Australian Boss: Diamond Ring

by Jennie Adams

  ‘Alex, Alex. You look a mess.’ Rose made a tutting sound. ‘Get those clothes off and take a shower!’ She had a large carrier bag in one hand and headed for the kitchen with it while the men all sort of shuffled their feet and stood there. ‘Well? Get going, Alex. I want you back out here by the time I’ve heated the chicken soup.’

  Fiona stifled a smile in her chin, but Brent caught the edge of it as she turned her head.

  ‘Rosa lives close to here,’ he said, as though that explained everything. And then he fell silent.

  Alex dutifully disappeared to shower. Linc filled the silence with his questions. What had happened? Was Alex truly okay? Had he honestly had appropriate medical attention?

  When the youngest brother reappeared, Fiona couldn’t help her words, either. ‘Were you cut?’

  ‘No cuts, just some bruises and, like Brent said, some singed bits. My hair, mostly.’ He gave a weary, cheeky grin. ‘I hate that. I have to look good for the girls, you know.’

  Fiona laughed.

  Rosa got a glint in her eyes and said she’d take care of Alex’s hair problem. She fussed until Alex sat on the couch, and then put a bowl of fragrant soup into his hands with the promise that she would wield a pair of scissors on his behalf shortly.

  The woman was a treasure. Fiona could understand why all three men valued their ‘cleaner’, who obviously had a wonderful mother’s heart towards all of them.

  ‘I’ll be fine now.’ Alex’s embarrassment at being fussed over was clear on his face. ‘Really. You should all go back to work, and Rosa, you don’t have to stay. I might…I’ll have a sleep or something.’

  Somehow, Fiona doubted that, but she understood from his expectant expression that he hoped they would all clear out of there now.

  ‘I will stay all afternoon.’ Rosa indicated her cavernous bag again. ‘I brought my knitting. I’ll call you at the office, Brent, if anything worries me.’

  ‘Right. Thank you. It’s been a few years since we did this, hasn’t it, Rosa?’ Brent smiled and gripped his youngest brother on the shoulder. ‘Just put up with being fussed on, okay? At least Rosa knows how to do that properly.’

  ‘Yes, do take care, Alex.’ Fiona turned with Brent.

  As she turned away, Linc took his brother in his arms and dropped a kiss on the top of his head, as though he were a small boy, and as quickly pushed him away again.

  It hurt, somehow, observing the love they all shared, the depth of it. The guardedness that went with it, and the reasons for that guardedness…

  Because they’d been institutionalised. Because they’d been abandoned by the ones who should have loved them.

  Brent had more to contend with than being autistic. His father’s rejection, a whole history of things. Could he ever get past it all?

  Did she want him to reach for that with her?

  No. Of course not…

  Because wanting that would be stupid, Fiona!

  Anyway, Brent and his brothers treated Rosa’s involvement in their lives as something exceptional and, in truth, what little involvement might they have had with women overall in any caring capacity over the course of their lives?

  Could any of them be capable of that kind of love with a woman? Be able to learn how to give and receive it?

  The thoughts were a little too deep for comfort—

  And Brent hasn’t given any indication that he is emotionally invested in you at all!

  Nor was she invested in him that way. After all, it wasn’t as though she loved Brent or anything. She liked him. She was aware of him as a man. Those were enough complications, thanks very much, and they’d drawn their lines anyway, so that was that.

  With last words of advice to the man who really did not want to be an invalid but looked as though he needed to take care of himself for at least the remainder of the day, they all left.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘ALEX recovered without any difficulties, which is wonderful. He was very brave to go in to help all those people inside the building.’ Fiona was in a coffee shop in the city with her mother and sisters. It was after working hours, Friday, a regular gathering for the women in her family, though it was a long time since she’d been invited along.

  This time she’d invited herself and in a gap in the conversation had started to explain about her new job, her progress now she’d been there a while, how much she was enjoying the work. That had led to an account of Alex’s involvement in the warehouse fire, but she’d lost them some time ago, really. The disinterest was on all their faces, and the joy went out of the telling for Fiona.

  She had tried so hard during this gathering to make all the right connections, to make it clear how much she loved Mum and Kristine and Judy. And she had hoped to get something back other than their usual Who is this alien among us? response, but she hadn’t.

  Brent had told her he had work over this way for this afternoon. Fiona had made the decision to try one last time to connect with her family, if Brent didn’t mind her taking that final hour out of her working day.

  He hadn’t minded, of course.

  Well, her efforts had been a waste of time so far.

  Fiona fell silent.

  ‘I heard your old job at the Credit Union might be coming vacant again.’ Her mother took a sip of her latte and examined Fiona over the rim of the cup with an expectant expression that was so devoid of any grain of true understanding of her daughter that Fiona stiffened all over before she could stop herself.

  ‘I hope they find someone good to fill the vacancy.’ She squeezed the words out somehow. Maybe it wasn’t fair of her to feel that her mum and the others hadn’t paid enough attention while she’d talked about her job, her employer and his family.

  The difference being—your mother is trying to force you back into a mould more to her liking than the one that actually fits you.

  Brent would be drumming his fingers if he were here. Fiona wasn’t sure how she knew that, she just did.

  Mum looked at her watch and gathered her handbag into her lap. It was a signal that she intended to leave, and Fiona sighed. She’d be standing outside waiting for Brent for a good ten minutes if they left now.

  ‘Before you go, Mum, I brought you a birthday gift.’ Fiona reached for the wrapped painting beside her chair and placed it in her mother’s hands. She’d put her heart into the painting for her mother. A landscape of soft restful colours that would match the decor in her mother’s living room. ‘I know your birthday isn’t until next week, but I wanted you to be able to hang it on the day—’

  ‘You are somewhat early.’ Her mother peeled back an edge of the wrapping. She glanced at the corner of painting revealed—less than a ten centimetre area—and covered it over again. ‘Oh, it’s one of your pictures. I don’t know what I’ll do with it…’

  Hurt washed through Fiona. The urge to pull the painting out of the wrapping, explain it, point out its meaning and tell Mum the time and effort that had gone into it was strong. But she couldn’t make her mother appreciate something like that.

  Her efforts weren’t ever going to be good enough, were they? Because they were different, and no one in her family wanted different. Fiona had tried to ignore and gloss over that fact for a very long time. How much more had Brent been made to deal with these feelings over his father? How could Fiona hope Brent would ever reach out for more when he had that hurt to contend with?

  And, yes, a part of her had apparently secretly longed for that kind of connection with her boss…

  Fiona forced a smile and stood as they all stood. She dutifully paid for her lunch at the register with them, and watched them hustle off in their different directions the moment they emerged onto the city street.

  Her chest hurt. Right down inside where she’d been trying so hard for so long to ignore the fact that her family weren’t exactly warm people when it came down to it. Well, they weren’t. Not to her and, in reality, not to each other, either. It was just that they all felt perfectly secure in
that emotionally stunted environment, while Fiona felt insecure and left out. At least she could now admit that fact to herself.

  ‘Fiona?’ Brent’s hand closed over the ball of her shoulder and his head bent to hers. ‘I’m early. I thought I’d have to wait for you.’

  ‘I didn’t see you there.’ She hoped he hadn’t seen too much inside her in those unguarded moments just now. She didn’t want to be caught feeling sorry for herself. She didn’t know how to address what had just happened and where it put her in terms of how she felt about him either. ‘You finished your business?’

  ‘Yes. It didn’t take as long as I’d estimated. I’ve been window-gazing since then.’

  Fiona tipped up her chin and pasted a smile to her lips. ‘Well, thank you for waiting for me. I’m ready to go now. Thanks for bringing me over with you so I could do this.’

  ‘It was no trouble.’ His voice was deep. Too deep. The kind of deep that said he sensed there was something amiss in her and that he cared about it.

  That one grain of caring, not even openly expressed, went straight to that same hurting place inside her, and Fiona felt caught off guard all over again. She turned her head so he wouldn’t see the emotion in her eyes. Instead, she started to walk blindly back towards his truck.

  They walked the half block in silence and she used the time to try to pull herself together. She thought she’d done all right, too, until Brent spoke.

  ‘So are you going to tell me, or do I guess?’ They’d climbed into the truck, but Brent hadn’t started the engine. He rested his hand on the steering wheel and searched her face and just…waited.

  ‘Mum took a corner of the wrapper off the painting, glanced at it, covered it back up and made it clear that a more practical gift might have been good.’ What was the point of hiding the facts from him? He’d already worked out something was wrong anyway. ‘She also wasn’t impressed that I pre-empted the actual date of her birthday by a week. Nothing I do “fits” with my family, I’m afraid. I’m too different from them and they can’t accept that about me.’

  ‘It was a good painting and it had your heart in it, and early birthday gifts are nice.’ Brent’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel and his head twitched once, twice before his mouth tightened and he said, ‘Your mother should have liked it. She just should have—’

  ‘Like your father liked and accepted all of you?’ Fiona glanced towards the street at the small throng of people queuing to enter a nearby restaurant dance club. ‘My family are all practical and they have a hard time relating to me because I’m…not, in a lot of ways. My choice of gift didn’t appeal. I should have anticipated that fact and chosen something different. Next time, I will.’

  She drew a tight breath. ‘But, you know, I learnt a lesson just now. There are limits in my family. I have to accept that. It’ll be easier for me in the future if I do.’

  ‘That’s not a lesson someone like you should ever have to learn.’ His mouth was tight, angry and protective for her sake. ‘You’re soft, kind. You deserve for them to love you like they should!’

  ‘Yet Charles’s treatment of you has put you in the same place, only much more so. It’s impacted hugely on core parts of your life, your outlook, what you’ll—’ She’d been going to say reach for but stopped herself.

  Brent’s expression was a combination of surprise, discomfort, comprehension and a certain kind of need that made her want to hold him for ever.

  She wanted to bury herself in his touch and hold him and forget all of the world for a while. Because those feelings were intense and based in emotions she felt towards him that were far from safe and that he had denied her from himself, she did her best to let the topic go. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. We should go.’

  Brent hesitated before he gestured towards the club in front of them. ‘Actually, do you feel like a meal? We’re a fair way from home, and Linc’s been to that club. He said the seafood is good. Fresh as an ocean breeze.’

  If there had been even a hint of pity in his expression now or earlier she would have turned him down.

  But there was only the desire to prolong their time together, even if he did feel uncomfortable about the need to do that.

  And Fiona felt just restless enough to consider his offer, even if it might not be a smart thing for her to do. At least he wanted her company!

  ‘Are you a seafood fan?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ He nodded. ‘Crab, lobster, prawns, mussels, you name it.’

  ‘Then, yes. Dinner would be nice. Just because…we are quite a way from our homes and it’ll be late when we get back.’ They could spend time together and, no matter how guarded he was, he would never be cold like her family. And right now Fiona did long for warmth…

  ‘Then we’re agreed.’ Brent felt the corner of his mouth kick up as he spoke the words. He was pleased, whether he should be or not.

  But he wanted this time with Fiona. Just to be there for her, to be beside her while she adapted to this next step in the road when it came to dealing with her family. Brent could do that for her.

  And for yourself? Have you adapted to Charles’s rejection? Or have you just been avoiding it all this time?

  Fiona bit her lip as though she wondered if her response had been too enthusiastic. But she’d said yes. Brent wasn’t letting her off now.

  So what if they ate a meal together? Tonight she needed company. He could be that for her. Why not?

  ‘We’re still in our work clothes,’ Fiona pointed out, but it didn’t matter.

  Brent wore tan trousers and a navy shirt, and Fiona was in one of those silky, swirly skirts of hers and a pink blouse that hugged her curves. She looked—

  ‘I guess we’d do, wouldn’t we?’ Her eyes shone with the beginning of anticipation. ‘Unless you’ll need a tie to get in…’

  ‘I most likely will.’ He reached over her and popped the storage compartment and drew out a navy tie, held it aloft. ‘Emergency supplies. It’s Linc’s. He’s always got his eye out—’ He broke off and cleared his throat. ‘He sometimes borrows the truck.’

  He wasn’t sure, but he thought Fiona hid a smile before she reached for the tie and gestured for him to lean forward. ‘I’ll do this for you, if you like.’

  Brent liked.

  The feel of her fingers against his neck as she tied the tie and settled it into place, patted it with an expression of satisfaction and an edge of consciousness of him.

  Yes. He liked that, and he liked that she’d done it without thinking about it, let herself have the moment because that was part of what was inside her, a spontaneity and ability to reach for what she truly wanted.

  You shouldn’t be happy if you think she really, truly wants you, MacKay. You should be worried about that and backing off.

  Brent’s brows drew down. He threw his door open and got out. This die was cast. They were going in. He didn’t want to psychoanalyse it or overrate it. He just wanted to do it.

  Minutes later, they’d entered the club and been shown to a dining table near the edge of the dance floor. The floor was empty, but Brent could imagine what it would be like later with people dancing. He could picture Fiona there, could imagine every movement, every motion as she gave herself to the beat.

  ‘Seafood for two? There’s a few different ones.’ Fiona turned the menu to show him.

  They bent their heads over the list until a waitress came along with her pad and a stub of pencil and her grey apron tied tight over fitted black jeans.

  ‘This one.’ Brent pointed to their selection, adding a distracted, ‘Thanks,’ as he turned his attention back to his—to Fiona. She wasn’t his date.

  No? Then what was dinner and dancing if not a date? And since when had he suddenly started to assume there’d be dancing for them?

  A small slice of warning actually got through to him in the moment he asked himself that question. His body tightened in reaction to the corresponding tension that formed inside him.

  But the reaction settled do
wn a moment later, and he glanced up and smiled at Fiona. She seemed happier. That was the main thing, wasn’t it?

  Brent’s gaze locked with hers and a silent communication passed between them that made Fiona’s skin tingle and her breath catch in her throat. She had so many conflicting emotions right now. Disappointment over her family, thoughts about Brent’s situation, happiness for being in his company, warning bells because of that same happiness.

  He’d drawn back the last time. That night when he’d kissed her. He hadn’t wanted…

  And if he wanted now? Would she also want? The emotional risk of letting herself care about him when she wasn’t certain he truly could feel the same? If he was attracted to her on some level, but in other ways wasn’t, did she want to have to deal with that?

  As though there’s a choice, Fiona? As though you can decide whether you want to have feelings for someone or not.

  That system had worked for her until now. She’d thought she was safe. She was safe. This was just tonight, a one-off thing. He’d asked her because he empathised over her mother’s behaviour, and it was dinner time, and they still had travel ahead of them. There was nothing remotely romantic about any of that.

  And, yes, Fiona might like to speak with him about his own situation, try to get somewhere with that, because she was getting more and more convinced that he hadn’t addressed it. Not truly.

  ‘You love music, don’t you? It’s deep down inside you.’ Brent’s words broke through her reverie.

  She realised she’d been swaying in her seat, and smiled and gave a slight shrug. ‘I do love music. All kinds from all eras.’

  His gaze narrowed as he absorbed this information. Then their meal arrived and Fiona laughed at the sheer size of it, and he gave a wry grin.

  ‘Don’t say we’ll never get through it. You haven’t seen the amount of food I can put away.’ His fingers toyed with the lobster-cracking tool at the edge of the tray. ‘I don’t think you noticed there wasn’t a shred of food left by the time we left the house in the mountains after our hiking and painting trip.’