Not that she’d tell him. She seemed determined to keep him in the same box she’d constructed for him back in high school. The one labelled ‘Lazy Lout Happy to Coast on his Family’s Fortune’.
He’d pretended it hadn’t bothered him back then, had gone out of his way to tease her for being the opposite—‘Little Miss Prissy Being Groomed to Follow in Mama’s Footsteps’.
But now? Yeah, it bothered him. He’d had a gutful of being labelled and misjudged by everyone from the paparazzi to his folks. Especially his folks.
Ironic that growing up he’d craved their attention, and yet when they’d finally given it, it had been for all the wrong reasons.
To have Sapphire echo their doubts felt as if someone had slugged him in the guts.
For some unfathomable reason her opinion mattered after all this time. It shouldn’t. They were now business colleagues.
The irrefutable, irrational urge to rip her clothes off and devour her didn’t come into it at all.
Sex without complications. That was what he wanted, and for one insane moment earlier, from the way she’d been looking at him, he’d almost say she wanted it too.
For Sapphire wouldn’t have room in her well-ordered life for complications. He respected that about her—her focus on her job. He’d met women like her around the world—high-fliers who took no prisoners, who didn’t have time for emotional entanglements, who were happy being independent and forceful and in control.
Not every female needed a wedding ring and kids to feel validated, and by Sapphire’s go-get-’em attitude, she’d chosen to marry her career instead.
She glanced at him and rolled her eyes, imitating Ruby’s garrulousness with her hand. He mimed hitting the disconnect button and she smiled—a genuine, dazzling display that left him slightly winded.
Sex without complications, remember?
Sleeping with Sapphire wasn’t wise. That was one giant complication just waiting to happen.
She had changed. The Sapphire he’d known would never have taken time out to do yoga, let alone be seen dead in leisure clothes. When she hadn’t been in school uniform she’d worn tailored pants and button-down shirts, appearing way older than her years but making it work regardless.
She hadn’t cared what other kids thought of her, and while their rich, indulged classmates at the exclusive school they’d attended had been boozing and partying their way through high school she’d been friendly yet aloof, happy in her own skin, proud of her choices.
He’d envied her that—her certainty in knowing what she was going to do with her life. He hadn’t had a clue, and had taken the Fourde internship by default, accepting it when a PR job at a Paris magazine had fallen through.
And look how that had turned out.
Maybe he would have been better staying well away from the family business but despite what had happened he didn’t regret the years he’d spent at Fourde.
He wouldn’t have discovered his talent for taking conceptual ideas and seeing them through to fruition. He wouldn’t have discovered his passion for brainstorming and elaborating and collaborating. And he wouldn’t have known he had the creative spark passed down in his genes if he hadn’t been surrounded by the passion of Fourde Fashion on a daily basis.
A huge part of him was grateful for the opportunities he’d been given, but another part wished he’d been brave enough to put his plans in motion earlier.
Seeing his folks in action had gone some way to soothing his resentment. If they’d been time-poor with him when he was growing up, they were frenetic now. They never stopped. Working eighteen hour days. Rarely taking time to eat. Grabbing coffee and croissants on their way between meetings.
Their dedication to Fourde explained why they’d missed his first footy game—missed the whole season—why they’d never shown up at his school presentations, why he’d thought eating dinner alone was the norm until one of his school buddies had invited him around to his place one night.
It had sucked at the time, fending for himself, and their neglect had fed his antipathy. But working alongside them in Paris had shown him it wasn’t personal. They didn’t have time for anyone unless it involved Fourde’s.
Were they selfish and self-absorbed? Hell, yeah.
Malicious? No.
And his tense relationship with his folks had more to do with people co-existing but not really knowing each other than any residual bitterness on his behalf.
That didn’t stop him wanting to prove how damn good he was, and that was exactly what he’d do with Sapphire’s help.
‘Done.’ She slid her phone back into her handbag. ‘Ruby’s hyped. She’s on the Net as we speak, researching the general feel of old Hollywood glamour, and she’ll start doing some virtual mock-ups for you to take a look at by tomorrow.’
‘Wow, no grass growing under her feet.’
He watched her walk towards him, gorgeous in designer mulberry and high heels, and all that self talk about not going there was gone in the few seconds it took for a hard-on of mammoth proportions to return.
Gritting his teeth against his apparent lack of self-control, he turned away to look out of the window.
He had to hand it to his folks. Nothing but the best for Fourde Fashion, with this sky-high office on the top floor of one of Melbourne’s newest developments. Though he knew his fancy office had more to do with maintaining the image behind the Fourde name than any caring for him on their part.
Fourde Fashion needed a presence in Australia. He was it. They didn’t expect soaring profit margins or breakout collections. They’d be happy with same-old, same-old and a steady cashflow from a market they deemed insignificant at best.
Lucky for them he never settled for anything but the best. Ever. He would never accept failure again, and he intended on proving that to everyone—including the woman now standing by his side.
Her subtle cinnamon fragrance teased his senses and he curled his fingers into his palms to stop himself reaching for her.
Maybe he should sleep with her and be done with it?
‘Some view.’
He grunted in response, surprised when she laid a tentative hand on his arm. Yeah, that was helping.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘You really want to know?’
‘Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.’
He dragged in a breath, another, staring at the iconic city landmarks so many floors down. Flinders Street Station, Federation Square, St Patrick’s Cathedral—buildings he’d explored as a kid on school excursions, usually with this woman by his side.
What the hell was he doing, contemplating telling her the truth? It wouldn’t end well.
But
