Breaking the Bro Code

by Stefanie London

  ‘The GFC has been rough on everyone, Ellie. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’

  ‘Sure looks like it affected you. Do you have to fly Economy now?’ Sarcasm was her defence of choice, another thing that hadn’t changed.

  He drew his mouth into a line. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him, that was for sure. But he always found himself attracted to her ferocious will. Besides, having her at arm’s length would be a good thing. He couldn’t afford to get too emotionally tangled with Elise Johnson. The woman had a way of breaking his heart without even trying, and Lord knew he had enough emotional baggage when it came to rejection.

  ‘So what have you been doing with yourself, Mr Forbes Young Rich List?’ She gestured to the bartender to bring her another drink. A river cruise boat drifted past them.

  He grunted. ‘God, I hate that label.’

  ‘You should be proud. The Old Rich List is so passé.’ Her voice was teasing but there was a hard glint in her twilight eyes.

  He cringed. ‘You know I don’t keep up with trends...unless they involve a circuit board, that is.’

  ‘Seems to me like you managed to use your status to have a little fun after you moved.’

  ‘How so?’ He frowned, instinct telling him he was about to walk into a trap.

  ‘I happened to be reading the paper a while ago and saw a rather compromising photo of you and the daughter of a certain rival technologist.’

  Ah, so they were back to this again. Despite what the gossip columnists made out, Col usually ensured any ‘itches that needed to be scratched’ were done so with the utmost discretion. No supermodels, movie stars or society darlings for him. Until he met heiress Tessa Bates, though she had been going under a false name on the night he met her. She turned out to be rebelling against her father and had scouted Col out on one of his ultra-rare public appearances. He’d walked straight into her trap and now there were pictures of him naked on her supposedly private balcony that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

  ‘You seem rather preoccupied with my sex life.’ He attempted to redirect the conversation.

  ‘Hardly,’ she scowled.

  ‘Well, that’s the second time you’ve mentioned it in as many meetings.’ He leant forward on his stool, his knees knocking against hers.

  She stiffened. ‘Who you sleep with is up to you.’

  ‘Well, it was a mistake in any case.’ He shrugged as though it bothered him less than it did.

  ‘What about you? Are you seeing anyone?’

  She pondered his question for a moment. ‘No. I don’t have time for messing around at the moment.’

  ‘I thought you told me all work and no play made for a dull existence.’

  She wrinkled her pert, upturned nose and changed the topic. ‘So tell me, what is it that you think I can help you with?’

  ‘That’s it? After five years you give me a two-minute catch-up?’

  ‘It was hardly two minutes.’ She shrugged, unflinching. ‘But it’s more than you deserve.’

  Col drew a long breath; he’d known this moment would come. The one where he’d need to open himself up and admit something that had plagued him since childhood. For someone who’d worked with the toughest investors in the world, the sharpest minds in the technology industry and the most vulture-like journalists, he shouldn’t have any fears left. But he did. This one was buried so deep that it had rooted itself into the core of who he was. It was unshakable, unsurpassable. And he needed to confess it to Elise, the one person left in the world that he still admired.

  ‘I have a very important event coming up, a conference.’ He cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink. ‘I’ve been invited to be the keynote speaker and I need to give a presentation on the way technology is shaping the fitness industry.’

  She shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know why you think I can help you out with that.’

  ‘I need someone to help me prepare for the speech, not in terms of the speech itself but in terms of getting up on stage in front of all those people.’ Even saying the words sent a trickle of ice-cold fear down his spine. ‘You’ve performed your whole life. You know how to deal with the nerves, the stage fright...’

  ‘Are you seriously telling me you’re frightened of public speaking? You, Col Hillam, CEO, New York lady-killer, technological wunderkind, are afraid of an audience?’ She rolled her eyes.

  Heat crawled up his neck. It was hard enough to admit that he was afraid of something, especially when she stared at him open-mouthed like that. Anger prickled the back of his neck, making his fingers curl around his glass.

  ‘We’re all afraid of something, Elise.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re...’ She threw her hands up in the air, grappling for words. ‘Don’t you broker deals all the time? Don’t you spend your life networking and selling your business?’

  If only. He was known as something of a recluse in the industry. He could handle meetings, of course, but he avoided networking whenever he could...especially the personal kind. In fact, this was the first time he’d sat in a bar with a woman in... He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been on a date. Not that this is a date, he corrected himself, shoved the thought aside.

  ‘It’s different.’ He squeezed the glass so hard he thought it might shatter. Forcing out a breath, he put the glass down and placed both hands on his knees, a technique he often used when he was feeling out of his depth. Perhaps he should have ordered something stronger than soda water after all.

  ‘How is it different?’ She seemed...suspicious. Did she think this was a ploy so he could get close to her?

  ‘Being in a boardroom with ten people is fine, I can handle that. I know what I’m doing. I go hard, I’m aggressive and I win. But being up there with all those eyes watching while they wait for you to make a mistake...’ His chest clenched, his breath came faster.

  * * *

  Wow, Col Hillam was actually scared of something. His chest rose and fell, the muscles pressing against the thin cotton of his lightweight blue shirt. His neck corded with each inhalation, lips pressed tight together, jaw clenched.

  At first she’d wondered if this was his way of forcing her to spend time with him. Perhaps it was some made-up scenario that allowed him to get close to her without committing to anything. It seemed likely, since fleeing the country was his MO. But the light beading of sweat along his hairline and the white-knuckled grip he had on the rustic wooden table in front of them told a different story.

  ‘I’m sure you could afford someone who specialised in public-speaking phobias to help you—’

  ‘No.’

  He barked the word out, drawing curious stares from the couples around them. Elise tilted her head, watching as his eyes narrowed. He was even more striking since he’d lost the youthful fullness in his face. The slopes and curves had been replaced by hard angles and sharp edges. A faint smattering of dark hair peeked out of the open collar of his shirt, the pushed-up sleeves revealing strong arms. Even his eyes looked harder; their faded blue—like worn denim—was hiding something.

  ‘You’re doing yourself a disservice, Col. Get some professional help. I’m just a ballerina.’

  ‘You’re the only one who can help me.’

  He reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it, his thumb tracing the ridges of her knuckles. Her breath stuck in her throat as she looked at him. The furrowed brow, the serious eyes, the grim slash of a mouth were all too familiar.

  ‘You’re the only one who knows me well enough to help me get around this problem.’

  Memories flooded her; she’d managed to shut them out for so long but they came roaring back when he touched her. Ten-year-old Col on her doorstep, arms black and blue with bruises, face set into a hard mask of fury. No tears; there were never any tears. He’d asked if he could stay the
night and she’d let him in without a word. He’d stunk of the alcohol his father had splashed on him. She’d held him until they both fell asleep, till her father found them lying in front of the fireplace the next morning. She was the only one allowed to comfort him, the only one he’d allow within touching distance. Even Elise’s brother, Rich, who’d been Col’s best friend since kindergarten, wasn’t allowed that close.

  ‘I can’t help you.’ The memories swirled, unsteadying her.

  He gritted his teeth. ‘Please, Ellie.’

  She couldn’t fix people that were broken; she’d learnt that the hard way. She tried and tried and tried, but eventually they either left or retreated so far into themselves that she might as well have been alone. The last time she’d tried to help Col she’d failed, and then he’d left. She was now trying in vain to drag her mother down from the brink of oblivion on a daily basis. She wouldn’t put herself in that position again.

  ‘I’m sorry, you’ll need to find someone else. I’m not the right person to help you.’ She shoved aside the empty cocktail glass and grabbed her bag from the table.

  Weaving through the crowd, she dodged the waitress with a tray full of drinks and the other patrons until she found the staircase that led up to the bridge. When the night air hit her burning cheeks she sighed with relief. Distance, that was what she needed. If she could avoid Col while he was in Australia then everything would be fine.

  THREE

  How was she going to make it work? It was the less scary of the two questions Elise had been asking herself, the other being: how had she let it get to this point in the first place? She knew the answer to that: she was weak. She was too weak to say no to her mother, too weak to tell her brother to come home and face his responsibilities. She was supposed to be the stable one in the family, the reliable one. She was the one who had to keep them all afloat.

  Elise crunched the numbers again, tapping at her calculator and hoping for a different result. The only way the numbers would balance was if she let go one of her teachers and took on more lessons herself. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than letting the business fail even more than it already had.

  Sitting behind the small desk in the waiting room of the studio, she watched the mothers chatter amongst themselves while the under-twelve class finished up. The girls bounded out of the studio, full of beans despite a gruelling technique class with Jasmine. She couldn’t let Jasmine go; they’d been best friends since they were six and had seen each other through many a dark day. She sighed, raking a hand through her loose hair.

  ‘See you next Thursday, girls. Don’t forget to stretch!’ Jasmine chirped and waved as her students left.

  Elise envied Jasmine and her newfound life with her hunky AFL star fiancé. Their kind of happiness was rare, and her best friend deserved every second of it...but she couldn’t help wishing that she had a little bit of that luck too.

  Swinging her sneakered feet onto the desk, she adjusted the portable fan so it blew in her direction. The studio’s air conditioning was broken again, but she was trying to figure out how to afford a service. No solution had presented itself, but there was a number of blisteringly hot days in next week’s forecast that meant she’d have to make a decision, and fast.

  ‘Have you heard from Col again?’ Jasmine stripped off her leg warmers and ballet shoes, before stuffing her stockinged feet into a pair of flats.

  She’d neglected to tell Jasmine they’d gone for a drink last night. She wouldn’t approve and Elise couldn’t deal with a lecture at this point. She’d hardly slept. Between the old memories resurfacing and the stress of trying to decide which teacher to fire, relaxation and slumber were impossible concepts. There had also been a tiny twinge of guilt over bailing on Col when he’d opened up for her, but she soothed that guilt with a healthy dose of anger. He was the one who left her originally, and not just for a night...for five long years.

  ‘Hey.’ Jasmine’s face appeared in front of hers, a hand landing on her shoulder. ‘I’m worried about you.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ She forced a perky smile. ‘You know what my apartment is like. It gets so hot in the summer. I could barely catch a wink of sleep last night.’

  ‘Right. Well, you let me know if you want to talk.’ Jasmine removed her hand and gave her a pointed look that said: I’m your best friend, don’t BS me.

  ‘As if you could stop me talking.’ She sat up, shaking off her exhaustion, and kept her smile firmly in place.

  As Jasmine was about to leave, the door to the studio swung open. Col’s frame filled the doorway almost completely, his broad shoulders looking even wider with the fading light outlining him. He wore an intense expression, none of his usual cockiness present in the deep stare he gave her.

  ‘Hi, Ellie.’

  ‘Col.’

  Jasmine looked from Elise to Col and back again. She moved closer to the desk, hovering by Elise, looking as if she were about to strike.

  ‘It’s all right, Mama Bear,’ Elise said with a nod. ‘I can take him.’

  She frowned. ‘I’ll stay if you need moral support.’

  ‘It’s fine, go.’ Elise gave her friend a gentle shove with one sneaker-covered foot.

  Jasmine picked up her bag and walked past Col, setting a hard glare at him before she left without a word. Elise stifled a smile, Jasmine was nothing if not fiercely loyal.

  ‘Not a fan, I see.’ Col came forward, crossing the small room in only a few strides.

  ‘Makes two of us,’ she said, trying to keep her teasing light though it sounded loaded as a drawn weapon. ‘Maybe I should start a Facebook group.’

  He wore a pair of fitted jeans, which were beginning to fray at both knees, a white T-shirt that looked so good it should have been illegal and a pair of black Chucks. His dark hair was unstyled, curling at the edges where normally it would be tamed into place with hair product. A thick, leather cuff on his right wrist offset tanned skin. He’d been outside; she could see the sunshine on him. He was too delicious for words and she hated her body for every traitorous reaction it was having.

  ‘No need to be hostile.’

  ‘What do you want, Col?’

  ‘I want you to reconsider.’

  He leant against the desk, his scent making her heady. Faded aftershave mixed with sun-drenched skin, a hint of cinnamon and something else...something entirely male.

  ‘Have you forgotten our chat last night?’ She forced her eyes away from his chest. ‘I gave you my answer already. Twice now, if memory serves me correctly.’

  ‘So you’ll let this studio fail to spite me?’ He leant forward, brows crinkled. ‘We can help each other.’

  ‘I don’t want your help.’

  ‘That might be true, but you do need my help.’

  Without the buttoned shirt, the dress trousers and the expensive shoes he looked...normal. Just like the boy she remembered from the night she lost her heart, the night she came undone so badly she’d never been able to piece herself back together. A night of muffled cries, sweat-drenched skin and a passion so intense she’d never been able to replicate it. In fact the last few attempts had fallen so far short she’d about given up.

  He stared down at her, his eyes making her skin flame. ‘You could get rid of one of your teachers,’ he went on. ‘Which one? I know you won’t get rid of Jasmine—she’s too good a friend. What about the redhead, Missy? You’ve known her forever too. Could you really put her out of a job? Or there’s that other girl—’

  ‘Stop it!’ The cry sprang from her with such fury that Col stopped midsentence.

  He closed his mouth, quietly assessing her. Her heart pounded a staccato-like beat, the throbbing in her head matching its pace. She felt as if she were about to explode from the stress, the sleeplessness, the frustration. A confused knot of emotion swelled within her, threatening to burst fo
rth with the slightest provocation.

  ‘You can’t come back here and manipulate me into helping you,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘You don’t get to do that to me. You were the one who left.’

  You were the one who ruined everything.

  Col’s eyes clouded over, his mouth pulling into a thin line. He pushed up from the desk and turned so he was facing her dead on. His hands landed on the desk’s surface with a hard thud, his face inches from hers. She could see the rolling storm cloud of emotion in his eyes; the passionate anger, the five-year stockpile of guilt, the desire to fight.

  ‘I did you a favour in leaving, Elise. I did us both a favour.’

  ‘Bull.’ She dragged her eyes away, wishing for a moment that he would give up on her.

  ‘I promise if you help me I’ll make sure your ballet studio never suffers again. I’ll make sure you never suffer again, and I will stay well out of your life.’

  * * *

  For a moment he wondered if she might hold her ground. He knew she must hate him for leaving—hell, he hated himself for leaving—but that didn’t change the fact that it was the best thing for them both. Her family had taken him in and he’d promised her brother that he’d never lay a hand on her...except he did. In fact he’d laid both hands, his mouth and everything else he possessed on her. It had been the best night of his life...but boy had he paid. He’d lost his best friend and thrown the kindness the Johnson family had shown him back in their faces.

  Since then he kept things casual, always casual. One-night stands were the preference, though occasionally he let it stretch on to a second or third night. But never longer than that. No one would ever compare to her, so what was the point in trying?

  But there was no way he could let history repeat itself. He wasn’t hanging around and he didn’t want to hurt her. That kind of mistake wouldn’t happen twice.

  ‘Strictly business,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you trying anything funny.’