alongside his laptop and my eyes rest there as my heart lurches.
Has he…? Could he have…? It’s my birthdate—would he remember?
He turns his head to look at me, but barely acknowledges my presence before he looks back to his screen and slides my phone across the desk, to where it was before.
‘It kept ringing, so I silenced it.’
I come alive at his voice—so matter-of-fact, so deep and thrilling. ‘Right. Sorry.’
Jesus. Why am I apologising? I remember the coffees I’m holding on to and kick the door closed behind me before striding over and slapping one down next to him.
‘It’s not quite barista standard but it does the job well enough.’
‘Thank you.’
His lashes lift but I don’t wait for our eyes to meet—not at this proximity. Not even excusing myself on the pretence of chasing up Clare has helped me get my head back in the game. I quickly scoot to my side of the desk, putting a whole chunk of glass and wood between us. Better.
‘Don’t you want to see who’s been calling? They’ve been quite persistent.’
He doesn’t look at me as he asks the question but there’s an edge to his tone—something that has my skin prickling.
‘It can wait.’
Now he looks at me and his eyes are cold, piercing. ‘You sure about that?’
I swallow. ‘Yes.’
‘I think you should at least check.’
He’s goading me, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but I can’t stop curiosity getting the better of me. I reach out and activate the screen, glancing at it with my trusty poker face. Not that I think it will fool him.
Three missed calls. Nate.
Shit.
I shut the screen down and lean back in my chair, taking my coffee with me. ‘I’ll call him back later.’
‘Three missed calls, though,’ he pushes. ‘Could be urgent?’
I give a dismissive shrug and his eyes lower briefly, burning into the fabric of my blouse. It’s buttoned high, it’s perfectly decent, and yet I feel as if he’s stripped me. Heat swamps my belly, my breasts, my nipples prickle against the lace of my bra.
‘It’s fine. I’ll call him back later.’
I’m repeating myself, but this time the words are harder, stronger, fed with the strength of will it’s taking for me to fight this dogged attraction. Because that’s all this can be—attraction. I don’t know Lucas now, and I don’t know the truth of what went down five years ago with Nate, or the true reason he is back. I want to think it’s for my product, but is it really?
He gives me a slow smile and closes the lid of his laptop. ‘Okay.’
I watch him take up his coffee, watch him sip at the hot, steaming liquid, and not once does he release me from his gaze. I could look away, but it feels like a challenge: first who does admits defeat.
Well, not me…
‘Shall I start from the top?’ he asks. ‘Me? My company? The basics? Or is that a bit like covering old ground?’
How is he doing it? Remaining so calm when I know he’s not? He wanted me to see that Nate had called. He wanted to test me…assess my reaction. Has he worked out it was Nate who ruined Friday too?
‘I know enough about Waring Holdings,’ I say, grateful for my projected confidence.
‘Is that so?’ He shoots me a grin as he settles back in his seat. ‘Please enlighten me.’
I wonder if this is a test too, or if he’s genuinely curious as to what I know.
I humour him, reeling off facts and figures, cities of presence, high-profile partners—the lot—and I know I’ve surprised him. I can see it in the swell of his chest, his pumped-up reaction as I feed his ego. I don’t mind doing it—not when I’m stating facts.
He runs his forefinger along his lower lip and rubs at his chin. ‘You’ve done your homework.’
‘Of course.’
I don’t want to say I knew all this anyway. That he might have been out of my life but I couldn’t help keeping tabs on him. It’s not like anyone can ignore him anyway, not when he’s splashed all over the media to enjoy.
‘I thought you said you needed time to prep for our meeting?’ he says.
My cheeks colour. He’s got me, and I look at my mug to avoid his eye, taking a sip. ‘I like to know who I’m meeting. If I’m expecting Houston Logistics, I want to see Houston Logistics.’
‘Are you saying you prefer dear old Leslie’s company to mine?’
‘I think from a distribution point of view you’re on a par.’
‘You know that’s not what I meant.’
‘Isn’t it?’ I challenge—and, God help me, my belly flutters excitedly. Sparring with him is too much fun.
He gives a soft laugh. ‘Fair enough, but I disagree. We’re not on a par. Open your email. I’ve sent you some comparisons to look at it.’
‘Comparisons?’ I place my coffee on the desk and look at my computer screen, doing as he asks.
‘Sure. I figured I’d make it easy for you. In the attachments you’ll find a whole host of competitors and the reason Waring Holdings outperforms them all.’
I open up his email and the first attachment, giving it a quick scan, and then the next, and the next.
What the hell?
‘How can you—?’
‘How can I know who I’m up against? Your launch party told me that, and my research team did the rest. I may be missing a few—in fact I’m sure I will be—but if they’re not on my radar they’re not worth worrying about.’
I can’t believe it. A thorough analysis worthy of myself or my team is laid out before me. It wouldn’t take me long to check what the reports say for accuracy, but I know in my gut that I won’t find anything to fault.
And then Nate’s words come back to haunt me—his timely text from Friday night, the multitude of communications since: You can’t trust him.
I look at Lucas now and Nate’s warning clashes with what I know for myself, with what I feel.
Why did he want me to see that Nate had called? Was it his way of saying his conscience is clear? That he’s not worried about him or what he has to say? And if his conscience is clear, then what does that say about my brother?
