son of Starlight, Kentucky’s leading family. One grouchy, narcissistic CEO would not stop her from reaching her dream of being somebody. Somebody so important that the people back in Starlight would see that despite all their attempts to break her, she had succeeded.
They had failed.
And Tucker Engle wouldn’t break her either.
The elevator bell pinged. The doors opened again. Like Dorothy entering Oz, she stepped out, glancing around in awe. Contrasting the slick, ultramodern red, orange and yellow “fire” theme of the public areas, this space was superconservative. Ceiling-high cherrywood bookcases lined the walls. The antique desk and chair could have been in a museum. Oriental rugs sat on luxurious hardwood floors.
“Don’t just stand there! Come in!”
She pivoted around, following the sound of Tucker Engle’s voice. He stood in a huge office behind the one she had entered. A cherrywood conference table sat on one side, a comfy brown leather sofa and recliner grouping filled the other. A desk and chair fronted a wall of windows at the back of the room. The view of the New York skyline took her breath away.