‘I know there are things I should have appreciated far more.’
He stalked across the room until he arrived in front of her. He dropped down to his knees and eased her back so that he could bend over her and swirl his tongue against the ridge of her hip bone. Deft fingers toyed with the edge of her underwear while his warm breath tickled her skin.
‘I should have appreciated you, Ellie, instead of running away. I—’
‘Stop it.’ She planted her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back. ‘Please, stop it.’
‘What?’
As she sat up she was met with hurt and confusion; it was starting already. Her inability to talk about her feelings or even listen to his was forcing a wedge between them and they’d only just woken up. Her mouth felt as though it were filled with cotton balls.
‘I don’t want to get into this.’
‘You don’t want to get into this now?’
She wanted to swallow the rising panic that climbed dangerously high in her throat, threatening to choke her. ‘I don’t want to get into this full stop.’
‘You’re going to have to deal with it one day.’ He stood up, his shadow eclipsing her.
‘Says who?’
‘Says the guy who’s only going to be able to try for so long.’ He turned and walked to the bathroom.
She wanted to shout back at him but the words stuck in her throat. He’d already left her once; he would do it again. Wasn’t it better if she let him walk away now? She’d made a mistake in coming here last night but she didn’t have to string it out. Like a Band-Aid, wasn’t that always the advice?
‘I...’ Her voice faded into nothingness.
He paused at the doorway to the bathroom and turned as though he’d heard something, but when she didn’t say anything he closed the door quietly behind him.
* * *
The face that stared back in the bathroom mirror was not one he’d want to inflict on anyone. Two dark brows were slashed into a downward point above his nose. His jaw was clenched and his chest rose and fell with short bursts.
He looked just like his father.
For so long Col had been able to keep his temper in check. He kept his drinking to a minimum, and avoided it altogether when he’d had a bad day. His father had always been an angry drunk and Col had done his utmost not to try his luck and see if he was the same. He’d even managed to keep his cool when a reporter had shown up at his office, questioning whether Hillam was his real last name. Obviously he hadn’t buried his past far enough away; he should have chosen a name that was further from his history.
But Elise could make him feel any emotion in the book, especially the ones he didn’t want to feel. Her words, the memory of her dainty hands wrapped around him and the taste of her all sent him to a place that was terrifying. She might not be able to show her own feelings, but she could conjure his as easily as if she’d hardwired straight into his brain.
He fought the urge to slam his fist against the wall. Why did he want her when she so clearly didn’t want him...not beyond the physical, anyway? Was he so pathetic, so screwed up that he could only love someone who didn’t love him back, who couldn’t love him back? Was that the legacy his father had beaten into him?
He practised the breathing exercises he used whenever he felt the frustration take hold. Slow breath in, count to five, slow breath out.
‘Col?’
‘We need to get ready, Ellie.’ He braced a hand against the door, wishing he could fling it open and sweep her up in his arms. But that wouldn’t solve a damn thing.
‘I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.’
He closed his hand around the doorknob and debated whether or not to let her in.
God, if he couldn’t even let her into a room, how could he possibly contemplate more?
‘Don’t open the door,’ she said, as if reading his mind. ‘Maybe I can talk a little easier if I don’t have to worry about my face.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I know my face doesn’t look right when I’m trying to talk about something difficult...’
‘Ellie, your face is perfect.’ He sighed and leant his forehead against the door. ‘Your face would make a painter weep for joy.’
‘Don’t be sarcastic.’
‘I’m not.’ He really wasn’t.
Elise had been the bane of her brother’s existence through high school. Every guy wanted to date her and Rich had shooed them all away with a threat...even him. At times he’d felt sorry for Rich. Elise had been the better student, the more popular sibling, she’d been a ballet star and was gorgeous to boot. She seemed to win out on every single facet of life.
‘What I mean is that I don’t show emotions properly on my face.’
Col felt awareness run through him, as if a piece of the puzzle had finally clicked into place. ‘Who on earth told you that?’
‘Well, they always said it at ballet.’ She paused. ‘But I was dating this guy, and he said my face was like a brick wall.’
Silence. Col swallowed down anger that flared like the lighting of a match within him. Getting angry would not help Elise.
‘Well, that guy was clearly doing something wrong then, because I saw every little bit of feeling on your face last night.’
‘He’s right. I don’t do the emotional stuff very well.’
‘I’m opening this door.’ He grabbed the handle and let himself out of the bathroom.
Shock flickered across her face for a split second, but then her eyes hardened and her mouth pushed into a flat line. He knew that face—it was her game face. The one she used when she felt threatened or unsure or vulnerable. And he knew she would be feeling all three of those things right now.
‘The guy that said that to you had no idea what he was talking about.’ He cupped her face between his hands and held her steady when she tried to twist away. ‘I see you, Ellie. I see what’s going on in your head... There’s nothing wrong with you.’
She bit down on her lip and looked at him, the mask firmly in place. He’d lost her as soon as he’d opened that door when she’d asked him not to.
‘Well, anyway,’ she said, her voice perky and a smile firmly painted on. ‘It’s your day to today. As you said, it’s time to get ready.’
‘And what exactly are you going to wear?’ He looked at the T-shirt she’d plucked from his luggage, his eyes lingering on where the soft grey fabric skimmed the tops of her toned thighs.
Her underwear was hanging from the armchair in the corner of the room and her silky top was in a rumpled heap on the floor. There was no way she’d have time to go home and get changed; they had to improvise.
‘This?’ She looked down at the T-shirt and back up at him. ‘Or not?’
‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about our conversation.’ He leant down and pressed his forehead to hers, hurt searing the inside of his chest when a flicker of fear passed over her eyes. ‘We’re going to continue it tonight.’
‘Says who?’ She crossed her arms across her chest, causing the T-shirt to rise and almost expose the place he’d explored so intimately last night.
He swallowed and pushed aside the hot, achy feeling that was causing him to swell. He had neither the time nor the headspace to deal with his inconvenient feelings towards Elise Johnson.
‘Says me.’ He strode to the cupboard and pulled out his clothes, throwing them on before tossing Elise a white cotton shirt. ‘If you roll the sleeves up this might be okay. As for your underwear, I can’t help you with that. You’ll have to go commando.’
She picked up her denim shorts and slipped them on, looking up at him as she did so. Was someone up there trying to punish him? How on earth would he be able to concentrate all day knowing Elise was wearing his shirt and not wearing anything beneath
those tiny shorts? Cruel it was, just cruel.
She slipped the T-shirt off over her head and he caught a glimpse of bare breast before she wriggled into the shirt, tied it at the waist and rolled the sleeves up. The white cotton against faded denim made her skin glow, and with her blonde hair all messed up she looked nothing short of a fantasy.
‘Ready?’ She grabbed her bag and started out towards the main room.
‘I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,’ he muttered under his breath.
* * *
By the time they made it to the convention centre, which was conveniently placed across the road, the lines were already circling the venue and the noise was rising. This particular conference wasn’t quite as crazy as some of the ones he’d attended in the US earlier in his career. There weren’t as many people in costume and the crowds were smaller. But the buzz filled the air with a palpable excitement and Col’s stomach flipped when he realised how big that auditorium would feel when it was full.
Perspiration beaded at his brow and suddenly Col’s mouth was drier than a drought-ravaged field. His heart rate climbed and each breath felt harder and more forced. He was about to distract himself with inane conversation when Elise took his hand and squeezed. She didn’t turn to look at him; she didn’t say a word. She simply held his hand and the simplicity of her action said more than any words or look could have.
They slipped through the VIP entrance to the conference, and the main hall was abuzz with the stall holders preparing for opening time. They had ten minutes to go and there was plenty of last-minute scrambling to make sure that everything was perfect. The Hillam Technologies stall was in the far corner, gleaming displays of their latest apps and software programs—mainly personal fitness and health apps with gamification elements—set up and ready to go.
‘Did you make all of these?’ Elise peered at the display devices, swiping and tapping at the apps to test them out. ‘Run for your life, what’s that about?’
‘Ah, but only the most fun and creative running app around.’ Col swiped at the iPad and took the app back to its home screen. ‘It’s a running app with different survival themes. There’s a zombie apocalypse, bear attack, escape from the jungle—’
‘Why on earth would anyone want to pretend they were being chased by a bear?’
‘If it motivates people to run faster, harder, longer...’ he paused, enjoying the tint of colour spreading across Elise’s cheeks ‘...then it’s good for fitness. That’s one of our philosophies: we create apps to take the boring out of everyday activities.’
‘Mr Hillam?’ One of the young guys behind the stand approached them, hand outstretched. ‘I’m Brody. So nice to meet you in person finally.’
Col took in the spiked black hair and colourful sleeve tattoos on both arms. The boy might have looked as though he’d fit right in with a rock-band road crew, but he was one of the most gifted app designers Col had ever worked with. To date they’d only ever conversed via various forms of technology since Brody was based in New Zealand.
‘Yes.’ Col grabbed his hand and shook it heartily. ‘Much better than our usual Skype meetings. I’m glad you were able to fly out.’
‘It’s just a hop over the water.’ He smiled.
‘This is Elise Johnson.’ He tried to think quick—how would one categorise their relationship? ‘She’s a very old and dear friend.’
‘And of course by old, he means we’ve been friends a long time.’ Elise shook Brody’s hand and rolled her eyes at Col. ‘You’ve got a way with words, Col.’
‘What?’ He shrugged. ‘You don’t look a day over sixteen.’
Elise shook her head. ‘Creepy.’
‘Nineteen?’
She grimaced and pointed her index finger in the air.
‘Twenty-one.’
‘Perfect.’ A pleased smile spread across her lips and she turned back to Brody. ‘How did you come to work for Col if you’re based in New Zealand?’
‘I applied to the Hillam Technologies’ Bright Things programme last year. Every year they run a competition and the person with the best app gets an opportunity to pitch it for sale and sometimes there’s even a job offer at the end. I was one of the lucky ones.’ Brody grinned. ‘We don’t have many large technology companies in New Zealand, so this was a dream come true.’
Warmth spread through Col’s chest. He’d promised himself many times over the years—when the Johnsons had taken him in, when his bank manager had given him a chance with a small business loan—that one day he would pay it forward. The Bright Things programme offered smart kids the opportunity to kickstart their career in technology. Winners were assigned a mentor and often the company bought the app the student had pitched. In fact, some of their top-selling apps had come from this programme.
The winner of the first year had already left Hillam Technologies to start his own venture, and Col couldn’t have been happier for him. Each time he helped one of these kids he felt as if he was taking another step away from his past, continually proving to himself that he was nothing like his father.
‘Wow.’ Elise grinned and looked up at Col, genuine pride shining from her grey eyes. ‘That’s so wonderful.’
She reached down and squeezed his hand and Col had to force himself not to think about how naked she was under his shirt and her tattered denim shorts. No bra, no underwear. Luckily his shirt was a heavy weave, meant for the frosty air conditioning of an office, and so none of her small, golden breasts showed through. But he knew and that was enough.
Col suddenly felt hot and bothered; he slipped off his linen blazer and slung it over one arm. ‘We should probably get over to the auditorium. I’m the first speaker of the day, so I want to get out of here before the crowds arrive.’
As he took Elise’s hand again, they heard the rush of the crowd; the event was open. Bidding Brody and the others on the Hillam Technologies stand good luck, they exited back through the VIP area and found themselves in the entrance of the convention building.
The crowds were bigger now, the noise louder. Even the reassuring sensation of Elise’s palm on his wasn’t enough to quell the nausea that overtook him with force. He had only half an hour to get to the presenters’ lounge and that meant it was only an hour before he’d be on stage. The very thought of it made the bile rise up in his throat, and he swallowed it back by breathing long and slow.
‘So I’m an old and dear friend, am I?’
Col rolled his eyes. ‘You know I didn’t mean physically old. You women are so sensitive.’
‘Do you do what we did last night with all your old, dear friends?’
It was easy to sink back into the memory, images flickering like a reel of photographs before him. Hands, lips, tongues, curves. They were all there, now permanently etched into his memory...which was a good thing considering how their morning had gone back at the hotel room. He’d lose her soon, and memories would be all he’d have.
‘Considering my only other dear, old friends are your brother and my head of PR, the answer to that question would be no.’
‘There’s only three of us?’ She looked up at him, fair brows knitted above two saucer-like grey eyes. Were her eyes bigger today or was it just that he’d seen beneath the surface last night?
‘That’s it, I’m afraid. Quality over quantity.’
She nodded, satisfied. ‘Well, I’m glad to be your dear old friend who sometimes has sex with you.’
‘Sometimes?’
‘Twice,’ she corrected.
‘Exactly. It needs to be more than twice to qualify for “sometimes”.’ Col stopped short of the presenters’ lounge and opened the door for her. ‘Sometimes is at least seven.’
‘Seven?’ She laughed, shaking her head and brushing past him.
‘It could even be as high as ten...or thirteen.’
&n
bsp; ‘Don’t push your luck.’
The presenters’ lounge was small, more of a holding area than a room. The walls were cream, two couches the colour of milky coffee faced one another and there was a vase of fresh flowers on a glass coffee table. It looked calm, perfectly lacking in personality.
Col pushed his sweat-slicked palms down the front of his jeans. He pulled the note cards from the pocket on the inside of his jacket, which was creased from being folded over one arm.
‘Leave it with me.’ Elise extended her hand and took the jacket from him. ‘It’ll be hot on stage with all those lights—you won’t need a jacket.’
He tapped a maddening beat with one sneaker-clad foot and undid the top button of his shirt. Why had he agreed to do this? Nervous energy raced through him. He should have brought a stress ball, a Rubik’s Cube...anything. He needed to keep his hands busy.
Tap, tap, tap. What if he got out there and no one had turned up for his talk? Worse, what if everyone had? What if he tripped while he was walking onto the stage? What if—?
‘Cut it out.’ Elise’s voice rang sharp and loud in the quiet room.
Col’s head snapped up. She was perched on the arm of the couch in front of him, long legs crossed at the ankles.
‘I can hear your brain from here. Getting wound up is not going to help you.’
‘I don’t know what else to do,’ he snapped. The fear was making him edgy, cranky.
‘Just breathe.’ She stood up and walked over to him, placing a hand on each of his wrists and pulling him down so that they were seated next to one another. ‘Breathe in, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three.’
He followed her, sucking a bigger lungful of air each time until his heartbeat slowed. He felt like a fool, being so worked up over such a small thing. Over something that no one else seemed to take issue with. He’d done so much with his life. He’d travelled the world and made a very successful company. He’d escaped a tyrant of a father and created a life for himself. But he couldn’t even think about getting up on stage without having a meltdown. It was stupid, pathetic—
Breaking the Bro Code Page 11
