rather than nosy and intrusive.
He shakes his head. ‘Until I left Sydney for Monaco, the furthest I’d been was New Zealand.’
‘So you’ve never been to Dubai either?’ No wonder he wants to cram in as many tourist attractions as he can, although surely he can return any time he wants.
‘No. Construction isn’t the best paid work in the world, but I had a comfortable life.’
‘Why not go back to your job, if you love it so much?’ My scalp crawls—if someone told me I couldn’t do my job, I’d be lost. Perhaps that’s why he’s struggling with his inheritance. But just because he never needs to work again, it doesn’t mean he can’t do what he loves. I do.
‘My boss looked relieved when I told him I wanted to take some unpaid leave. I think the company is struggling. And in theory, I no longer need the work.’
‘In theory?’ My probing is hesitant because I’m in the same position. I choose to work, because I love it. It’s my life. It’s what I’m good at.
‘It’s complicated.’ He keeps his eyes on the road, but his jaw is bunched, telling me he doesn’t want to elaborate. I’ve already suggested financial advice, so I don’t repeat the offer. But I want to help him.
The questions I want to ask clog my throat, because he’s hinted that he hasn’t always known modest or even comfortable wealth. That perhaps he has more in common with the boy at the music store than he does with me or any other M Club member; that none of this, the luxury, the charitable donations, the escapist hedonism comes naturally to him.
After ten minutes, he pulls the truck to a halt. I look out but all I can see is what appears to be an animal-welfare facility—not that my German is very good, but the logo of a cat and dog give it away. I’m even more confused, but Cam’s already hopped out of the vehicle to open my door. I slide from my seat in the cab and he helps me down, his lips still tight. At least the haunted look has disappeared from his eyes.
I follow him to the back of the truck. ‘Where are we?’
He opens the rear doors and I get my first glimpse of our cargo—sack after sack of dog biscuits. ‘Dog food?’
Cam nods with a smile, tossing one giant bag up onto his shoulder. ‘Yep—enough to last them at least a year.’ With his free hand he grasps mine and tugs me towards the entrance as if he can’t wait to get inside.
I want to tell him he’s the only billionaire I know to be this hands-on, that if he loves dogs this much he could buy the pound or become a lifetime sponsor, but since that first day in Monaco I’ve learned that the quickest way to shut Cam down is to mention his wealth.
‘What about the rest? We’re not emptying the entire truck ourselves, are we?’
He shoots me that indulgent smile, the one that tells me he thinks I’m a bit of a princess. ‘No need—I’m donating the truck too. Come on.’
‘Wait.’ I can’t have him thinking I’m too precious to get my hands dirty or break a nail. I hoist a bag of dog food from the back of the truck and lift it onto one shoulder, as he did.
He stares, his eyes full of something that looks like respect and the smouldering heat I’m used to seeing. ‘Let’s go.’ I walk ahead of him towards the shelter, my back burning with the knowledge of how easy it is to impress Cam North.
We’re greeted by the manager, a man named Klaus, who speaks perfect English as he thanks us for the generous donation. Cam places his sack of dog food down on the counter in the small foyer and I follow suit.
‘Is it okay if we look around?’ asks Cam, addressing Klaus.
‘Of course,’ says the manager, all smiles for his generous new benefactor. ‘This way.’
We’re led to the rear of the facility, following the sound of barking.
‘All of the dogs here are up for adoption,’ Klaus tells us. ‘We usually rehome around ninety-five per cent of our dogs, but sadly, there are always one or two we find it impossible to place.’
Unease grips me, drying my mouth. Does Cam expect me to walk away from here with a new pet? Is that why he brought me here? I know I told him I had a soft spot for dogs, but that doesn’t mean I want to own one. Panic settles in the pit of my stomach like a rock, even as my pulse flutters at the extreme sweetness of Cam’s gesture. Once the door is open and I see those expectant canine eyes, it will be harder to stay strong.
I tug Cam to a standstill and speak to him in a hushed whisper. ‘What are you doing? I can’t adopt a dog. I told you my life is completely unsuitable for pet ownership.’ My phone buzzes in my pocket but I ignore it. It’s important Cam understands me, that my resolve is rock solid before Klaus opens that door and we’re greeted with a hundred pairs of puppy eyes, including Cam’s. This is why he’s so irresistible, why I can never say no to him. He’s full of contradictions—big and sexy and manly on the outside with a heart of gold and a massive soft spot for the underdog, human or four-legged.
He takes both my hands and squeezes my fingers. ‘I know. I don’t expect you to adopt one, although how awesome would that be?’
At my stunned silence he continues. ‘You just said you liked dogs, so I thought it might be nice to hang out with a few for the afternoon. Pets are the perfect stress reliever.’ He looks down at my pocket, where my phone is happily buzzing again.
My fingers, nestled in his, twitch to answer the phone, even as I acknowledge the thoughtfulness of his surprise and that it means for him we’re not just having sex. He’s listened to me. He remembers my favourite colour and the fact I miss owning a dog.
My throat grows tight at his show of consideration. When was the last time someone, anyone, did something like this for me? Something simple. Just because.
‘I’m not stressed.’ I flush hot with guilt. I sound ungrateful, but I’m too busy to be stressed. I think of the stack of work requiring my attention back at the hotel, my crack-of-dawn meeting tomorrow and the next month of travel, all to ensure my firm is the biggest, the best, and ticking along like clockwork.
Because I need to be the best? Because work is all I have?
I sigh—how can I be such a mess? A week ago I had everything sorted, my life engineered exactly the way I want it. What has changed?
Cam.
I know an afternoon off won’t do me any harm. In fact, I know I’ll feel refreshed and energised by his infectious energy. But at what cost? I shake my head, trying to assess why I’m overthinking this so endlessly, another new trait I seem to have acquired.
Cam clearly feels I need a little more persuading. ‘Look, you work hard, and you said you can play hard, too. Isn’t that why I’m here? Why you invited me along? So we could have a good time along the way? Will one afternoon off really make that much difference? I find it hard to believe your empire will crumble that easily—you’re too good to allow that to happen.’ His argument is a recurring one and he doesn’t really need to coax me. He’s right. This is what I wanted when I propositioned him. A distraction, a way to unleash my playful side. To find some balance. I’m worrying needlessly.
‘We’ll just stay an hour, and then I’ll
