For he had monumental dreams. Ones that involved taking on his folks head-on back in Europe.
Yeah, he’d do well to keep the endgame in sight. Despite the extremely attractive distraction.
Serge slid off his desk and stalked towards a side table, pointing at the basketball-size globe. ‘Let me see.’ He spun the globe with a finger, jabbing at it to stop it when the map of Australia came around. ‘Well, look-ee here.’
Patrick didn’t like where this was going. He’d played Serge’s stupid flag game in the past, when bedding women had gone in conjunction with partying. Not that he’d ever kept tally of the nationalities of the women he’d slept with, so he could stab a pin into a country as some kind of warped bedpost-notch equivalent, but he’d laughed when Serge had presented him with his round-the-world dalliances.
Later, he’d kept the globe as proof of the life he’d left be-hind—a life deliberately shunned because it had left him feeling shallow and worthless. Two feelings he’d had a gutful of after his major screw-up.
It served as a visual reminder of how far he’d come and a place he’d never return.
Serge let out a low wolf-whistle. ‘Just as I suspected. No flag on Melbourne.’
He hated Serge’s sly smirk.
‘I’m guessing that’s about to change come Monday.’
‘I haven’t got time for childish games.’ Patrick lowered his voice with effort. ‘And neither do you. Showtime in two weeks and we’re nowhere near ready.’
‘Chillax. We’ll get there. We always do.’
Patrick wished he had half Serge’s confidence. He might be taking charge with Sapphire when it came to sex, but no amount of planning or executing could guarantee a faultless show.
So many variables could go wrong—from a broken stiletto to a thread unravelling, from a model’s hissy fit to a competitor sabotaging.
Patrick didn’t like the unknown. He intended on planning for every contingency and if that meant working night and day for the next fortnight so be it. After this weekend, that was.
This weekend was all his. And maybe, just maybe, sex with Sapphire would ease his stress levels and make concentrating on work easier.
‘If I can’t talk about your dirty weekend, can I ask if you’ve had any feedback from Hardy and Joyce on the Fashion Week presentation?’
Yeah, Patrick had heard from his folks. A vague, general go-ahead while they focussed on more important matters, like booking the Louvre for an innovative Fourde Fashion show or gearing up for Milan.
As if they’d deem the Aussie office worthy of more than a cursory glance.
Well, he had news for them. He’d make them sit up and take notice of Fourde in Melbourne. Then he’d confront them with his plans to take them on in Europe.
They’d probably ignore him again, as they had the first time he’d mentioned it. When they realised he was for real they wouldn’t like it. Worse, they’d probably laugh at him.
But he was sick of being patronised. It seemed nothing he did could make up for the mistakes of the past but this time he intended on making his mark. He’d make them—and the world—pay attention to Patrick Fourde for all the right reasons.
‘I don’t need their approval,’ he said, unclenching his fists beneath the desk.
‘Man, you better get laid this weekend because you’re wound tight.’ Serge shook his head. ‘I asked if you’d had feedback, not their approval.’
Sadly, Patrick had a feeling even sex with Sapphire wouldn’t alleviate his long-standing stress levels when it came to his folks.
‘They’re busy as usual. We’ll gain their attention soon enough.’
Serge nodded. ‘The old Hollywood glamour concept is brilliant. And the designs…’ He kissed his fingertips in a flamboyant European gesture. ‘Magnifique.’
Patrick had no doubt his idea would wow the fashion world. What he doubted was gaining the recognition from the two people who mattered the most.
‘So you’ll be ready for a preview showing first thing Mon-day morning?’
‘Yeah, we’ll be ready.’ Serge smirked and spun the globe with his finger, hovering over Melbourne again. ‘The question is, will you?’
‘I’ll be here.’ He stood, glanced at his watch, making a grand show of having somewhere else to be when in fact he needed to get rid of Serge so he could get on with his plans. ‘I’ve never mixed business with pleasure before and you know it.’
‘There’s always a first time for everything,’ Serge said, giving the globe a final spin before lumbering towards the door. ‘And come Monday there’ll be a pin there to prove it.’
Patrick frowned, not liking Serge’s immature ribbing, and liking the fact he was probably already mixing business with pleasure less.
‘THERE ARE RULES for the weekend.’
Sapphie wriggled in the soft leather seat as Patrick slowed his Ferrari to enter the Southbank precinct. She didn’t care what his rules were, as long as they involved the two of them naked. ‘Such as?’
‘No work talk. No checking e-mails. No leaving the hotel room.’
‘But what if I get hungry?’
‘You’ll get plenty to eat.’ He stopped at a red traffic light and shot her a loaded glance packed with sizzle that implied food wouldn’t be the only thing on the menu.
Her body pinged in anticipation. ‘Any other hoops you want me to jump through?’
‘No, but there will be acrobatics involved.’
She laughed at his exaggerated wink as the lights changed and he concentrated on steering through the heavy Friday night traffic.
Banter was good. Banter kept her nerves at bay. And it detracted from the constant doubts whirring through her head as she overanalysed this situation from every angle.
She wanted him. There was no question. But the after-math? A thousand scenarios, none of them pleasant, plagued her.
Despite his reassurances to keep business and pleasure separate, what if sex screwed things up—literally?
They were both mature, consenting adults with a major attraction going on, but deep down she couldn’t quite subdue the tiny voice that kept chanting, This is Patrick you’re going to sleep with.
The same Patrick who’d tracked down her favourite cola flavoured lollipops when they’d crammed for an exam one week during the school holidays.
The same Patrick who’d
