‘I’m sorry, love. You’re not crazy. I am. I’m crazy stupid.’ He held out the bouquet — a dozen red roses — and, ashamed to admit it, my first thought was that they weren’t purple. Stop it, you ungrateful bitch. He’s trying.
Plastering a small smile on my face, I took them from him and buried my nose in a bud, inhaling the sweet aroma and allowing a moment for composure. ‘Thank you, they’re lovely,’ I murmured, desperately trying to choke back the onslaught of tears that were burning my eyes.
Dean took my other hand and pulled me inside, wrapping his arms around me. ‘Don’t cry. You know I hate it when you cry. You’re so ugly.’
I laughed. I wasn’t one to cry, but when I did, he always said that and it always worked.
‘Arsehole,’ I mumbled into his chest, squeezing him tighter. ‘I’m sorry, too.’
‘So where’s my flowers then, huh?’
‘They died with your humour.’
He pulled back and held me at arm’s length. ‘Ouch!’
I shrugged, still smiling a little, a lone tear descending down my cheek.
Before I could wipe it away, he did it for me. ‘Come on, dinner is nearly ready.’
I nodded, sniffling. ‘Okay, but we need to talk.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ His tone was somewhat dismissive.
‘Dean, I mean it. I’m fully aware that you’re the king of avoidance. I don’t want to avoid what’s happened.’
‘Neither do I, love. But first we eat, then we avoid the avoidance, okay?’
I nodded again, but deep down I knew him all too well. If my plans weren’t to chain him to a chair or lock him in a room with me after dinner, then a bunch of flowers, a joke and a quick hug would be the end of it. Deep down, I knew the past few days had just been swept under the rug.
Deep down, I knew my confession wasn’t forthcoming.
CHAPTER
11
DEAN
Flowers always worked. Always. They were a man’s way of saying, ‘Sorry, even though I have no idea what I’m sorry for, and I don’t care because I love you and want you to talk to me again.’ Flowers were a man’s best friend … but really fucking expensive. And then they died and all that money went to waste. But they were worth it if things went back to normal. And they usually did.
This time, though, it didn’t seem like Tash and I had gone back to normal. And maybe that was because I’d promised to avoid the avoidance when I’d actually done the opposite. Purposely. I understood that talking shit out was supposed to help, but it was always Tash talkin’ the shit and me listening. And when it was time for my version of events, the talking turned to Tash shoutin’, and my expensive-waste-of-money flowers were forgotten — and then they really were a waste. So as far as I was concerned, avoidance, as a whole, made much more sense. Simple was always better.
Say sorry.
Give sorry flowers.
Kiss and make up.
Move on.
It’s not that fucking hard.
The moving on part was different this time around, as we’d moved forward in time but not forward with each other. Tash had been quiet all week and wasn’t sharing much of anything with me, and drawing her into a conversation had been like trying to draw a kitten into a cage of hungry hyenas.
It wasn’t happening.
I’d tried telling her about my day but she wouldn’t really listen — the proof being her general flippant responses such as ‘things might change’ or ‘you can only do what you can do’ or ‘hmm … okay’. Her lack of interest was starting to piss me off but I didn’t know how to fix it.
I couldn’t take back my fuck-up of talking to Mum about the menopause. Believe me, I would’ve if I could. Tash had been the angriest I’d seen her in a long time. She’d even gone so far as to kick me out of our bedroom and into the spare room, and I couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that, which was how I knew I’d majorly stuffed up.
I still didn’t understand how, though.
All I’d wanted to do was help, and my mother was a great help. She helped with anything and everything: birthday gift ideas, dinner suggestions, medical questions … stain removal. So telling her about Tash’s problem seemed the best idea at the time.
Obviously it wasn’t.
Not wanting to dwell on it anymore, I swivelled my chair from facing the window and was just about to finalise my client’s BAS statement to the tax office when my phone sounded an incoming text.
Tash: I forgot to hang out Will’s football uniform.
Can you please put it in the dryer when you get home?
Dean: Sure. What time should we expect you tonight?
Do you need dinner?
Tash: What do you mean?
I’m not coming home tonight.
I have the Gala, remember?
Dean: Yes, I do remember.
I just didn’t realise you weren’t coming home at all.
Tash: I told you I wasn’t at the beginning of the week.
It’s easier if I stay here at the hotel.
I’ll be back in time for Will’s footy game tomorrow.
Kiss the boys for me xo
I scrubbed my hand over my face. I couldn’t remember her saying anything about staying at the hotel. Not that it was unusual for her to do so after a big event. It was one of the perks of her job. Still, I’d planned on being a magician and giving her a massage once the boys had gone to bed, hoping a little magic might cure her of the I’m-still-pissed-at-my-stupid-husband shit she was suffering. And now, it appeared that I’d be watching Kink.com instead.
‘Fuck,’ I sighed, buzzing Hillary on my speakerphone.
Her chirpy voice responded instantly. ‘Yes, boss.’
‘Can I trouble you for a coffee? Double shot.’
‘Oh! Someone is stressed. Sure. Give me ten.’
‘Thanks, Hill. You’re an angel.’
She let out a small giggle. ‘I’m actually not, you know.’
I scoffed. ‘I find that very hard to believe.’
Releasing the speaker button, I disconnected and smiled because I did find it hard to believe that my secretary wasn’t an angel. She’d been nothing but an angel for the past two years, and I could honestly say I would have been a mess without her. Hillary kept me organised; she kept me sane. She also kept my caffeine levels respectable, which was perfect timing when she knocked on my door several minutes later.
‘Come in,’ I called out, looking up to see her enter my office carrying a tray with two coffees and a paper bag.
‘Here you go. One long black. Extra long.’ She winked as she separated the cup from the tray and handed it to me.
I shook my head.
‘Annnnnnd,’ she sang, taking a seat in front of my desk while digging into the bag, ‘one double-choc muffin.’
My eyes bugged. ‘Hill! I’m meant to be cutting back.’
‘Oh, shush.’ She broke it in half and placed it on top of the bag. ‘We can share. And anyway, I told you I wasn’t an angel.’
I laughed and reached for the muffin. ‘Fair call.’
A satisfied glint lit her grey eyes, which were partially obscured by thick black-rimmed glasses. ‘So, what’s up? Why the double shot?’
‘Mr Rodgers,’ I mumbled.
She popped a piece of muffin into her mouth. ‘Ahhh. Anything I can do?’
‘Nah.’ I shook my head but couldn’t help laughing. Bits of chocolate cake were stuck to her teeth. For a twenty-six-year-old, she was beyond adorable, kinda like the kid sister I never had.
‘What?’ she asked, self-consciousness prompting her to wipe her face.
‘Nothing, sweetie. So how’s things with the new boyfriend?’
She shrugged and diverted her gaze.
I narrowed mine. ‘What’s happened now?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing? That downcast look on your face isn’t “nothing”.’
Sipping my coffee, I waited for her to feel comfortable enough t
o tell me. She always did after a minute or two.
‘It really is nothing.’
I nodded and continued to wait.
‘Ugh!’ she groaned. ‘He’s just never happy. That’s all.’
‘What do you mean he’s never happy?’
‘Nothing I do makes him happy — when I cook him a nice dinner, when I dress up and put makeup on, when I spend all my pay-cheque on lingerie and wear it for him. Nothing.’ She picked at her last piece of muffin, sighing. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m just being stupid. God, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You’re my boss.’
‘Yes, Hill, but I’m a boss who listens and cares. I’m a boss who’s also a friend and wants his secretary to be happy.’
Glancing at me briefly, she sucked in a deep breath and let it out before standing up and collecting her coffee cup. ‘Well, good, because I am happy.’ She playfully snatched up the empty paper bag and produced the fakest of smiles. ‘Now get back to work. You’ve got lots to do.’
I chuckled mildly and let the conversation end. ‘Who’s the boss here?’
‘You, of course.’
‘Hmm…’
This time, a genuine smile reached her eyes before she spun on her heel and headed for the door, and although the smile was genuine, I could tell it harboured sadness that she was desperately trying to mask. And that worried me. It worried me because I had a gut feeling something else was going on.
* * *
For the next couple of hours, I’d struggled to concentrate solely on my work, instead my mind ran through ways I could keep tabs on Hillary without it being obvious that I was doing so. I felt a strange need to protect and watch over her, and I wasn’t exactly sure why. Maybe it was her girl-next-door innocence, her self-consciousness and vulnerability, or maybe it was simply because she had no father or older brothers who could do it in lieu of me. Either way, her new boyfriend had my protective alarm bells blaring.
I couldn’t understand why the meathead she was currently dating wasn’t happy. Hill was a gorgeous, sweet little thing with light-brown hair, grey eyes and freckles. She was smart and funny, and she always thought two steps ahead. She liked sports, ate man food, and yet she wasn’t the size of a house. What’s not to love, you fussy fucker?
Wanting to pound some sense into him but also knowing it wasn’t an option, I decided I’d make Hill feel better instead — by taking her out to lunch — so I pressed the speaker button on my phone and buzzed her desk.
She didn’t answer.
I waited a few more seconds before heading out of the office only to find her desk empty. Figuring she was probably in the loo, I went to turn back around when her mobile phone sounded an incoming text and vibrated over her mousepad.
The name ‘Glen’ appeared on the screen, followed by a preview of the message. I tried not to read it — it wasn’t my business — but I was only human. Not cat. And curiosity killed the cat, not human, so I glanced at the words.
Glen: I’m sorry, babe.
I didn’t mean it like that.
Your arse is fine. I want to …
Want to what? The rest of the message wasn’t displayed and it irked the hell out of me. And what the fuck did he say about her arse?
‘Oh! Sorry, Dean. I was just in the bathroom. Did you need something?’ Hillary asked from behind me as she approached her desk.
I stood straight and turned to see her wiping her finger underneath her eye, as if to remove that black makeup shit that sometimes leaked when women cried.
My eyelids narrowed, rage searing me. ‘What’s wrong?’
She startled just slightly, and I felt awful for the angry tone of my voice. ‘N … nothing. I had something in my eye so had to go and wash it out.’ Hillary was a horrible liar but continued anyway. ‘So what’s up? What can I do for you?’ She took a seat and rolled her chair into place, poised at her keyboard and ready to type. ‘Fire away.’
I spun her chair around to face me. ‘Lunch.’
Her eyes bugged. ‘Lunch?’
I nodded. ‘Yes. What do you fancy?’
‘Er … um … I don’t know. I’m not really hungry.’
‘Bullshit. You like Schnitz, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then Schnitz it is. Come on, we’re going now.’
I walked to the reception door, holding it open and glancing back towards her expectantly. She quickly gathered her phone and paused to read the screen, her shoulders slumping, her eyes blinking rapidly.
I wanted to know what the entire message said and what the hell was going on. I wanted kill the little creep.
‘You coming?’ I called out.
She glanced at me and managed a small smile before standing up and shoving her phone in her pocket. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Gee, didn’t you eat breakfast?’
‘Yep.’ I gave my stomach a good manly pat. ‘Sure did.’
Hillary laughed and it was music to my ears. Now that’s better. That’s what I want to see and hear.
CHAPTER
12
TASH
‘Yesss,’ Alexis squealed, clapping like a seal with Tourette’s. ‘Yes, yes, yes. You have to wear that one.’
Brayden mimicked her and clapped his toys together, smiling proudly at his mum. She cooed, ‘Who’s a clever boy?’
He dropped the toys and reached for her.
Alexis scooped him in her arms and rolled onto her back, suspending him in the air above her like an aeroplane.
‘I don’t know, hon,’ I whined, turning around to assess my arse in the mirror. ‘I’m happy just to wear my own dress.’
I lied. I wasn’t happy to wear it. I’d found it second-hand on eBay. It was okay, but in comparison to the lemon-coloured, lace and chiffon Balenciaga halter-neck masterpiece draping my body and making sweet love to my skin, yeah … my eBay special was black and boring and … blah.
‘You’re not wearing the boob tube,’ she deadpanned.
I dismissed her insult by flipping the bird to her mirrored reflection. ‘It’s not a boob tube.’
‘It is. It barely covers your nipples! Look, don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice boob tube, but we’re attending a gala; therefore, you need a gala dress.’
Pivoting 360 degrees, butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I watched the almost gold material sweep beautifully with my spinning motion. It was stunning and I really did want to wear it.
‘Nope. I can’t,’ I forced myself to say, reaching behind my neck and undoing the clasp. ‘And anyway, I don’t have matching shoes.’
Alexis homed in on my feet and cringed before giggling to herself.
‘What?’ I pointed my toe self-consciously. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Nothing.’ The lie on her tongue was unmasked by her melodic singsong tone, the fight to keep her shoulders jerking from laughter a failure.
‘Are you going to tell me or are you going to lie there twitching like an electrocuted fish?’
She finally let go and burst into laughter. ‘Okay, okay. Your feet are huge! If you were a bloke, I’d tap you.’
She was right; they were mammoth. And if I were a man, I’d definitely tap me too.
‘True,’ I said, waggling my eyebrows and cupping my hand over my snatch. ‘I’d be cockgantic, dickumental … penormous.’
She continued laughing then made a ‘vroom vroom’ noise while swaying Brayden above her. ‘What would be the first thing you’d do if you did have a cock? I’d fuck. I’d fuck everything.’
‘Of course you would. You practically do that anyway.’
The rapid nod of her head was unashamed. ‘You’re just jealous.’
I was, unfortunately, so I flipped her another bird. ‘I’d go straight for the tug. I wouldn’t fuck around. I’d pull that thing until I was blowing jizz all over the place and creating a new art movement.’
‘Oh my GOD!’ Alexis spat out. ‘You’re disgusting.’
‘Come on, don’t act like you hate the stuff.’
> ‘I don’t. I’ve just never wanted to cover a room with it.’
As I unzipped the dress, the material fell and pooled at my feet, so I carefully stepped over it. ‘Well, it’s not like you’d have to clean the room.’
She fired me a derisive glare. ‘That’s not the point. Someone would have to clean it.’
I smiled. God, I loved her. Since shacking up with boss-man Bryce, she was one of the wealthiest people I knew yet she never took it for granted. She was still my Lexi from the ’burbs … just not from the ’burbs anymore.
Bending over to pick up the dress, I added, ‘I’d also piss on a tree—’
‘Argh!’ Alexis cried out, interrupting me.
I jumped and looked up to find her choking and splattering, her face scrunched, a long string of drool dangling from Brayden’s mouth onto hers.
Laughter burst from my chest. It was gross, but it was also something every mother experienced at one point or another.
‘Take it away!’ she spat, arms locked with Brayden suspended above her.
‘Nope. It belongs to you.’
Alexis pried one eye open and peeked at her son before rolling to her side and setting him on his back beside her. ‘Yuckies.’ She wiped her face and then matched my laughter with an outburst of her own. ‘Wanna know something funny? Bryce hates it when I call Brayden it.’
‘I don’t blame him. It is not a very endearing term for your son.’
‘Noooo, it’s not that.’ She blew a raspberry on Brayden’s belly. He giggled and kicked his legs.
Smiling, my heart warmed, a little nostalgic. I missed those adorable little babyisms, the ones that were gone in the blink of an eye. ‘So what is it then?’ I asked, grabbing my blouse and threading it over my head.
‘He hates it because of the clown in that Stephen King book.’
‘You’re really fucking evil, you know that? Phobias are a real thing.’
‘I know. I can’t help it. It fires him up though, and I love it when he’s like that.’
Stepping into my trousers, I pulled them up and buttoned them. ‘You love it when he’s fired up? As in shitty with you?’
‘Yep.’
‘Why?’
‘Because his shittiness always morphs into unbridled sexual need. The more I bait him, the more he wants to devour me.’
Commitment Page 11
