by Nicola Marsh
I try to remember if I’ve slipped up with any of my recent jobs and come up with nothing. He’s definitely trying to psych me out or probe for information.
‘Can you be more specific—?’
‘This is a bloody outrage! You sitting there like butter won’t melt in your mouth when I know you’re screwing me over, you conniving c—’
‘That’s enough!’ Hart’s booming voice makes me jump for the second time in as many minutes and I swivel in my chair to find he’s entered through the side door.
He’s red-faced, scowling, and his shoulders are so rigid I could stack bricks on them.
Alf’s expression crumples. ‘I was going to say cow—’
‘I don’t give a fuck what you were going to say, you don’t call a lady names in the first place.’ He strides towards us like an avenging angel and looms over Alf, who is doing his best to shrink into his seat and disappear. ‘And you certainly don’t make half-assed accusations to an employee without proof. Now apologise.’
Alf crosses his arms and his mouth compresses into a thin, twisted line. He’s never apologised for his shitty behaviour towards me in the past so this will be a first, which I’ll probably pay for later. Maybe it’s time to move on from contemplating leaving to actually doing it.
‘A client in Brisbane mentioned something about your lackadaisical approach on his job—’
‘That doesn’t sound like an apology to me.’ Hart perches on the table in front of Alf, ensuring he towers over him. ‘And you’d better make it good because if you don’t I will personally fund this talented young woman’s solo foray into PR so she never works for your slimy ass again.’
Alf gapes like a goldfish and I sit on my hands to stop from applauding.
Hart, my hero.
It doesn’t take Alf long to reassemble his wits. Nothing keeps his big mouth shut for long. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbles, staring at some point over my shoulder.
Hart leans forward so he’s almost in Alf’s face. ‘If you don’t make a better job of it than that, I will sack you right now and give my entire business to Daisy Adler.’
I assume it’s an empty bluff but I stare at Hart like he’s a knight come to rescue me. I want to clamber all over him and hug him tight but that would only undermine my professional stance and ensure I get fired rather than an apology.
Predictably, the threat of losing money works. Alf sits straighter and actually looks at me this time. ‘I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, Daisy, I’m sorry.’
Hart’s frown deepens and Alf adds, ‘You’re doing an excellent job.’
‘She certainly is.’ I don’t need Hart’s affirmation but it helps, as a warm glow of pride spreads in my chest.
Sure, I get clients thanking me after I finish a campaign but it’s usually Alf who receives the accolades because he makes out he’s the brains behind our unit.
One day we’ll be in competition for business and I can’t wait to go up against him.
‘Is there anything else you need to discuss or can I confer with my PR rep on where my campaign is at?’ Hart clasps his hands and rests them on his thighs, instantly drawing my attention to his quads and evoking a memory of how I stroked them in the early hours of the morning.
Heat flushes my face and as if sensing my thoughts he switches his potent gaze from Alf to me. I feign a cough and he smirks, knowing exactly how he affects me.
‘No, I don’t need to be here for you to meet with Daisy.’ Alf struggles to his feet, considering his ass is wedged in the chair. ‘I’ve seen what she’s come up with for your island so far and it’s very promising.’
It’s better than promising and we both know it, but I’m used to his pompous proclamations. Hart isn’t.
‘Her work is extraordinary,’ he says, standing next to Alf, presumably to help shove him out of the door. ‘I’m more than satisfied.’
‘Good, good,’ Alf starts to bluster again, out of his depth and intimidated but trying not to show it. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
Neither of us speak as Alf shuffles out of the door, suitably cowed. Only when the door closes do I allow myself the luxury of touching Hart. A hand resting on his forearm that can’t be misconstrued if anyone happens to come into the conference room.
‘Thank you. No one’s ever stood up for me like that before.’
He makes a disparaging sound, half snort, half grunt. ‘I hate bullies.’
His vehemence magnifies the three little words, making them sound like an unsavoury curse.
‘Personal experience?’
The questions pops out before I can stop it and he rears back like I’ve poked him in the eye, dislodging my hand in the process.
‘I lived in the foster system for eleven years, what do you think?’
‘I think I should know better by now not to ask such personal questions but I can’t help myself.’
He eyeballs me with blatant wariness. ‘Why?’
‘Because I’m a glutton for punishment? Or maybe I’m just interested in you beyond your dick?’
If my bluntness startles him he doesn’t show it. Then again, I don’t think much would dislodge that poker face. He’s a master at it. The only time I remotely get a read on him is after we’ve had sex and even then only for an all too brief moment before he emotionally withdraws and yanks down the proverbial shutters.
He swipes a hand over his face and sinks into the chair next to me. ‘That asshole got me riled up. I shouldn’t take it out on you.’
‘Especially when I was so nice to you last night.’ I bat my eyelashes at him and he smiles as I intend.
‘You weren’t nice, you were naughty.’ He leans across to nip my ear. ‘Very naughty.’
‘That’s only because you were and I was trying to keep up.’ I drop my gaze to his lap. ‘And speaking of up...’
He groans. ‘Stop. I have to walk out of here shortly and I can’t do it sporting a boner.’
‘A massive boner,’ I add, with a grin.
‘So you’ve said.’ He shuffles in his seat. ‘You know the way to a man’s heart is to compliment the size of his cock.’
‘Hey, I’m just telling the truth.’ I hold my hands wide. ‘That’s one mighty impressive appendage you’ve got, mister.’
When he allows himself to smile, it melts away the residual tension and transforms him from handsome to head-turningly gorgeous.
He hasn’t answered my personal question about being bullied but I let it drop. We’re good together when we banter like this and I’m a fool to want to delve. He’s an expert at deflecting the hard stuff, as evidenced when we played twenty questions last night. If I learned anything in my short engagement to Casper, it’s to not push for something that isn’t there.
‘As much as I’d like to continue this scintillating conversation, I do need to work.’ I point at my laptop. ‘I’ve got a stack of online marketing sites to contact and a bunch of high-end magazines to harass for advertising space.’
I hold my hand up and start ticking off tasks on my fingers. ‘I have to give final approval to the photographer’s shots around the island. I need to ensure the new website is ready for launch by the end of the week. The podcast interviews you’ve done need to be vetted. And that’s just for starters.’
He’s staring at me like I’m some kind of magician; it’s disarming.
‘You really are determined to make me look good.’
‘Isn’t that what you’re paying me for?’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘Or paying Alf, more to the point?’
‘You need to quit and start your own business.’
I stiffen, before forcing my shoulders to relax. He makes walking away sound so easy but what he doesn’t know is my confidence is a bluff. I can wow clients with my skills but what if it’s tougher on my own? What if no one wants to take a chance on a start-up? What if I e
nd up floundering, like I have been emotionally for the last year?
Casper really did a number on me and while I pretend I’m fine, I harbour doubts I’m not good enough in all aspects of my life... Mucking up professionally will be the last straw.
I can’t quit my job, not until my self-belief is stronger. Any time now would be great.
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Yeah, it is.’ He points to my notes on the desk. ‘You know what you’re doing. You’re smart and switched on. You should do it.’
Easy for him to sound confident when he has the Rochester millions backing him. Even if he flounders in his new role he won’t be left feeling a useless failure.
But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I point to the large window on the far side of the room, where I can see a stunning view of the resort’s lush gardens and the marina beyond. ‘Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. In the meantime, I’m almost done with the PR on making your resort more appealing, because that out there sells itself.’
‘Great.’ He glances away and an uncomfortable silence descends.
‘What’s wrong?’
He takes another few seconds to respond. ‘Nothing. We can discuss it another time.’
Uh-oh. ‘But you’re happy with my work, right?’
‘Absolutely.’ He shoots me a tight smile. ‘It’s just an idea I had on the way over here but I’d prefer you wrap things up on the resort’s PR, then we’ll talk.’
‘Phew.’ I make an exaggerated swipe of my brow. ‘Okay, sounds good.’
‘I’ll leave you to it.’
Before he stands I touch his hand, just because I want to. ‘Things are all good with us, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ He glances around and out of the window, as if ensuring we’re alone, before swooping in for a quick kiss. ‘Though you should’ve woken me this morning.’
‘Why, when I was having so much fun watching you sleep?’
I trace the back of his hand with my fingertip, over the tendons, the knuckles, his long fingers. It’s an intimate gesture and he doesn’t shy away.
‘That’s rather stalkerish,’ he says, turning his hand over so we’re palm to palm.
‘Then consider me your stalker for the brief time I have left on the island.’ I make a scary woo-woo sound. ‘You have been warned.’
He cracks a grin but his heart’s not in it. Something is wrong but before I can grill him further he gives my hand a squeeze and stands.
‘I’ll see you later.’
‘You can count on it...’ But my response fades because he’s already at the door like he can’t get away from me fast enough.
After last night I know we’re okay. We’re going to have fun after hours for however much longer I’m here, a few days max. That’s what happens when I do too good a job, it wraps up earlier than expected.
But Hart is hiding myriad secrets and I need to accept that I’m not the woman he’ll divulge them to.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hart
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Daisy sends me the final website design so I can approve it before it goes live.
It’s phenomenal.
She’s super talented, like I told her asshole boss, and will do well if she decides to branch out on her own. The new website is easy to navigate, with clear-cut links to bookings, villas, facilities, attractions and a gallery that would make any tourist want to get here as soon as humanly possible.
She’s made Gem Island the place to be and the resort look like a haven. She’s even managed to make me look good and that’s saying something. I have no doubt that once this website goes live and she ramps up the social media campaign, bookings will start to increase for the first time since Pa’s death.
But as I scroll through the fancy new website I’m struck again by how this place would be perfect for what I have in mind. It’s a radical idea that doesn’t fit with the island’s glamorous image. I mentioned it to Pa once and he shot me down before I finished articulating it.
I know it’s a good idea. Not for the PR but for what it will give to those kids who are doing it tough like I once did. It’s my way of giving back.
I’m sick and tired of dealing with the same issues over and over. No matter which city in the world I visit, no matter the age of the kids, they’re all facing the same fears. Fear of being shunted from home to home, fear of foster parents and siblings, fear of losing everything and ending up on the streets, fear of abuse, fear of bullies.
I should’ve known Daisy would home in on my comment about bullies. That’s what set me off when I entered the conference room and saw that boss of hers berating her. Something inside me snapped, catapulting me back in time to when I was eight, in my first home, and an older foster sibling was standing over me, yelling in my face, jabbing his finger into my chest, trying to get me to fight back.
I despise bullies.
Thankfully Daisy didn’t probe when I switched our conversation to light-hearted. I like that about her. She’s refreshing and fun and genuine. And she’ll be leaving shortly. I should be relieved. I’m not. I’m already imagining how empty this place will be without her, which is crazy considering I have no plans to stick around long-term either.
I’ve had a few applicants for the role of island manager but none have the experience to run a resort of this magnitude. I’m leaning towards offering Kevin the job but he vetoed the idea when I first mentioned it shortly after Pa’s funeral.
Then again, I didn’t exactly couch my offer in appealing terms, virtually asking him to step up so I wouldn’t have to. This time will be different. I’ll put together an attractive package, one he can’t say no to. I’ll formally interview him, on the pretext that he’s up against a host of super-qualified candidates. Yeah, he won’t be able to say no.
The sooner Kevin assumes managerial duties, the sooner I can leave. But not before implementing my plan with Daisy’s help. For my idea to have an impact I’ll need the right PR and I know just the woman for the job.
My gaze is drawn to the computer screen again. She’s a whiz. I fire off an email telling her so and asking her to meet me here in an hour. It gives me time to draw up a rough outline of what I envisage for the older villas at the back of the property.
When I hear a knock on my door I glance at the time in the top corner of my screen, surprised to see sixty minutes have flown by. I get like this when I’m passionate about something and making lives easier for the kids I deal with is my new priority.
‘Come in,’ I call out and the door swings open. I’m prepared to see Daisy; I’m not prepared for the tightening in my chest. It’s an unusual feeling, part heartburn part breathlessness, like I’m an asthmatic who indulges in one too many burritos. Stupid, because my breathing is fine and I hate Mexican food.
I don’t like that the awful burn in my chest makes a mockery of my previous belief that I’m dead inside, that I don’t feel anything, because there’s an inherent quality to this amazing woman that makes me feel something, no matter how much I don’t want to admit it.
I pegged it as lust initially. Lust is good. Lust is slaked. Lust fades and can be chalked up to a memorable fantasy to be dredged up when I’m an old man.
But that burn intensifies as she enters my office, her smile light, her eyes bright, her pale pink silk sundress swishing around her shapely calves, making her look carefree in a way I can never be.
The burn has to be lust. It’s all it can ever be.
‘You wanted to see me?’ She closes the door and sashays across my office, working it.
I want to vault my desk, grab her and take her up against the nearest wall.
‘Yeah, thanks for coming.’ I stand and move around my desk, gesturing at the leather sofas in the far corner. ‘Let’s have a seat.’
Some of her sassiness fades. She’s shooting me glances from beneath her lashe
s, like she’s uncertain and nervous.
‘Don’t worry, this is a good thing.’
‘Okay.’ She sits and clasps her hands in her lap, oddly straitlaced when I’ve seen her naked and wanton and willing.
‘I have an idea. For the island.’
I have no trouble articulating my thoughts usually but this project is too close to home and I’m oddly reluctant to divulge it for fear of her judging; or worse, seeing right through me.
‘For the ad campaign?’ A tiny frown appears between her brows. ‘But we’ve already finalised everything. Adding changes now will only delay the launch.’
‘I think it’s worth it.’
I sit opposite so I can see her reaction. I’ve always depended on my gut reactions to any situation and I’ve never been steered wrong.
‘Go on.’ She relaxes slightly and leans back into the sofa.
‘On your first tour of the resort, do you remember the older villas situated down by the lagoon?’
She nods. ‘The ones that you want to renovate?’
‘Yeah.’ Here goes nothing. I’m not used to bouncing my ideas off others. I make a decision, I stick to it. But her expertise can only help in this case. ‘I want to designate those villas for a new foster kids programme I want to develop. Where kids and their foster families can come to the island for a few days of R&R. A weekly rotation, where different families come from all around the world for some much deserved time out. We have eight villas so that’s thirty-two families a month, three hundred and eighty-four a year who can benefit.’
The words tumble out in a rush. ‘So many of the kids I see have never left their cities let alone had a holiday. And the men and women who foster are the same. These people would benefit greatly from a programme like this.’
I search her face for some clue that she gets it; gets me. But she blinks a few times, like she’s trying to hide her surprise or come up with a response that I’ll like.
My heart sinks and I let out a breath I’m unaware I’m holding. Her lack of enthusiasm says it all. Her first instinctive reaction is that my idea sucks.
