not letting some sociopathic freak of a bully determine who I will or won’t employ!’
Just for a moment she glimpsed something in him beyond the self-possessed, preoccupied executive. Something dark and dangerous that should have had her backing away but actually had her wanting to edge closer.
‘I know you’re the right person for this job.’
She stared at him, at the fire in his eyes, and the weight of his expectation slammed down on her shoulders, making them sag.
‘But for heaven’s sake, Neen, what possessed you to go out with a jerk like that in the first place?’
She hugged her arms about her waist and started walking blindly up the beach again. She’d been searching for love. She’d ached for it. That was why she’d fallen for Chris. He’d focused all his attention on her in a way nobody in her life had before—except for Grandad—and she’d lapped it up like a starving woman. Like the stupid, weak woman that she was.
It was only later that his possessiveness and jealousy had come to light. Or at least that she’d recognised them for what they were. If she hadn’t been so needy she might have realised sooner and she could have ended the relationship then. But she hadn’t, and now she was paying the price.
‘I made a mistake,’ she said when she was sure of her voice. ‘Haven’t you ever made a mistake?’
She glanced up, but his face had frozen into a dark mask.
He gave one hard nod and a curt, ‘Yes,’ and then swung on his heel and set off back the way they’d come.
She glanced around—Monty was still splashing in the water beside them—and then dashed to catch up with Rico. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make that about you.’
He blinked and the mask disappeared. ‘I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s hit me what a high price innocent mistakes can carry. It hardly seems fair.’
She took in the knotted tie, the polished shoes, and wondered what mistakes lurked in his past.
‘Take the youth I work with. Most of them are paying for other people’s mistakes. It’s not their fault they were born to teenage mothers or have parents who’ve turned to alcohol or drugs.’
‘And you want to make a difference?’
His eyes flashed. ‘I will make a difference!’
For some reason his words chilled her. Or perhaps it was the tone in which they were uttered.
‘Have you ever taken self-defence classes, Neen?’
It wasn’t a question designed to dispel the chill that gripped her. She chafed her arms. ‘No.’
‘Why on earth not?’ He reached out and pulled her to a stop. He dropped his hand again almost immediately. ‘Surely that’s one of the sensible precautions you can take?’
She turned away from him and stared out across the water and up at Mount Wellington, which towered over the city of Hobart, dominating it.
‘Neen?’
She finally turned back. ‘I kept hoping I wouldn’t need to, that the threat wouldn’t become physical.’ She scanned the beach and the park beyond. ‘Besides, I suspect he’s watching me, following me. I haven’t wanted to give him any ideas.’
* * *
Rico stared down at Neen and his heart clenched. She seemed suddenly small and fragile. His hands fisted at the thought of anyone hurting her—at the thought of any man hurting a woman.
Knowing how to protect herself against a physical assault was vital, even if it wasn’t a fact she wanted to face. He didn’t know if her ex—this Chris—would actually resort to violence, but it would be better for her to be prepared.
Besides, knowing she could physically handle herself would empower her.
He straightened and readied himself for an argument. ‘Self-defence classes have just become a mandatory requirement for the position you were offered this morning, Neen. It’s one of the things I came around to discuss with you.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘Ooh, Rico D’Angelo, that’s a big, fat lie.’
For a moment he thought she might even laugh. He’d like to see her laugh. He frowned and dragged his attention back to the matter at hand. ‘It was an oversight of mine that I forgot to mention it when I interviewed you. The fact is you’ll be working with disadvantaged youths. Some of those kids have been brought up by the scruffs of their necks.’
‘And violence is a language they know?’
‘Fluently.’
He had no intention of staffing the café with anyone who had that kind of a question mark hanging over them, but... He stared at Neen and his blood ran cold. ‘I don’t think we’ll run into those kinds of problems, but you will be dealing with teenagers.’
‘And teenagers can be hormonal and unpredictable?’
He let out a breath when he realised she wasn’t going to put up a fight. ‘So can some of their parents and friends. It’s the world they’ve grown up in.’
‘Which you’re trying to change?’
He read the scepticism in her eyes. He should be immune to such scepticism—he fought it every working day of his life—but for some reason hers burned and chafed him. He rolled his shoulders and tried to dismiss it.
‘The café budget will cover the cost of your self-defence classes.’ She looked as if she was about to argue and he held up a hand. ‘I insist. I’ll be the one choosing the trainer, and I’ll be receiving reports on your progress too.’
She blinked.
He’d make sure he chose the best. He couldn’t believe this hadn’t occurred to him before. If he could get more funding for future initiatives of the same nature, he’d make it an essential requirement for all his managers.
‘I’ll wait to receive the details from you, then.’
She turned to survey Monty and he couldn’t help noticing how the sun picked out the lighter strands in her chestnut hair. ‘I can’t believe how much energy that dog has.’
Monty still frolicked in the waves—chasing them as they receded, snapping at them and leaping over them as they rolled in. The dog’s utter physical joy in being alive struck him.
He shook himself. What was he thinking? He was too busy these days for swimming and beachcombing. He set his jaw. And he didn’t regret it. Not one bit.
He swung back to Neen. ‘In the meantime...’
She raised an eyebrow.
He’d make sure her class started asap—next week if he could arrange it—but... ‘It won’t hurt for you to have a couple of pointers now. Remember, if someone does attack you, your primary goal is to disable them long enough to get away. You don’t want to stick
