by Nicola Marsh
I’m not a cuddler, never have been. Even hugging makes me uncomfortable. But Daisy’s arms are clasped around me and I grit my teeth against the urge to disengage quickly.
When she continues to stare at me like I’ve delivered her the world on a platter, I scowl. ‘Consider your palate cleansed.’
It’s a shitty thing to say, the worst. She pales. I should be glad. I want her to think I’m a heartless prick that emotionally withdraws as soon as the deed is done.
But as I glimpse the hurt in her eyes, all I can think is, You’re the biggest dumb-fuck ever.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Daisy
ALF ARRIVED AN hour ago and I’ve been holed up in a conference room giving him a rundown of what’s happened on the island so far. I haven’t told my boss everything for obvious reasons.
Like the fact I had hot cave sex with our client yesterday afternoon.
This job means everything to me. I need to start acting like it. Though as Alf drones on about profit margins I tune out, already envisioning my own logo with a cute daisy on it.
The campaign is progressing well, considering Hart initially baulked at the PR I’d outlined to use him as part of Rochester’s new brand. We got some great shots around the pool yesterday, BC.
Before Cave.
After our sizzling interlude we were stilted and awkward, and couldn’t get away from each other fast enough. I’d expected it but it still hurt. Crazy, considering he was excellent sorbet. Fresh and fabulous, completely cleansing me of Casper. Exactly what I’d wanted.
So why do I feel so hollow?
‘Daisy, pay attention.’ Alf snaps his fingers in my face. ‘I’ve already met with the client and he’s happy, so I’ll be flying out in the morning and leaving this in your hands.’
‘So what’s new?’ I want to ask. Alf does nothing but delegate. One of the perks of being the boss, which is exactly why I want to be one.
I’ve paid my dues long enough.
As Alf regularly implies, I wouldn’t have this job if it hadn’t been for my father. Dear old Dad was in Alf’s marketing classes at uni and used the friendship card to land me this job. I didn’t mind at the time because I was desperate to land my first job and eager for experience. Five years later, I know something else Dad gave me—the life lesson to never, ever quit—is wearing thin.
I’ve almost done it many times over the last twelve months but each and every time I’d hear Dad’s voice in my ear: ‘Adlers never quit, sweetheart. We never give up. We see things through, no matter how difficult or challenging.’
He drilled me in the family motto from the time I could walk and I know it’s the only thing that has prevented me from handing in my resignation to Alf.
That, and the fact I quit on my engagement twelve months ago and I don’t want to add my job to that less than illustrious list. I know in my gut I did the right thing leaving Casper, that I could never be the kind of woman a guy like him demands, but the fact remains I still left, ignoring my insistent voice of reason that maybe I should’ve tried harder, maybe I should’ve been more accommodating, maybe I should’ve been...more.
My family didn’t say much when I left Casper but I saw the disappointment in their eyes, labelling me a quitter. The stupid thing is, I can live with that. But it’s hard to admit, even to myself, that deep down I feel like I walked away too easily in my personal life so no way in hell I’ll do the same in my professional one. I’m sticking with Alf until I nail this Gem Island job. Who knows, maybe he’ll give me a promotion and I won’t feel compelled to leave. And maybe the reef sharks circling the island will grow wings too.
As for my performance, I’d just bet Mr Rochester is happy with it, considering I spread my legs for him yesterday.
Okay, now I’m really being an idiot, labelling myself as some eager bimbo. I didn’t bonk him to get ahead in my job, I screwed him because I’ve never been so attracted to a guy before and I wanted to see what it felt like to have sex without emotional entanglement.
Turns out I don’t do so well having sex like a man.
Silly, because he gave me exactly what I wanted. The problem is, I want it again. While I’d never done it on the sand or in a cave, I wonder what it will be like on the luxurious bed in my villa, where we can do it more than once.
I’m not a sex maniac. My year-long drought is testament to that. Even with Casper, it didn’t bother me if he was tired. We had a routine, Wednesdays and Saturdays, and it quickly became rote even though we hadn’t been dating all that long when we moved in together. Before him I’d had three boyfriends, each lasting a few months tops.
Sex is fun with the right guy, and until now I thought I’d already had it. Turns out my previous boyfriends and one narcissistic fiancé weren’t so great in the sack after all.
Damn Hart Rochester for making me want more than sorbet. One scoop isn’t enough: I want the whole damn tub, with sprinkles on top.
‘Is there a problem, Daisy?’
Lost in my musings, I wonder how much I’ve missed of Alf’s ramblings. I occasionally tune out but not to this extent and I certainly don’t fantasise about guys during our work discussions. My cheeks are hot and I struggle not to squirm in my seat like I’ve been caught red-handed doing something naughty.
‘No, Alf, all good. I’m just envisaging how I can up the ante with the campaign.’
‘Excellent.’ He rubs his hands together. ‘Keep this up for a few more years and who knows? I might give you a promotion.’
WTF? I’ve been doing a stellar job for the last five years with minimal input from him. He’ll criticise for the sake of it, trying to find fault when there isn’t any. He metes out measly pay rises annually and acts like he’s giving me an extra ten grand. He takes all the credit for my ideas in meetings and is generally a pompous ass that needs to make better use of deodorant.
I want to tell him where he can stick his job and that after Gem Island I’ll be giving myself a promotion far away from him but I settle for a sedate smile, knowing I’ll need to pop a heartburn pill or two later.
I won’t walk away, not this time.
I almost cheer when there’s a knock on the door and Hart strolls in. Alf fawns over him, effusive and embarrassing. Hart’s discomfort is obvious when Alf slaps him on the back and he steps away. Predictably, Alf doesn’t notice.
Alf nudges Hart again. ‘I’ll leave you in Daisy’s capable hands. She’s not too shabby at her job because I taught her everything she knows.’
My fixed smile doesn’t slip until Alf waddles out of the room, when I slump in relief.
‘That guy’s an asshole,’ Hart says, staring at me with raised eyebrows when I smother a snort.
‘He’s not so bad.’
He’s worse but I’d never badmouth my boss behind his back. I wave Hart towards the chair next to me so we can get started on the next stage of the campaign.
‘Loyalty, I admire that.’ He points to the clearly labelled manila folders laid out in front of us. ‘From what I’ve seen so far, your work is excellent. You’ve done your research, your presentation was kickass and your notes are impeccable. Why don’t you go out on your own?’
The last thing I would ever do is tell a client my plans. It’s unprofessional. Then again, I’ve already done unprofessional things with this particular client, what’s one more?
‘It has crossed my mind. But that whole loyalty thing...’ I shrug, wondering what he’d think of the real reason why I won’t walk away. ‘Alf gave me my first job. I’ve learned a lot.’
He studies me intently, like he knows I’m not telling him everything. ‘There’s a difference between blind loyalty and hiding your talents where they’re unappreciated.’
How the hell does he do that, articulate my doubts?
‘Who knows what will happen when I increase bookings across your chain of hotels? A
big tick on my CV is always handy if I do decide to branch out.’
‘You’ve got a great work ethic.’ He nods, the admiration in his gaze making me want to preen. ‘Though we both know that making someone like me an identifiable part of the Rochester brand is what will really have clients clamouring for your PR services.’
‘I didn’t want to state the obvious,’ I say, with a self-deprecating shrug that makes the corners of his mouth twitch.
An awkward silence descends, as I knew it inevitably would after how we parted yesterday. ‘Consider your palate cleansed’ was the last thing he said to me. True, but it was the way he said it that was the biggest let-down after the great sex: like it meant little and he couldn’t wait to escape me.
Following an embarrassing crying jag in the shower afterwards, I was determined to put my game face on when we next met. But as the silence stretches I know I’ll have to broach the subject of what we did in that cave.
I clear my throat. ‘Yesterday was an aberration that shouldn’t have happened. We’re working together and it complicates things—’
‘Don’t do that,’ he snaps, a deep frown grooving his brows. ‘You’ve got nothing to apologise for.’
I’m so taken aback at his harsh tone I’m not sure how to respond.
He grimaces. ‘Sorry, it’s a pet hate. Don’t ever back down or apologise for something that isn’t your fault.’
Ah...so that’s what’s bugging him. He thinks he took advantage of me somehow? I need to disabuse him of this notion because it’s far from the truth.
‘You think what happened yesterday was all you?’
His frown deepens. ‘Of course. I lured you to the cave on the pretext of work, knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you after our little sparring session by the pool earlier.’
‘Oh.’
Call me naïve but I didn’t suspect a thing.
‘Yeah. Oh.’ A faint pink tinges his cheeks, like he’s embarrassed. ‘Considering my spiel after our kiss on the beach that it wouldn’t happen again, I do something like that.’
‘As I recall, there were two people doing the fucking in that cave.’
Now it’s his turn to be shocked as his jaw drops and I place my finger under his chin and shut it.
‘I don’t know why you feel guilty about what happened. It was stupendous, just what I wanted, so don’t beat yourself up.’
I’m tempted to say more, like how much I’d like to do it again, but I wisely keep my mouth shut. I can’t allow this unexpected infatuation to derail my plans to make this the best job I’ve ever done.
‘Now that we’ve got that out of the way, why don’t you take a look at this campaign I’ve brainstormed and let me know what you think?’
I slide a folder across to him, silently willing him to drop the subject.
We had hot sex.
In a cave.
Shit happens.
But as he flicks through the sheets of paper and I study him, I know my plan to keep my hands off him will be sorely tempted over the next few weeks.
CHAPTER NINE
Hart
‘THOUGHT I’D FIND you here.’ Kevin sidles up to me, like he expects I’ll push him off the cliff.
This is the highest point of Gem Island and until now I’ve avoided coming here. If the cave was my go-to place, this was Pa’s. I remember him bringing me here when I first arrived on the island as a starstruck sixteen-year-old who’d never been off the mainland.
He told me the truth—how he made a mistake cutting off contact from my mum when she fell in with the wrong crowd at nineteen, how he stubbornly resisted her call for help two years later, how he didn’t know I existed until he received a letter from her the day she died, stating she’d had a kid and how she’d abandoned him. Pa was always a straight shooter and as I lowered my carefully erected barriers and let myself depend on someone for the first time in my life, I learned that maybe there was something to this family caper after all.
I resent him for not telling me he’d been having heart problems but I understand why he did it. In his own twisted way, he was probably punishing himself for not being there for my mum when she died and he wanted to die alone too.
‘I haven’t been up here since we tossed his ashes.’
Kevin makes an odd garbled sound in his throat. ‘Me neither. But this was the spot he did his best thinking and I assumed you’d be doing the same.’
His presumption annoys me. ‘I’m not my grandfather.’
‘I know you’re not, kid, but I sure as hell see a lot of similarities.’
Utter bullshit, because Pa and I are nothing alike. He was noble and driven and a stickler for tradition. I can’t wait to shrug off the weight of this responsibility and leave it all behind.
‘Have you come here to lecture me over the fuck-up with the Darwin hotel? Because having the entire kitchen staff go on strike because Pa was too stubborn to listen to their wage demands was not my fault.’
‘No.’ Kevin sighs. ‘I came here to tell you to stop beating yourself up. You haven’t done this job for years and even back then you were barely a kid out of university being stuck behind a desk you didn’t want.’
‘Not much has changed except I’m older.’
‘Nobody’s expecting you to fill Ralfe’s shoes, but it would be nice if you could try them on for size for however long you’re here.’
With that he turns and walks away. I should call him back, make light of his analogy, but his name sticks in my throat. I’ve told him my plans to improve the profile of the hotels and restore consumer faith. I guess Pa and I are alike in one respect: Pa was a private person who hated change and preferred to keep out of the limelight. He resisted modernisation and relied on the family name to keep profits soaring.
It didn’t work and part of my plan is to move the Rochester brand into the twenty-first century. To try new ideas, to use PR in a way that the hotels’ profiles will be what everyone talks about: the go-to place for tourists, families and businessmen alike.
It’s a solid plan that Daisy is on board with. But once that’s done I’m out of here. Kevin understands. He’s a good guy. But how can I expect him to have faith in me when I’m filled with a self-loathing I can’t shake no matter how hard I try?
It has been five days since I fucked Daisy in that cave. Five long, excruciating days where I’ve thrown myself into work and jacked off in the shower at night before falling into bed, sleep eluding me.
She’s all I can think about and the screw-up with me not following up with the Darwin hotel’s staffing wages is a direct result. It has me re-evaluating the wisdom in keeping my distance.
Not that it seems to affect her. She’s been proficient and professional, polite during our regular meetings, while all I can think about is how her lips feel and how she tastes and that sexy groan when she comes.
It’s killing me.
We need to talk. I’ve had short-term flings before, when I’ve been in Chicago or Chennai or Cairo, with co-workers who’ve known the score. Each of those times we worked hard during the day and fucked at night, knowing it would end in a few weeks. Easy, no-fuss arrangements with a clear end date.
I want that with Daisy.
My mobile buzzes in my pocket, a reminder that we have another meeting scheduled to start in fifteen minutes.
I have two options: continue as I have been, an introverted recluse working behind closed doors while I focus on fixing Pa’s mistakes and refusing help, or ask if Daisy’s up for a fling.
I know which of the options I would prefer and I hope she does too.
CHAPTER TEN
Daisy
I SIT AT a table for six at the resort’s cliff-top bar and wait for Hart. I avoid the cosier tables because I don’t want to bump knees with Hart considering we’ve already bumped uglies.
I’ve chosen this spot because I want to show him the preliminary shots the photographer has taken and how I’ve incorporated them into a snazzy slideshow to take the place of a header on the website.
I’ve also chosen it because I need fresh air. I’m sick of being stuck inside, doing my best to avoid Hart. Our daily meetings have been brief and impersonal. I should be rapt. He’s giving me plenty of leeway on the campaign, has approved all my ideas and come up with some stellar contributions of his own. For someone who loathes social media he’s forward-thinking and innovative, and working with someone who’s so focussed on success is invigorating.
But all the fake smiling I’m doing is making my face ache and our brittle politeness is at breaking point. I can feel the tension simmering between us, like an invisible wire stretched taut, ready to snap.
It’s driving me freaking nuts.
The six-two ripped waiter deposits an iced coffee on the table. I smile my thanks and sign for it, including a generous tip. One thing this resort has going for it: extremely cute wait-staff. Must be a prerequisite, to have modelling experience.
I take a sip and savour the icy sweetness. I need the caffeine hit, considering I’ve slept poorly all week and it has nothing to do with the cloud-like mattresses and perfect pillows. I see the cause of my insomnia striding towards me like he has places to be, long, confident strides I envy. Being a shorty means I have to practically scamper when we’re walking alongside each other.
‘This is a surprising change of meeting venue,’ he says, taking a seat opposite.
‘It’s good to shake things up.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’ He pins me with a direct stare that has me wondering if he’s talking about something other than where we meet.
Heat flushes my cheeks and I reach for my laptop in desperation, needing him to focus on anything but me. ‘I want you to check out this proposed update for the website.’
He reaches out, his fingertip grazing my top lip, and I let out an embarrassing yelp.
