intimacy to the moment.
‘Call it intuition.’ She picked up the menu, needing to do something with her fiddling hands and distract her attention from his probing gaze.
To her amazement, he reached across the table and plucked the menu from her hands. ‘Let’s finish this discussion before we order. What needs to be done to turn this situation around?’
I need to run a thousand miles away from you and those damn eyes.
Maybe taking this job hadn’t been such a good idea! Sure, she was desperate for business, not to mention that wonderful commodity that made the world go round, but was it worth feeling this flustered, this unsure of herself? She’d never lacked confidence, therefore this guy’s ability to undermine her with a single glance was more than disconcerting. It was downright frightening.
‘How about I present a business plan to you over the next few days and we take it from there?’
‘But you mentioned starting at the top. I assume you meant with me.’
She nodded. ‘I have a few ideas but I’d like to interview some of your staff to get a general feel for the place before I present my plan. That’s how I usually work.’ A small white lie but she had no intention of letting him know this was her first real assignment. Besides, she’d honed her own business plan to the nth degree and knew she could handle anything her new boss had to dish out. Within reason.
‘Fine.’ He handed her the menu. ‘I look forward to hearing this master plan of yours.’
She sighed in relief, though it was short-lived.
‘Just remember, Fleur. I’m expecting big things from you. And I don’t like to be let down.’
‘You don’t need to worry,’ she said, knowing that she’d be doing enough of that for the both of them.
Darcy turned the key in the lock, surprised to find the front door to his house open. He could’ve sworn he’d locked it when he left earlier that evening. Maybe the thought of having dinner with Fleur had rattled him more than he’d anticipated?
However, as he entered the house and heard the pounding bass reverberating through the hallway, he knew why the door was unlocked.
He took the stairs two at a time, torn between wanting to hug his wayward brother and throttle him for being away so long. Sean’s bedroom door stood open, explaining the ear-splitting noise from some heavy-metal band Darcy had probably never heard of.
‘Hey, bro; long time, no see.’ Sean jumped up from the bed, piece of pizza in one hand and a beer in the other, a wide grin plastered across his face.
Darcy turned down the volume before answering. ‘Is that what you call three years? A long time?’
Sean’s smile slipped a notch. ‘Come on, man. Don’t be so…parental. Aren’t you glad to see me?’
The familiar anger surged through Darcy’s body, rooting him to the spot. He’d raised Sean from the age of eleven yet the passing years hadn’t instilled maturity into his brother. Sean had never recognised the sacrifices Darcy had made in raising him, preferring to see him as some sort of ogre rather than a caring brother who’d been thrust into the role of parent at too young an age.
If anything, Sean still lived the life of a carefree boy and it irked Darcy more than it should. Why should he be the one to always shoulder all the responsibility? Now that his brother was thirty years old, surely it was time he started acting like it?
‘Two phone calls in three years. Don’t you think I’ve earned the right to be concerned?’
Sean shook his head and took a swig from his beer. ‘I can see you haven’t changed much.’
‘Neither have you.’ Darcy clenched his fists, surprised that the years away hadn’t matured his brother. He still spoke and behaved like a wayward teenager, from his smart mouth to his taste in music. ‘So, how long are you staying around this time?’
Sean shrugged, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. ‘Who knows? I might hang out here for a while, see what Melbourne has to offer these days.’
‘How’s the cash situation?’ Darcy resisted the urge to cringe; as much as he tried, he couldn’t shake the role of a worried father, probing his son for scraps of information about his life. He knew Sean didn’t like it and he sure as hell wished he could stop it. However, it had been a habit for almost twenty years and he’d be damned if he stopped caring now.
‘Stop worrying, bro. Is it any wonder you’ve got grey hairs?’
‘I have not!’
‘Sure you have. You’ve got one, right about there.’ Sean threw the pizza crust back in the cardboard box and walked towards him, pointing to Darcy’s temple. ‘Yep, I see it. Actually, it’s more white than grey.’
‘Brat!’ Darcy swatted Sean’s hand away and finally smiled, allowing a glimmer of affection to show in his eyes.
‘Yeah, I’ve missed you too, bro.’ Sean enveloped him in a bear hug and Darcy returned it, slapping his brother on the back.
Once they’d broken apart and looked away, unsure how to break that awkward pause that inevitably accompanied men embracing each other, Darcy headed towards the door. He stopped on the threshold and looked back, happier than he’d been in a long time. ‘It’s good to have you home, Sean.’
Sean grinned, the same cheeky grin he’d had as an eleven-year-old. ‘Good to be back, even if I have to look at your ugly mug!’
Darcy pulled a face and turned away, wondering what Fleur would think if she could see him now. He’d managed to forget about their interesting evening once he’d entered the house, though the memory of her now resurfaced.
She’d looked incredible in that black dress with the neckline cut high enough to be classy yet low enough to entice. He’d been impressed, from her sleek hair—it must’ve taken her at least an hour to straighten those gorgeous curls he’d admired when they first met—to her sequined sandals and everything in between. In fact, he’d had a hard time keeping his mind on the conversation when his attention kept wandering to the ‘everything in between’.
Though he had gained one pertinent fact. The lady thought he couldn’t lighten up.
Well, he would show her.
CHAPTER THREE
THANKS to her psychology background, Fleur always analysed any date with a male, from the way he’d looked at her to what he’d said, and unfortunately her date with Darcy sent her analytical brain into overtime.
Date? Where had that come from? He’d taken her on a business dinner, not a date, and the sooner she remembered that the better.
So what if he’d plied her with fine food and wine, asking personal questions to appear as if he was genuinely interested in her? She knew what he’d been playing at—any boss worth his weight would interrogate a new employee like that, especially one who was investing so much time and money into saving his ailing company.
It
