by Allie Little
“Thanks, Riley. I think.”
4
Grace
When Riley Atherton struts through Sam’s front door like a dark-haired demi-God, I feel I’ll never breathe again. I want to tell him I already have one - a man who makes my breath hitch. A man who makes my heart leap, and not in any good way. The physical response evoked at the sight of Riley makes me want to run from him far, far away.
He walks straight over with that blustering arrogance and kisses me on the cheek. “Grace, what a lovely surprise. I had no idea you’d be here.”
“Really? You seem to be turning up everywhere.”
Bloody Gemma. She’s responsible for this, I’m sure of it.
Gem tugs at my sleeve, yanking me from the sofa as I work through a series of confusing emotions. Since Dan, I’m just a shadow. See-through like an apparition; a hint of who I once was. A guy can look hot but still be the devil. He can turn in ways you would never expect. Strike you off balance and hurt you.
In the kitchen, I glare fiercely at my friend. Without a glimmer of remorse, she raises one eyebrow and smiles that stupid, dazzling smile when she’s clearly up to something.
“Gemma,” I caution. “You need to leave this alone.”
She gives her best innocent-face and whispers hoarsely, “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about, Gracie.”
“You need to stop this, Gem. Right now. Did you invite him? I know you did,” I mutter at her like a maniac, keeping my voice low, hazarding a sideways peek into the lounge room.
“So, what if I did? He’s my friend, Grace. My friend. Nothing underhanded about it, honey.” She has that annoying gleam in her eye when she thinks she knows best.
“Three months, Gem. That’s all it’s been. Three short months. It’s only pure luck Dan hasn’t found me. Apart from the time he turned up on the doorstep of your old place, it’s a miracle he has no idea where I am.”
“He’s not going to find you, Grace. And anyway, even if he does, what can he do? It’s not like he can hold you captive. Marrying Dan was a mistake, Grace. Everyone makes them. At least you’re only twenty-three. It’s not as if your life is over.”
“Sometimes I wonder why I ever married in the first place, Gem. I was too young.”
Gem walks over and drapes her arm around my shoulders. “You know why, Grace. You lost your parents. And as much as you love your Gran, you needed to fly from her nest. But it’ll be okay, Gracie. I promise. Try to enjoy yourself this weekend. You deserve some fun, honey. You’re still way too serious. I want my old Grace back.”
Really, Gem? Don’t you know that’s not possible?
Sam arranges several gleaming glasses and pours copious amounts of red wine into all five of them. She hands me an enormous plate of antipasto and a glass of red, indicating with her head toward the lounge room.
I follow her into the next room, and after handing Riley a red wine, he compliments me on my ridiculous choice of active-wear for the cosy evening in. Wear something comfortable, Gemma had said. And now I was regretting it.
“Who’s up for kayaking in the morning?” Sam asks, smiling brightly. She plonks herself down onto the sofa near Jack, placing the tray of wine and food in the centre of the coffee table.
“Kayaking?” I crease my brow in horror, immediately sorry for the outburst.
“Come on, Grace. It’ll be heaps of fun,” says Jack, winking. Sam wriggles closer and he curls an arm around her shoulders.
“I can’t stay over, mate. I’ve got to get home, unless I could be persuaded otherwise,” Riley says suggestively, gauging my reaction.
Transfixed fleetingly, I cut his penetrating stare and focus on Gemma, because anything, anything, is easier than dealing with Riley right now.
“What’s the rush, man? Anyway, if you smash too many drinks tonight you might be in need of a bed.”
“I can hold my alcohol.”
“But there’s only one spare room. And Gemma and Grace have first dibs,” Sam states as a simple matter of fact.
“There’s always the sofa, babe,” Jack replies. “It’s not as uncomfortable as you might think.”
“Banishes you from the bedroom, does she Jack?” Gemma laughs, flicking Sam a knowing wink.
“Only when necessary,” Sam teases, nudging Jack with her elbow. He playfully nudges her right back.
“Okay, okay. You’ve twisted my arm. Looks like the oh-so comfortable sofa is mine,” snickers Riley. “Pour me another one, Jack.”
***
It’s a bright, sunny morning. The air over the Myall has the crisp edge of early winter, softened only by the tepid warmth from the sun. Gemma and Sam are up, toasting flour-dusted sourdough to complement the eggs. After a while they serve breakfast and we eat without the boys. From the window overlooking the running tide, I watch Jack and Riley drag kayaks to the car, laughing in deep conversation over something privately amusing. Riley catches me watching, gives me a brazen wave, receiving a half-hearted one in return.
“Anything of interest out there, honey?” Gem asks, shoving a forkful of poached egg into her mouth with a grin.
“No,” I retort.
Gemma laughs, returning to her food as Riley and Jack venture inside for breakfast.
After hungrily scoffing eggs, they again remove themselves to busily tie kayaks onto the tray of Jack’s ute. Once we’re all at the car, Jack explains there are three single kayaks and one double, and recommends any first-timers taking the double to receive guidance from someone more experienced. I’m more than happy for guidance, but of course Riley’s right here, offering his wealth of kayaking expertise.
“Grace, I’d be more than happy to…”
“No,” I answer, too quickly. “I mean, no thank you, Riley. I’d really like to try this on my own.” After all, how hard could this kayaking be?
“Grace, don’t be so silly,” Gemma says. “I think you should accept Riley’s offer. Look at your little arms, honey. How on earth will you paddle a kayak of that size?”
“I’m much stronger than I look, honey,” I emphasize, rushing to defend myself. “And anyway…”
Riley suddenly grabs my arm and leads me away, far enough to be out of earshot and whispers roughly, “Listen Grace, I get that you don’t want to be near me. I have no idea why, or what I’ve done to offend you. Forget I’m your boss and you don’t like me. Let your bloody guard down and get in that damn kayak with me. Please.” The last word he says without censure. Pleading.
“Look, I really don’t think …” I break off. My heart hammers with his words, but instead, when his piercing amber gaze messes with my mind, settle on saying, “Oh, all right. I guess one short paddle with you in that kayak can’t hurt.”
He relaxes, pleased with his efforts, then smiles, giving his face a sheen. “We’ll take the double,” he announces loudly with a smirk.
“Great,” says Jack, oblivious. “See you at the Anchorage.”
Riley pulls me toward a hideously expensive BMW sports in the drive. “Get in,” he orders, opening the door.
I slide onto ridiculously fine leather seats, wondering whether my muddied trainers will mark the perfect steel-grey carpet beneath. The door is closed beside me with an expensive thud.
Riley opens his door and slips into the seat beside me, kicking over the throaty engine. He looks across, dazzling me with the brilliance of his smile. “So, tell me Grace Carter, what’s got you so uptight?”
At this point the need to escape is simply overwhelming. I can’t sit in such proximity to him for one more moment.
“You don’t want to know, Riley. Really.”
“You’d be surprised Grace, because when it comes to you, I actually do want to know.”
A shiver courses through me and it’s not because I’m cold. I lie my head on the headrest and let out a sigh. “You might think you do, but let me assure you, you’ll be better off if you don’t.”
Riley shrugs his broad shoulders giving the impression of def
eat, and we move on to more mundane topics like where I grew up and what music I listen to. Thankfully the Anchorage is not too far away, and when we pull up I exit the car before Riley has a chance to switch off the engine.
Jack swings his old, clattery ute into the Anchorage car park. Sam and Gem push out, giggling. Gemma feigns disinterest in the fact Riley and I just shared car-time, and Sam busies herself with untying kayaks, with Jack right there assisting.
Riley drags the double kayak to the water’s edge. The river’s a glittery gold, sparking light where it’s splintered along the surface. The look on his face reveals his enjoyment. Torturing me. Knowing I’d prefer not to be here.
“Hop in,” he says, a grin radiating my way. He gestures theatrically at the kayak.
I roll my eyes, stepping a leg into the damn thing and almost pitching it over in the shallows. “Right you are.”
Once I’m precariously balanced, Riley gives the kayak a convincing shove, floating us into the running current, deftly hopping in soon after. I sweep my hair back off my face, tucking it in behind the cap pulled low on my head, feeling trapped.
He taps me on the shoulder. “There is another paddle, you know.”
“Give it to me,” I snap, colouring with embarrassment.
He passes it forward. With the weight balanced evenly, I begin swooshing it through the water, hearing the slap as it beats the surface. For a while it’s relaxing. Here, amid twisted mangroves and oyster farms, before slipping further downstream where the river curls closer to the sea, out where it’s bluer, deeper, clearer in the absence of tannin. Jack, Sam and Gem are dotted some distance away, abandoning us.
Here.
Alone.
Just us in the dreamy paradise of the river.
Great.
“I’ve worked out what you are, Grace.” Riley disturbs the peaceful slosh and gurgle of the water beneath us. “It took a while, but I’ve finally solved the mystery surrounding you.”
“What are you talking about? You know nothing about me, Riley. Nothing at all.” I spin back to face him.
“Don’t I?”
“No,” I say firmly, turning away. I need him to stop, his words restricting air flow into my lungs.
Daniel. Daniel. His voice, face, so immediate, should not be in my head. Should not consume this moment.
“An enigma.”
“What?” I ask, losing track.
“You Grace, are an enigma.” He bends forward, his breath whispering softly over my neck.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do. There’s something about you, Grace. Something you hide. What is it that scares you? Tell me.”
His questions fill me with a fresh, nauseous wave of memories. “I’m no enigma, Riley.”
He eases back, sighs. “At work you’re confident, you sparkle. But away from it you’re scared, shivering inside like a lost, little child. What is it that scares you, Grace? I want to know the story. Your story.”
Realising my fingers had lost feeling after paddling for so long, I shrug his questions away. They require answers I’m not ready to give. Not prepared to give. And if I let him take the pain away, I’d crumble in his arms.
And I can’t allow myself to need a man.
Especially one like Riley.
After a while he suggests we head back and I agree, because it’s easier than sitting wedged in a kayak with him. Riley suffocates me. Even here, in the open amble of the wandering river, he tricks me with those exasperatingly good looks and the implausible fact that he seems to care.
5
Riley
York St, Sydney is busy. Peak-hour busy. Amid flashing lights and the oily stench of fumes, I push through revolving glass doors with the angry growl of traffic filling my ears. Mum’s late night phone call certainly served Dad well.
“Jilla,” I say, sweeping past his assistant.
“Good morning, Riley,” she answers, a saccharine-sweet smile curling her lips. She lowers the glasses perched on the end of her pert nose, peering at me as I pass.
When I pull open the heavily grained timber doors gracing the entrance to his office, a smug smile seeps across Dad’s face. He rises from the leather swivel chair, pushing it back with a superior, self-satisfied air.
“Riley,” he says, knowing he has the upper hand. “Thought better of your imprudent remarks, did you? Always so impetuous.”
I park myself in a dark leather tub chair. “How do you do it, Dad? Mum does your dirty work now, does she?”
He flashes a cavalier smile my way. “I see you wore your suit.”
I glance over the Armani number dragged from the wardrobe this morning in the semi-darkness. A judicious choice for the occasion, although regret washes through me for acquiescing to mum’s plea for attendance today.
“We’ve got ten minutes, son. Take a look over the documents.”
I briefly peruse the papers he thrusts into my hands, studying the particulars. Divorce case. Wealthy client. Finances vast. Wife seeking to track down funds allegedly stolen by her former husband, cleverly funnelled overseas. Large sums, Dad making a percentage when the cash is located. Sometimes this takes years - best case scenario for Dad - as it stretches out the retainer.
My eyes bulge at the figure on the bottom right of the page. I let out a long, low whistle. “Big money, Dad.”
“A sizeable sum,” he replies, deadpan. “And that’s only part of it.”
“This document’s legit? Because you know how I feel. I won’t be involved in anything spurious.”
“This one’s legit, Riley. She’s bringing her lawyer and the accountant in this morning, which is why I need you here.”
“If it’s legit, why do you need me? You’re more than capable of running this solo.”
“Authenticity, Riley. This is a family-run business. Our family business. A business you’ll inherit one day. Not only is it essential for you to be across this, it’s required. It’s not an unreasonable request. We’re talking colossal money here, son. Titanic. I need you by my side.”
“I have other commitments now. Business interests of my own.”
“The restaurants? I’d hardly call those money-spinners,” he scoffs.
“They’ve done all right for me.”
He looks disparagingly my way as a soft knock breaks the tension. Jilla pokes her head through the door, smiling. “I have the documents, Sir.”
“Thanks, Jilla.” Dad motions with his head toward the desk, where she dutifully places them.
Once Jilla leaves, Dad plunges a second folder of financials into my hands. “Take a look, son.”
I open the leather-clad binder and furrow my brow, indicating disbelief. “When you said titanic, I guess you meant it.”
Dad nods, full of self-importance and fatherly expectation.
I look more closely, scrutinising his face. “So, these documents are real? You give me your word, right?”
“I give you my word.”
For what that’s worth.
I silently berate myself for what I was about to do. “This is the only time I will do this. Once she signs on the dotted line, I’m done. And I’m only here for Mum. Don’t think I’m doing this for you, because I’m not.”
Dad’s eyes contract, absorbing my words. “Don’t start, Riley. You know what’s at stake.” Dad’s intercom buzzes and he sits to answer the call. Jilla’s voice sings through the strain hanging between us. “Mrs Bancroft is here to see you, Sir.”
“Thank you, Jilla. Show her in.”
The door swings open. A stylish, blonde woman in her late fifties enters, clutching a Chanel handbag at her side, leading two black-suited men in her wake. They’re younger, more serious, undaunted by affluence.
Rising, Dad extends his hand, welcoming her. “Mrs Bancroft. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Thank you, Mr Atherton. And you.”
“Please, call me Richard.”
“Thank you,
Richard. And please, why don’t you call me Catherine?”
They exchange smiles of insincerity as Dad takes her hand. Then, only now recalling my presence, he indicates toward me. “Catherine, this is my son, Riley. He will be working on your case. Together we will personally take care of your search.”
“I am most pleased to hear this, Richard. This is an extremely sensitive situation needing the gentle touch of discretion, something I’m sure you’re capable of. I’ve heard nothing but praise for your work.” She looks me over. “Lovely to meet you, Riley.”
“You too, Catherine.”
Two suited men reach forward and introduce themselves. Lawyer and accountant, both stuffy and serious, here to protect Mrs Bancroft’s rights and ensure all avenues are properly considered. Dad’s expression indicates mild irritation at their presence, but he shakes their hands cordially.
“As you are aware, my former husband is an extremely wealthy man. You’ve seen the documentation prepared by Mr Jenner, my accountant.” She gives an intended nod toward Mr Jenner who in return gives a small, tight smile. “And as Mr Rhys-Jones here has informed, I am entitled to at least fifty percent of all property, business interests and assets, as well as the superannuation. Possibly more. I expect you to locate these funds, Richard. But I expect you to do it quickly.”
“Of course, Catherine. We commenced financial tracking last week and already located a small portion. Strangely enough, the money was funnelled into a non-descript bank account in the United States. Of course, the location of this small sum is just the beginning, but you’ll see what we are dealing with. It’s been cleverly hidden, you’ll agree. This is certainly not your typical divorce settlement, and I’ve been a forensic accountant for a very long while.”
I hand over the leather-bound binder still clutched in my hand. Catherine takes it and opens it, glancing over the document. She dips her head, indicating tacit agreement.
Momentarily she lifts her gaze. “And Riley, what is your role? You work closely with your father, I take it?”
