‘I shouldn’t sleep with you again.’ She raked her eyes up and lingered on the open collar of his shirt for a second.

It certainly looks as though you feel that way,’ he said, sarcasm colouring his tone as he looked down at her hand, still in his lap.

She snatched it back, cheeks colouring. ‘I should have learnt my lesson the first time.’

‘And what lesson was that?’ He sipped his Scotch.

She ran her fingers up and down the stem of her martini glass. ‘That multiple orgasms tend to cloud my judgement.’

Col swallowed. ‘Multiple orgasms are never a bad thing.’

‘No, but they do have a way of obscuring the facts.’

‘The facts?’

‘That you and I shouldn’t have got together.’ She licked her lips, that pink tongue once again darting out to betray her.

‘Your lips are saying one thing, but I know your tells, Ellie.’

‘You know far less than you think you do.’ She leant forward, her hand at the collar of his shirt. ‘But I know when to call your bluff.’

He breathed in the honeyed scent of her … it was complex and intoxicating. ‘You certainly grew up.’

She threw her head back and laughed, the tinkling sound making his blood fizz.

Dear Reader

Family is something that’s very dear to my heart. When I was growing up my parents instilled into me and my little sister a very strong sense of what it means to be part of a family—the give and take, the responsibility and the reward. I’ll be honest: in my teenage years it drove me nuts! But I never lacked a shoulder to cry on, a hug to ease my sadness or a high-five to congratulate me on a job well done. Looking back, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

When I started writing Col and Elise’s story I wondered what it would be like for two people with very difficult family lives to come together. Elise grew up in a home where her family members didn’t demonstrate their love, or any type of strong emotion for that matter. Col, on the other hand, came from an abusive home where strong emotions (of the worst kind) ruled.

Writing their story was not easy, and I might have shed a few tears along the way, but I hope you love watching Elise and Col learn to trust in one another as much as I loved writing about it.

With love

Stefanie

PS I love hearing from my readers. You can get in contact with me via e-mail: stefanie@stefanie-london.com, Twitter: @Stefanie_London, or Facebook: Stefanie London Author

Breaking

the Bro Code

Stefanie London

www.millsandboon.co.uk

STEFANIE LONDON comes from a family of women who love to read. When she was growing up her favourite activity was going shopping with her nan during school holidays, when she would sit on the floor of the bookstore with her little sister and painstakingly select the books to spend her allowance on. Thankfully, Nan was a very patient woman.

Thus it was no surprise when Stefanie ended up being the sort of student who would read her English books before the semester started. After sneaking several literature subjects into her ‘very practical’ business degree, she got a job in Communications. When writing emails and newsletters didn’t fulfil her creative urges she turned to fiction, and was finally able to write the stories that kept her mind busy at night.

Now she lives in Melbourne, with her very own hero and enough books to sink a ship. She frequently indulges in her passions for good coffee, French perfume, high heels and zombie movies. During the day she uses lots of words like ‘synergy’ and ‘strategy’. At night she writes sexy, contemporary romance stories and tries not to spend too much time shopping online and watching baby animal videos on YouTube.

MILLS & BOON

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DEDICATION

To Mum, Dad and Sami, for all the laughter, hugs and comfort that filled our house growing up.

I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

DEDICATION

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

ONE

The numbers didn’t make sense. Well, that wasn’t entirely true—they made sense, but they didn’t tell the story Elise Johnson had hoped for. They didn’t tell her that she ran a successful, thriving ballet studio. They didn’t tell her that she’d be able to live off anything other than baked beans and toast this week. More concerning, they didn’t tell her that things were going to get better any time soon.

She rested her chin in her hand and frowned as the grid of looping cursive swam in front of her. Maybe she’d skip the baked beans and head straight for a bottle of wine instead.

‘You’ll go cross-eyed,’ Jasmine Bell, Elise’s best friend and employee, chirped as she changed out of her leg warmers. ‘I always thought number crunching was best left to the professionals.’

‘What are you trying to say?’ She looked up from her paperwork, feigning indignity as Jasmine smirked.

‘Oh, nothing...only I remember a young girl once faking a panic attack to get out of a maths exam.’

‘There wasn’t anything fake about it.’ Elise closed the folder containing the evidence of her dire financial situation and tucked it away in a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. ‘That panic was real.’

‘And the time you tried to con your maths tutor into doing your homework for you by flashing him?’

‘That was less about the maths homework and more about him—he was seriously cute. Unfortunately for me a tiny bust was not enough to persuade him...’ She frowned, looking down at her boyish frame. ‘Not much has changed.’

‘It’s the curse of the ballerina.’ Jasmine slipped her feet into a pair of flats and bundled her leg warmers into her workout bag. ‘Anyway, that’s why God invented push-up bras.’

‘Amen to that.’

A flat chest was the trade-off for the sculpted legs and washboard stomachs that ballerinas were known for. Elise’s years of formal training and her short-lived career with the Australian Ballet had given her just that. It was a good body, but not one designed to win men over with flashing.

‘Seriously though, why don’t you look into getting someone to do the bookkeeping for you?’

Elise desperately wanted to palm that job off to someone else. Jasmine was right: numbers were not her thing at all. Sequins and choreography and people...those were her things. Addition, subtraction, multiplication—not so much.

‘Yeah, I should look into that,’ Elise said, brushing the suggestion off. She was doing her best to hide the EJ Ballet School’s financial situation; the last thing she wanted was Jasmine or any of the other teachers stressing about job security...or her.

‘Do you want a hand cleaning up before I go?’

Elise shook her head. ‘Go home and enjoy that man toy of yours.’

Jasmine waved as she left the studio, leaving Elise alone with her worries. She had to figure out how on earth she was going to keep the school afloat despite her dwindling savings.

The silence of the studio engulfed her. After a long day of teaching and managing the seemingly endless administration that came with running a business, exhaustion seeped into her bones. She would worry about the books tomorrow. Tonight she was going to curl up on the couch with a glass of red and a good book. Make that a glass of cheap red and a good book.

Elise grabbed the broom and set off to sweep the studio. She couldn’t be too down on herself. It was common knowledge that small businesses often suffered in their first five years and the studio was due to turn three in a month’s time. She could still turn things around.

She had to. Her mother had medication and treatment to be paid for, and she was the only one left to make sure it happened. She had to turn things around.

The sharp bang at the studio’s entrance made Elise jump.

‘Jas?’ Her voice echoed off the mirror-lined walls.

When there was no response, she made her way to the waiting room. Awareness prickled along the back of her neck; her hands held the broom handle in a vice-like grip. Someone was here.

‘Hello?’ She tried again.

A tall figure stood by the reception desk, a man. His broad frame was encased in snug jeans and a crisp white shirt. Dark chocolate hair was close cropped, styled. She would have known that body anywhere, but it was the scent of honeyed woods and cinnamon that threw her senses into a spin and her mind into the past.

‘Col?’

* * *

There were two likely outcomes from this situation, neither of them good. One, Elise would plant an open palm across his face as she’d done once before—when he told her he was leaving. Two, she would be so completely over him that his surprise visit wouldn’t even have an impact on her.

Was it possible in five years that she’d forgotten all about him? The question plagued Col Hillam as he steered his borrowed car down an industrial street in Melbourne’s inner north. He had to ask himself that question, because if he didn’t focus on talking to Elise Johnson his mind would wander to other, darker things.

Pulling into the dance studio parking lot, he positioned himself a few spaces away from the only other car there. From the outside, the studio was nothing like what he’d imagined. No frill, no frou-frou, and definitely none of the over-the-top yet annoyingly attractive things he associated with his favourite ballerina.

Make that ex-ballerina...

He pushed open the car door and stepped out, leaving his blazer on the passenger seat. The sun was setting and the sky bled shades of red and burnished gold. He’d forgotten how striking Australia was in the summertime. Heat prickled the back of his neck, a droplet of sweat running over the tense muscles there. He rubbed his hand against the corded muscle, willing the tension to ease.

Gravel crunched under his shoes as he crossed the parking lot and opened the studio door with a bang. If he’d been planning on surprising Elise then he’d given himself away. No matter, subtle wasn’t exactly his style.

Photos and girlie decorations in every imaginable shade of pink ran along the wall. A recent picture of Elise showed her standing with her mother and holding a huge bunch of flowers. A lump rose in his throat.

He hadn’t called ahead to warn her of his visit. Hell, he hadn’t even unpacked his suitcase yet. A shower at the hotel was all he allowed himself before he hit the road. Col was more nervous about her reaction to his visit than he wanted to be. He could do business with the most powerful people in the world, but the potential wrath of a tiny ballerina was enough to set him on edge.

‘Col?’ His name in her sweet, husky tones sent a surge of volatile heat down to his belly.

He turned, shocked at how much and yet how little she’d changed. There was not an extra ounce of fat on her small, pixie-like frame and her gaze was the same twinkling grey he dreamed about. She’d cut her hair so that it now fell to her shoulders, but the wispy gold lengths still caught the light as they always had. He was relieved to see the burning intensity of her stare hadn’t diminished over the years.

‘Ellie.’

‘It’s Elise,’ she corrected him, her tone careful, guarded. ‘I haven’t been Ellie for a long time.’

‘You’ll always be Ellie to me.’

She pursed her lips. ‘You can call a dog a cat, but it will always be a dog.’

‘Sounds like someone’s getting their daily dose of Confucius.’

Her eyes narrowed as she folded her arms across her chest. ‘What brings you to Melbourne?’

Her suspicion cut him deeply; at one point they’d been as close as siblings despite the fact that he’d wanted so much more. Unfortunately five years ago that bond had been irrevocably broken. Now he was here because he’d been dragged back to bury his abusive, deadbeat father. But that was a topic of conversation best avoided.

‘Business.’

‘Good to see nothing has changed.’ Her face softened, but her crossed arms remained a barrier between them. ‘Remember that all work and no play makes Col a dull boy.’

‘I don’t have time to play these days.’

‘But you have time to visit old acquaintances?’ She leant against the pink couch that dominated the waiting room. It took all of his will power not to drink in the sight of her slender legs encased in pink ballet tights and knee-high black leg warmers. She looked like a fantasy.

‘I’d like to think we were more than acquaintances, Ellie.’ Friends, best friends perhaps. Lovers?

She shrugged and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, waiting for him to speak. She used her silence to force him to continue the conversation—it was a trick he’d taught her once...back when she didn’t consider him a mere acquaintance.

‘Actually, I’m here with a proposal.’

Her brows rose. ‘Don’t tell me America ran out of socialites for you to sleep with.’

‘Jealous much?’ He enjoyed the flare of pink across her nose and cheeks.

‘Only that you’re here bothering me and not them.’ She tried to look bored but her muscles were tense, her body on high alert.

‘It’s come to my attention that your ballet studio is going through some difficult financial times.’ He cleared this throat, his hands automatically tugging on the cuffs of his shirt. ‘And I have a solution that I feel would be mutually beneficial.’

‘Mutually beneficial?’

‘Yes.’ He gave a sharp nod. ‘I’d like to hire you.’

She blanched. ‘You want ballet lessons?’

‘Hell no!’ A hearty laugh started all the way down in his stomach and burst forth with a soul-relieving boom. It felt good, and God knew he needed something to laugh about at the moment.

‘No need to be ashamed—male ballet dancers can still be masculine,’ she said, tilting her head to one side, studying him. ‘Or are you afraid you’ll need to pad out your tights?’

‘You know damn well I don’t need any padding down there.’

Her eyes flickered over him, as though they wanted to slide down the length of him but she was forcing her attention elsewhere.

‘I don’t want ballet lessons.’ He shook his head, wondering why on earth a grown man would want to learn ballet. ‘But I do want the advice of someone who’s been a performer her whole life.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s a long story but I’ve got something really important coming up and I need your expertise.’ He turned a charming grin on her, hoping to hell it had the right effect. Back in the day his smile had won her over on more than one occasion. ‘In return, I’ll make all your financial woes go away.’

She pushed up from the couch and strode towards him, closing the gap between them. Charged and dangerous. Though he had a head and a half on her she held herself with the grace of a queen. She approached him, lips ready for battle, hands balled into fists by her sides.

* * *

Had he really breezed in here, after five years of silence, wanting her help and offering to be some kind of knight in shining armour? Impossible. No one was that cocky. Perhaps all those winters in New York had frozen his brain cells beyond repair. Still, Elise couldn’t take her eyes off him...she never could. Col Hillam was like a drug; a very fun, stupid, dangerous drug.

He’d filled out since the last time she saw him when he’d still be wearing his lanky frame like an awkward uniform. Now broad shoulders stretched out beneath the white cotton of his shirt creating a neat V to the waist of his jeans. A dark smattering of hair peeked at her when he played with the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up his muscled forearms. She stopped herself from lingering there for too long.

He was far from the quiet young man she remembered. Despite his flippant tone, the hard set of his sculpted lips and wary blue gaze spelled trouble. He was here with a goal in mind, and she’d be hard pressed to get around him.

‘Why should I help you?’

‘Because you’ve got a kind heart and a strong sense of charity?’ There was that grin again. Cocky—clearly becoming CEO had helped him grow accustomed to getting his own way.

‘Why me?’ she asked.

‘Because you’re the only one who knows me well enough.’ He raked a hand through his dark hair, fingers thrusting through the strands in a single, swift gesture.

Each movement radiated sexual energy and masculinity. It was no wonder the single shot of him in an intimate clinch with a certain technology heiress had been flashed all over the media...not that she’d been keeping tabs.

‘I’m worried for you, if that’s true.’ She couldn’t help it—some little part of her wanted to hurt him. To pay him back for those years she spent dealing with her problems confused and alone.

Her life had fallen apart when he left as if his departure had caused an irreversible ripple of tragic events. Sure, he might not have had direct influence but it had all started with him. It had been easy to blame him when he was on the other side of the world, but now he was mere inches from her and she was struggling to stay in control.

‘Ouch.’ A scowl flickered across his face, but he wouldn’t be so easy to tear down. ‘The lady has a sharp tongue.’

‘The lady also has a good bullshit detector.’ She tilted her head up at him and narrowed her eyes. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’

She sucked in a breath. Verbal sparring was like foreplay for the mind as far as Col was concerned. He didn’t need to touch her; he only needed to pour his words over her like warm honey. She squared her shoulders. She’d promised herself she would never forget how he left her, and that meant keeping her distance. She couldn’t give up that painful memory because it was what she used to shield herself against future hurt.

‘Have a drink with me tomorrow, we can sort out the business side of things and I’ll fill you in on the details.’

Going for a drink with Col was a bad idea. She was mouthy at the best of times, let alone when there were cocktails involved. That was exactly how they ended up in bed together the first time.

‘No.’

‘That’s one thing I admire about you, Elise.’ He reached out and touched her hair, smoothing the strands into place with his fingertips. ‘You’re so decisive.’

‘I don’t need your admiration.’ Her cheeks flamed. How was it that he could make a supposed compliment sound so derisive? ‘But you’re spot on, Col, and it’s with that personality trait that I can comfortably tell you to shove your proposal.’

‘You don’t even know what the proposal is.’ The corner of his mouth twitched.

‘Read my lips, Col.’ She was close enough to melt against him, and she had to fight the urge with every ounce of will power she possessed. ‘Shove it.’

‘Anywhere in particular?’ he drawled. The man was not going to back down, but she’d be damned if she’d let him pay her for anything. She might need the money, but she needed her dignity more.

‘Wherever it will fit.’

‘I’m not going to take no for an answer.’ His large hands ran up her arms to rest on her shoulders.

A frisson of excitement shot through her as his fingertips touched her bare skin, but she shook his hands off, swatting at him with force. ‘Good, because I’m not going to answer you again.’

‘You know I can be very dogged when I want to be.’

One didn’t become a CEO before they were thirty without a kind of obsessive persistence. He’d wanted her for years when they were younger and she’d dangled herself like a gleaming carrot in front of him. She’d only ever given in once...and it had been enough to unsettle the entire course of her life. Yes, it sounded a touch dramatic but the day he left, every semblance of normality she had ever known had fractured and splintered until there was nothing left. Part of her wanted someone to blame, and he was the only viable candidate.

‘Col, it takes a little more than repetition to get to me.’ She reached for her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

‘You don’t want to encourage me, Elise.’

Hearing her full name erupt like a growl from the back of his throat sent her senses into a frenzy. She was drawn to the guttural masculinity that simmered close to the surface whenever he chased something he wanted. It was the one crack in his public façade and she found it sexier than anything else on earth.

‘I wasn’t encouraging you.’

He opened his mouth and then thought better of responding. Holding his arm out for her, he waited patiently while she took longer than she needed to walk past without touching him.

‘We should continue this conversation over drinks.’

He stood close behind her while she set the alarm code for the studio. Elise bristled at his proximity, her body primed for his touch and yet retreating at the same time. Warning bells rang a crazy, maddening cacophony in her head while she chanted to herself: don’t give in, don’t give in.

‘There isn’t a conversation to continue, Col.’

‘So turn up, I’ll buy you a few drinks and you can think about where else I can shove my proposal.’ He followed her out of the studio into the balmy summer air.

Temptation curled in her belly like a snake preparing to strike. Her otherwise enviable discipline had never extended to Col. Somehow he made her forget everything she needed to do, every obligation she had, every belief she clung to.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He brushed his thumb across her cheek so gently she might have imagined it.

He was gone before she could think to protest, leaving her to fume that he’d got one over on her. Her fists clenched again, and she took a moment to steady herself before walking to her car. He had some nerve, coming back and turning up here as if his absence hadn’t left a giant, gaping hole in her life.

Feeling her phone vibrate in her bag, Elise dug through the mess of papers and beauty products to find the buzzing device. ‘Hello?’

‘Elise Johnson?’ The male voice was unfamiliar. ‘I’m calling from Victoria Bank. Do you have a moment to talk?’

TWO

Around them the café bustled as though the world wasn’t crashing down. People laughed, sunshine streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the cheerful sound of cups clinking against saucers scratched at Elise’s nerves. Perhaps a third coffee wasn’t a wise choice for someone who was already more hyper than a puppy on speed. Still, overindulging in coffee was a little better than face-planting into a tub of peanut butter and chocolate-fudge ice cream, which was exactly what she wanted to do.

The bank manager who called her last night had very politely informed her that she was at risk of defaulting on her loan for the EJ Ballet School studio. He’d asked her to come in and talk to one of the staff at the bank and explore what options were available, but Elise knew that without somehow increasing the money they were making the studio would be a goner. Then how would she support her mother?

The last twenty-four hours had been a mind-bender. Elise had flipped from telling herself it would all be okay to preparing herself for the worst, and with a night of terrible sleep behind her she felt frayed at the edges. Between her encounter with Col and the call from the bank, she’d barely eaten from the growing discomfort of nerves bundling tightly within her.

‘Ellie?’ Jasmine waved a hand in front of her face, her dark eyes narrowed. ‘You still with us?’

‘Col came to visit me yesterday.’ She hadn’t been planning on telling her friends—or anyone else for that matter—about Col’s visit but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

‘Wow.’ Missy, her other best friend slash employee, watched her with eyes wide as dinner plates. ‘That’s a surprise.’

‘I know.’

Missy fiddled with her coffee cup. ‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it?’

‘Five years.’ She nodded. There hadn’t been a word from Col in half a decade...not a peep since the night he left. ‘He wants to hire me...well, kind of.’

‘What on earth for?’ Jasmine asked, incredulous.

‘He wants to hire me to do something performance related, but he didn’t tell me what it was exactly.’ It sounded more ridiculous when spoken aloud than it did in her head...if that was possible. ‘He offered to pay me.’

‘What kind of performance?’ Missy leant in, her turquoise eyes alight with curiosity. Jasmine elbowed her in the ribs, glaring.

‘Like I said, I don’t know.’

Jasmine shook her head. ‘That sounds sus...you’re not thinking about it, are you?’

Elise rolled her eyes; her friend was ever the protective mother hen. ‘I wasn’t thinking about it.’

‘But...?’

‘Maybe now I am.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s not a good idea,’ Jasmine said and Missy rolled her eyes.

‘I know that.’

‘Well?’

‘Well...’ She paused, letting out a long sigh. ‘The studio’s going through a rough patch.’

Missy’s aquamarine eyes widened. ‘You should have said something!’

‘It’s not a big deal, Miss.’

‘It is if you’re thinking of letting Col hire you,’ Jasmine replied.

‘This is my family we’re talking about...my life.’ How else would she support her drinking, gambling, all-kinds-of-screwed-up mother?

‘You deserve better.’ Jasmine shook her head, letting out a frustrated huff. ‘We’ll find a way to get the money for the studio. We can fundraise, run a charity drive...’

Missy nodded her head in vigorous agreement. ‘Anything you need.’

‘It’s a little worse than what a charity drive can help with.’ That was it; the stone-cold truth was out there. ‘Promise me you won’t tell the other teachers about this.’

The girls nodded and answered without hesitating, ‘We promise.’

Elise looked at her watch. She had precisely three hours in which to forget her dignity and plan how she was going to tell Col she was considering his offer...without even knowing what it was. How desperate was that? Her cheeks flamed at the thought; there was no way she should be doing this.

And yet he’d managed to make her the vulnerable party. Clearly his lure was as strong as it had ever been.

Closing her eyes, Elise forced the thought from her mind. She was doing this for the money and the money only. The fact that she’d wanted Col since she was old enough to understand the concept of desire was totally beside the point.

Ugh, why did she have to think about that? An uncomfortable sensation surged between her legs and Elise shifted in the hard café chair. She would not think about sleeping with Col, she would not think about sleeping with Col, she would not—

‘I don’t even want to know what you’re thinking about.’ Jasmine sighed.

‘I do,’ Missy chimed in with a wink.

‘I’m not thinking about him.’ I’m not, I’m not.

‘Like I said, don’t want to know.’ Jasmine shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe you didn’t tell us about the studio. How did it happen?’

‘I wish there was an easy answer to that.’

‘It’s pretty black and white when it comes to finances, Ellie. What’s going on that you’re not telling us?’

How could she tell her best friends that her mother had gambled away their savings on a horse race? Well, on several horse races and one greyhound race if she’d got her facts right, but it was all the same in the end. No money to pay the loan on the studio. A decline in the economy meant they’d lost a chunk of their student body when their parents could no longer afford added extras like ballet tuition. Then there were the ongoing costs for her mother’s medication, the fact that she hadn’t been able to go back to work...

‘Let’s just say it was a perfect storm.’ Elise sighed.

‘You know I hate it when you shut me out.’ Jasmine pushed back on her chair and picked up her bag.

‘Lucky for me you two put up with all my crap.’

The girls filed out of the café and into the summer air. A cool breeze danced across Elise’s bare arms and caused the hairs to rise. She had a very bad feeling about her meeting with Col...a very bad feeling.

* * *

By the time Col left his last meeting for the day he was drained, in desperate need of a stress-relieving workout...and he was late.

He’d known this trip wouldn’t be an easy one. He wasn’t even sure why his father had him listed as the executor of his will. It wasn’t as if he’d had anything to do with the man for the last decade of his life. Now he had to spend his precious time—time he should be using to prepare for a huge opportunity for his company—digging around a house he never wanted to visit, looking for paperwork so he could settle up an estate that was worth nothing...probably less than nothing by the time he subtracted the lawyer’s fees.

‘Dammit.’

He jogged to the rental car from the shiny office building, pulling his tie loose with one hand and dialling Elise’s number on his mobile with the other. She hadn’t exactly given him her number but Col’s assistant was a skilful detective, and shortly after he’d requested Elise’s number it had appeared in his inbox.

The phone rang once, twice, three times—‘Hello?’

Her husky little voice was enough to light a fire in his blood and tighten the front of his trousers. He was looking forward to seeing her far more than was healthy.

‘It’s Col.’

‘How did you get this nu—?’

‘Never mind that. I’m running late.’ He unlocked the car and slid into the leather seat. The car was stuffy from sitting in the sun and the leather warmed his skin through the thin cotton of his trousers.

‘Shocker.’

‘Let’s catch up near the hotel. That way I can duck back and have a quick shower before we meet.’

‘I don’t believe I actually agreed to meet you.’

‘Tell me you’re not already dressed up and waiting for me.’ Silence on the other end of the line confirmed he was right. ‘I’ll see you there.’

‘You do realise that sounds suspicious as all hell.’

‘It’s not a ploy, Ellie. I really want a shower...though you’re free to join me if you feel like saving on your water bill.’

‘Where are we meeting?’ She wasn’t going to bite...unfortunately.

‘That little bar under the bridge on Southbank. It’s the one—’

‘I know which one it is.’

‘See you there in an hour?’

Click. He’d take that as a confirmation.

An hour and a half later Col arrived at their meeting place and looked around for Elise. The open-air bar was attached to the bridge that ran over the Yarra River. Only in Melbourne would you find a bar suspended above water, with crates for seats and footsteps of the thriving nightlife above. But if there was a nook, an unused space, a seemingly pointless alleyway, Melbourne would find a way to put a café or a bar there.

He’d missed that when he was in New York, though not as much as he’d missed a certain feisty blonde.

A flash of emerald silk caught his attention. Elise sat perched on a stool with a drink in her hand, behind her the lights of the city dazzled in winking shades of yellow and orange. The green of her dress shone against creamy, bare skin. He had a weakness for her in that colour, and he’d told her so frequently. There was something about green in any shade that caused her skin to glow as if she were a naked flame.

The dress hugged her curves but draped modestly where it counted; a small side split in the knee-length skirt taunted him with a sliver of thigh. Her hair was carelessly piled on her head, the river breeze ruffling it out of formation, and two emerald-coloured stones hung from her ears.

‘You’re late,’ she said, a half-empty cocktail in front of her. ‘Later than when you originally rang.’

‘I’m worth the wait.’ He dropped down to the stool next to her and motioned for the bartender.

‘Hardly,’ she said, but the flicker of her tongue against the corner of her glossy pink lips gave her away. That tongue had given her away before.

Col fought the urge to dip his head to hers and pull her tongue into his mouth. This was supposed to be about business. An unexpected wave of guilt rocked in his stomach—so much for all those journos who said he was cold as a New York winter. He still had the capacity to know when he was doing wrong by someone.

‘You look amazing.’ Okay, so maybe some of it wasn’t about business.

The corners of her lips pulled up into a forced smile. ‘Are you going to tell me why you dragged me out here?’

‘Why don’t we catch up first?’ He accepted the tumbler of soda water from the bartender. He didn’t need any alcohol affecting his judgement tonight, not when Elise seemed to do that so effectively on her own. ‘It’s been a while. What have you been doing with yourself?’

‘I’ve been keeping busy.’ She sipped from the edge of her glass delicately, her eyes fluttering closed as she savoured the liquid. He’d brought her here because he knew for a fact that they made a good Manhattan.

Part of him was comforted by the fact that her favourite drink hadn’t changed. She shifted on the bar stool and her dress moved, exposing more of her slender thigh. A gold anklet winked at him from the delicate joint of her ankle; he had an almost uncontrollable urge to run his tongue along the length of it. Enough!

‘Seriously, tell me what’s happened since I left. I’m interested.’

‘In the last five years?’

‘Has it been that long?’ Funny how half a decade could pass when you were sticking your head in the sand.

‘It most certainly has.’

‘And we’re both now responsible adults and entrepreneurs.’

She scoffed. ‘I would hardly call myself an entrepreneur, especially around you.’

‘You’re running your own business, doing well for yourself.’

‘And if by doing well for myself you mean running my business into the ground...’ She frowned, tipping her head back to enjoy the last mouthful of her drink.

‘The GFC has been rough on everyone, Ellie. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’

‘Sure looks like it affected you. Do you have to fly Economy now?’ Sarcasm was her defence of choice, another thing that hadn’t changed.

He drew his mouth into a line. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him, that was for sure. But he always found himself attracted to her ferocious will. Besides, having her at arm’s length would be a good thing. He couldn’t afford to get too emotionally tangled with Elise Johnson. The woman had a way of breaking his heart without even trying, and Lord knew he had enough emotional baggage when it came to rejection.

‘So what have you been doing with yourself, Mr Forbes Young Rich List?’ She gestured to the bartender to bring her another drink. A river cruise boat drifted past them.

He grunted. ‘God, I hate that label.’

‘You should be proud. The Old Rich List is so passé.’ Her voice was teasing but there was a hard glint in her twilight eyes.

He cringed. ‘You know I don’t keep up with trends...unless they involve a circuit board, that is.’

‘Seems to me like you managed to use your status to have a little fun after you moved.’

‘How so?’ He frowned, instinct telling him he was about to walk into a trap.

‘I happened to be reading the paper a while ago and saw a rather compromising photo of you and the daughter of a certain rival technologist.’

Ah, so they were back to this again. Despite what the gossip columnists made out, Col usually ensured any ‘itches that needed to be scratched’ were done so with the utmost discretion. No supermodels, movie stars or society darlings for him. Until he met heiress Tessa Bates, though she had been going under a false name on the night he met her. She turned out to be rebelling against her father and had scouted Col out on one of his ultra-rare public appearances. He’d walked straight into her trap and now there were pictures of him naked on her supposedly private balcony that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

‘You seem rather preoccupied with my sex life.’ He attempted to redirect the conversation.

‘Hardly,’ she scowled.

‘Well, that’s the second time you’ve mentioned it in as many meetings.’ He leant forward on his stool, his knees knocking against hers.

She stiffened. ‘Who you sleep with is up to you.’

‘Well, it was a mistake in any case.’ He shrugged as though it bothered him less than it did.

‘What about you? Are you seeing anyone?’

She pondered his question for a moment. ‘No. I don’t have time for messing around at the moment.’

‘I thought you told me all work and no play made for a dull existence.’

She wrinkled her pert, upturned nose and changed the topic. ‘So tell me, what is it that you think I can help you with?’

‘That’s it? After five years you give me a two-minute catch-up?’

‘It was hardly two minutes.’ She shrugged, unflinching. ‘But it’s more than you deserve.’

Col drew a long breath; he’d known this moment would come. The one where he’d need to open himself up and admit something that had plagued him since childhood. For someone who’d worked with the toughest investors in the world, the sharpest minds in the technology industry and the most vulture-like journalists, he shouldn’t have any fears left. But he did. This one was buried so deep that it had rooted itself into the core of who he was. It was unshakable, unsurpassable. And he needed to confess it to Elise, the one person left in the world that he still admired.

‘I have a very important event coming up, a conference.’ He cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink. ‘I’ve been invited to be the keynote speaker and I need to give a presentation on the way technology is shaping the fitness industry.’

She shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know why you think I can help you out with that.’

‘I need someone to help me prepare for the speech, not in terms of the speech itself but in terms of getting up on stage in front of all those people.’ Even saying the words sent a trickle of ice-cold fear down his spine. ‘You’ve performed your whole life. You know how to deal with the nerves, the stage fright...’

‘Are you seriously telling me you’re frightened of public speaking? You, Col Hillam, CEO, New York lady-killer, technological wunderkind, are afraid of an audience?’ She rolled her eyes.

Heat crawled up his neck. It was hard enough to admit that he was afraid of something, especially when she stared at him open-mouthed like that. Anger prickled the back of his neck, making his fingers curl around his glass.

‘We’re all afraid of something, Elise.’

‘Yes, but you’re...’ She threw her hands up in the air, grappling for words. ‘Don’t you broker deals all the time? Don’t you spend your life networking and selling your business?’

If only. He was known as something of a recluse in the industry. He could handle meetings, of course, but he avoided networking whenever he could...especially the personal kind. In fact, this was the first time he’d sat in a bar with a woman in... He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been on a date. Not that this is a date, he corrected himself, shoved the thought aside.

‘It’s different.’ He squeezed the glass so hard he thought it might shatter. Forcing out a breath, he put the glass down and placed both hands on his knees, a technique he often used when he was feeling out of his depth. Perhaps he should have ordered something stronger than soda water after all.

‘How is it different?’ She seemed...suspicious. Did she think this was a ploy so he could get close to her?

‘Being in a boardroom with ten people is fine, I can handle that. I know what I’m doing. I go hard, I’m aggressive and I win. But being up there with all those eyes watching while they wait for you to make a mistake...’ His chest clenched, his breath came faster.

* * *

Wow, Col Hillam was actually scared of something. His chest rose and fell, the muscles pressing against the thin cotton of his lightweight blue shirt. His neck corded with each inhalation, lips pressed tight together, jaw clenched.

At first she’d wondered if this was his way of forcing her to spend time with him. Perhaps it was some made-up scenario that allowed him to get close to her without committing to anything. It seemed likely, since fleeing the country was his MO. But the light beading of sweat along his hairline and the white-knuckled grip he had on the rustic wooden table in front of them told a different story.

‘I’m sure you could afford someone who specialised in public-speaking phobias to help you—’

‘No.’

He barked the word out, drawing curious stares from the couples around them. Elise tilted her head, watching as his eyes narrowed. He was even more striking since he’d lost the youthful fullness in his face. The slopes and curves had been replaced by hard angles and sharp edges. A faint smattering of dark hair peeked out of the open collar of his shirt, the pushed-up sleeves revealing strong arms. Even his eyes looked harder; their faded blue—like worn denim—was hiding something.

‘You’re doing yourself a disservice, Col. Get some professional help. I’m just a ballerina.’

‘You’re the only one who can help me.’

He reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it, his thumb tracing the ridges of her knuckles. Her breath stuck in her throat as she looked at him. The furrowed brow, the serious eyes, the grim slash of a mouth were all too familiar.

‘You’re the only one who knows me well enough to help me get around this problem.’

Memories flooded her; she’d managed to shut them out for so long but they came roaring back when he touched her. Ten-year-old Col on her doorstep, arms black and blue with bruises, face set into a hard mask of fury. No tears; there were never any tears. He’d asked if he could stay the night and she’d let him in without a word. He’d stunk of the alcohol his father had splashed on him. She’d held him until they both fell asleep, till her father found them lying in front of the fireplace the next morning. She was the only one allowed to comfort him, the only one he’d allow within touching distance. Even Elise’s brother, Rich, who’d been Col’s best friend since kindergarten, wasn’t allowed that close.

‘I can’t help you.’ The memories swirled, unsteadying her.

He gritted his teeth. ‘Please, Ellie.’

She couldn’t fix people that were broken; she’d learnt that the hard way. She tried and tried and tried, but eventually they either left or retreated so far into themselves that she might as well have been alone. The last time she’d tried to help Col she’d failed, and then he’d left. She was now trying in vain to drag her mother down from the brink of oblivion on a daily basis. She wouldn’t put herself in that position again.

‘I’m sorry, you’ll need to find someone else. I’m not the right person to help you.’ She shoved aside the empty cocktail glass and grabbed her bag from the table.

Weaving through the crowd, she dodged the waitress with a tray full of drinks and the other patrons until she found the staircase that led up to the bridge. When the night air hit her burning cheeks she sighed with relief. Distance, that was what she needed. If she could avoid Col while he was in Australia then everything would be fine.

THREE

How was she going to make it work? It was the less scary of the two questions Elise had been asking herself, the other being: how had she let it get to this point in the first place? She knew the answer to that: she was weak. She was too weak to say no to her mother, too weak to tell her brother to come home and face his responsibilities. She was supposed to be the stable one in the family, the reliable one. She was the one who had to keep them all afloat.

Elise crunched the numbers again, tapping at her calculator and hoping for a different result. The only way the numbers would balance was if she let go one of her teachers and took on more lessons herself. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than letting the business fail even more than it already had.

Sitting behind the small desk in the waiting room of the studio, she watched the mothers chatter amongst themselves while the under-twelve class finished up. The girls bounded out of the studio, full of beans despite a gruelling technique class with Jasmine. She couldn’t let Jasmine go; they’d been best friends since they were six and had seen each other through many a dark day. She sighed, raking a hand through her loose hair.

‘See you next Thursday, girls. Don’t forget to stretch!’ Jasmine chirped and waved as her students left.

Elise envied Jasmine and her newfound life with her hunky AFL star fiancé. Their kind of happiness was rare, and her best friend deserved every second of it...but she couldn’t help wishing that she had a little bit of that luck too.

Swinging her sneakered feet onto the desk, she adjusted the portable fan so it blew in her direction. The studio’s air conditioning was broken again, but she was trying to figure out how to afford a service. No solution had presented itself, but there was a number of blisteringly hot days in next week’s forecast that meant she’d have to make a decision, and fast.

‘Have you heard from Col again?’ Jasmine stripped off her leg warmers and ballet shoes, before stuffing her stockinged feet into a pair of flats.

She’d neglected to tell Jasmine they’d gone for a drink last night. She wouldn’t approve and Elise couldn’t deal with a lecture at this point. She’d hardly slept. Between the old memories resurfacing and the stress of trying to decide which teacher to fire, relaxation and slumber were impossible concepts. There had also been a tiny twinge of guilt over bailing on Col when he’d opened up for her, but she soothed that guilt with a healthy dose of anger. He was the one who left her originally, and not just for a night...for five long years.

‘Hey.’ Jasmine’s face appeared in front of hers, a hand landing on her shoulder. ‘I’m worried about you.’

‘I’m fine.’ She forced a perky smile. ‘You know what my apartment is like. It gets so hot in the summer. I could barely catch a wink of sleep last night.’

‘Right. Well, you let me know if you want to talk.’ Jasmine removed her hand and gave her a pointed look that said: I’m your best friend, don’t BS me.

‘As if you could stop me talking.’ She sat up, shaking off her exhaustion, and kept her smile firmly in place.

As Jasmine was about to leave, the door to the studio swung open. Col’s frame filled the doorway almost completely, his broad shoulders looking even wider with the fading light outlining him. He wore an intense expression, none of his usual cockiness present in the deep stare he gave her.

‘Hi, Ellie.’

‘Col.’

Jasmine looked from Elise to Col and back again. She moved closer to the desk, hovering by Elise, looking as if she were about to strike.

‘It’s all right, Mama Bear,’ Elise said with a nod. ‘I can take him.’

She frowned. ‘I’ll stay if you need moral support.’

‘It’s fine, go.’ Elise gave her friend a gentle shove with one sneaker-covered foot.

Jasmine picked up her bag and walked past Col, setting a hard glare at him before she left without a word. Elise stifled a smile, Jasmine was nothing if not fiercely loyal.

‘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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