but Sapphire’s not here yet. Give us five.’
‘No worries.’ Serge spoke into a bluetooth clipped near his right ear before slipping onto the chair next to him. ‘What’s up?’
Great. Just what he needed. Serge’s legendary interrogation. He had no intention of telling anyone about Sapphire—not when they’d be working together. But he and Serge had told tall tales over beers too many times to count, and the guy could read him like the latest bestseller.
‘Not much.’ Patrick pointed towards the stack of documents in front of him. ‘This is taking up all my time.’
‘Bull.’
Patrick sat back, folded his arms and feigned ignorance. He only succeeded in making Serge laugh.
‘Work never fazes you. You took on that spring showing in Paris and hit it out of the ballpark.’ Serge tilted his head to one side, studying him. ‘Nah, this isn’t about work. This is about a chick.’
Patrick didn’t want to discuss Sapphire with Serge but he hated dishonesty.
‘That Paris gig? What we’re doing here has to nail that a hundred times over and you know it.’
Serge smirked. ‘I also know whoever this chick is, she must be special for you to be this rattled.’
Thankfully Sapphire’s arrival put paid to any further ribbing from Serge but it disconcerted him in a whole other way.
She’d gone for masculine chic today: crisp white shirt, fitted ebony pinstripe pants suit, designer loafers, hair slicked back, dramatic make-up. It didn’t detract from her femininity. He’d seen exactly how womanly she could be last night.
What her mouth had done to him…
His gaze found its way to her lips—their sheen, their fullness—and he instantly hardened.
He heard Serge’s hissed breath of surprise as she strode towards them and he knew the feeling. When Sapphire Sea-born walked towards a man he wanted to meet her halfway.
‘She’s a stunner,’ Serge muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Patrick that probably increased his friend’s speculation.
Let Serge think what he liked. He wasn’t getting one snippet of information about Patrick’s private life here in Mel-bourne. Patrick had moved on from the carousing of the past and intended focussing on things that mattered. Namely: wowing Fashion Week. And bedding Sapphire. Not necessarily in that order.
She barely glanced at him when she reached them, focussing a dazzling smile on Serge instead. ‘Hi. Sapphire Sea-born.’
Serge grinned like the predatory male he was and snagged her hand, raising it to his lips. ‘The pleasure’s all mine, mademoiselle.’
When Serge kissed her hand, Patrick had to clench his to stop from slugging him.
‘You’re French?’
Serge nodded and, luckily for him, released her hand. ‘Oui.’
‘He’s as Anglicised as you and I,’ Patrick said, shooting him a frown. ‘Only uses the accent to win friends and influence women.’
‘It’s charming.’
Figured. What was it with females and European accents?
‘Serge was just leaving to organise the models for a quick demo if you’re ready?’
Sapphire finally looked at him, her gaze imperious, the tilt of her head snooty. ‘Sure, let’s get started.’
She made it sound as if he’d chastised her unnecessarily, when in fact he’d wanted to get rid of his leery friend pronto.
‘Au revoir, Sapphire.’ Serge gave a formal little bow and Patrick gritted his teeth. ‘We will meet again.’
‘No doubt.’
If her smile had been dazzling before, she notched it up a level now. What red-blooded guy stood a chance?
Patrick mentally counted to ten, slowly, waiting until Serge had left the room.
‘Don’t flirt with Serge. It only encourages him,’ he said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably if her inverted eyebrow and smirk were any indication.
‘I was being polite, not flirting, but thanks for the advice.’
She slid onto a seat and patted the one next to him. ‘Now, why don’t you sit so we can talk business?’
Fan-frigging-tastic. He’d been mulling over how to approach this first meeting post-bathroom and she’d waltzed in here as if nothing had happened, gaining the upper hand and commandeering the conversation.
Patrick didn’t like losing control. Bad things happened. Things he’d never risk happening again.
‘Talking business is fine,’ he said, sitting next to her and deliberately leaning into her personal space. ‘For now.’
The faintest stain of pink on her cheeks was the only indication that he’d scored a hit. She didn’t respond, taking her sweet time slipping a slimline laptop out of her satchel and setting it up, laying a blank notepad and pen next to it.
Only then did she swivel in her seat to face him, her imperious mask firmly in place. ‘Don’t you think it’s a tad unprofessional, bringing up our social activities in the workplace?’
Her directness impressed him. But the resumption of her haughtiness, not so much. Hadn’t she learned by now that the snootier she acted, the harder he worked to rile her?
‘Social activities?’ He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper, his lips almost brushing her ear. ‘Why don’t we call it what it is? Good old-fashioned f—’
‘Keep that up and there won’t be any socialising of any kind,’ she said, shoving him away, her tone frosty.
‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ he said, chuckling at her rigid shoulders and ramrod spine as she determinedly stared at her laptop screen. ‘You always needed to have the last word during our Biology assignments too.’
‘I did not.’ She shot him a death glare.
‘Yeah, you did. And it’s just as cute now.’ He smiled, waiting for her to glance his way.
He didn’t have to wait long. She blew out an exasperated breath before angling her chair towards him.
‘Okay, the thing is this: I’m confident in the business arena. Invincible. But what happened last night threw me, and focussing on work is the only way I can handle this without…’
‘What?’
‘Without losing it,’ she said softly, her wide-eyed baby-blues imploring him to listen. ‘Aren’t you just the tiniest bit uncomfortable?’
He shrugged. ‘Sure,
