The Proposition

by JC Harroway

  He moves away to the other side of the terrace to join his wife, presumably to calm down so he too can get through a simple family gathering. I watch him kiss my sister-in-law and wave to his son in the pool, pangs of jealousy slicing through me, not for his position as CEO that I once coveted above all else. But because he has a life. A rich and balanced life. A life like the one I could have tried to create with Cam, if I wasn’t so caught up in my fear of failure.

  I close my eyes, clarity arriving like a smack in the face. What is failure but evidence that you’ve tried your best?

  Cam’s already said I’m enough for him, just the way I am. No changes, no expectations, no conditions. I touch an earring, the earrings Cam gave me in Singapore, hoping somehow to connect with the man who’s taught me how to love. Properly, unconditionally, and without fear. I located the box last night when I returned home to my dark and empty home. I fell asleep clutching it, the only part of him I had access to. The first thing I did this morning was change my earrings.

  Even if I’ve lost Cam for ever through my own stupidity, I need a fresh reminder every time I look in the mirror. A reminder of everything he gave me. A reminder I’m more than Orla Hendricks, successful CEO. I’m also Orla Hendricks, woman, and I can have a fulfilling, complete relationship as long as I’m prepared to work just as hard at it.

  Not that loving Cam would be hard.

  I gasp. I love him...

  For once my head is as clear as the cloudless blue framing Sydney’s famous skyline in the distance.

  He sees me. The real me. Despite our differences, he wants me. Or perhaps, in all areas that matter, we’re not that different after all. I was just too scared to believe in those qualities. But Cam’s shown me balance. He’s shown me that I can have it all—a job I’m good at and a relationship I want to work equally hard at. For the first time in my life, I want the commitment. I want to devote my time and energy and everything that I am to making us work.

  I want him. In every way.

  My father’s voice interrupts my thoughts. ‘I hope Jensen’s isn’t more than you can handle.’

  I open my eyes with new resolve that has nothing to do with justifying myself to this man. ‘Really? Talking business? This is family time.’

  I look down at the steaks. There’s no way a single mouthful of the delicious-smelling lunch is going to make it past my throat, now I’ve acknowledged my feelings for Cam. But have I left it too late? Have I ruined the only thing in my life that I love more than my work?

  Him.

  ‘I’ve spent the past ten years building my firm,’ I tell my startled father. ‘It’s a well-oiled machine, and even if it wasn’t, it’s only a job, so don’t you worry about whether I can handle Jensen’s. But while we’re on the subject, I’m going to be taking some time off—my personal life is a mess and I’m hoping to rectify that.’ The barest surge of hope wells inside me, in no way diminished by my father’s dismissive grunt.

  ‘I’m not hungry and I have somewhere else to be. Tell Mum I’ll call her later.’ I kiss my father’s cheek and for the first time in years truly see him, see the stress lines, the grey hair and the near perpetual scowl he wears as the toll of his ambition. I want better than that for myself. And, like always, I can have what I want; I just pray I’m not too late to have it with Cam.

  ‘You know, Dad, you should try to find greater work-life balance and support Liam in doing the same.’

  I expect some scathing retort or splutter of anger, but his jaw actually drops and I wish Cam were here to witness the look on his face.

  ‘Oh, and by the way,’ I add, ‘your steaks are burning.’

  * * *

  I pull up outside Cam’s cottage as the sun kisses the horizon. When I climb from my car and hear the faint, rhythmic sound of hammering, I know I’ve found him at last, my body flooding with chills of relief.

  It has taken the rest of the afternoon for me to track him down. He wasn’t at his cold and sterile penthouse—no surprise. I checked the local beach, knowing he likes to surf. I even reached out to the construction company he used to work for, my mounting frustration turning to panic. I finally called a contact in the real-estate industry, someone I made obscenely wealthy last year, begging him to flout the law and provide me with the address of the cottage Cam purchased a year ago.

  I collect the cool-bag full of Cam’s favourite beer from the passenger seat of my car and head down the driveway towards the sound of banging, every nerve in my body firing like the cascade of fireworks we watched over the bay in Singapore only a week ago. As I round the property, ducking under an overhanging eucalyptus tree in desperate need of a hearty prune, I’m temporarily blinded by the last rays of the setting sun.

  Then my vision clears and I’m blinded anew, only this time it’s the sight of the man I love, shirtless, with a tool belt hugging his hips, that scorches my retinas.

  The rear of the property boasts the enviable sea views he showed me on his phone that day in Dubai. A newly constructed deck extends the width of the cottage, and Cam is busy framing up what appears to be a perfect sunroom off the existing living area. I can smell the sawdust before I approach, my head spinning with hopes and fears and what-ifs.

  He’d have every right to turf me off his property. He’s spent the past six weeks building me up, pushing me to be the best version of myself. A whole version. Not afraid to let go, to loosen the reins that have trapped me inside my own beliefs and expectations for so long.

  But can I be whole without him now that I know I love him?

  I must have stepped on a stick or piece of sun-scorched bark from the eucalyptus, because he hears the crack and spins. Sees me.

  His arms fall to his sides, the hammer hanging in his hand. A million emotions pass over his face in the few seconds of silence that we spend staring. If I could stop the wheel spinning on the love I saw yesterday at his penthouse I would, but there’s no sign of it.

  Did I kill it for good? Am I too late?

  I hold out the cool-bag, my arm trembling. ‘I thought you might like a cold beer. It’s your favourite.’

  Still he stares.

  I swallow, my throat parched.

  He sniffs, tucks the hammer into his work belt and looks back my way. ‘Why are you here, Orla?’

  I try to un-hear the accusation and hostility in his question. It’s not unreasonable after the way I treated him. As if he didn’t matter. As if he wasn’t important. As if he isn’t the very reason my heart beats.

  ‘You invited me.’ My voice is small. Where is my smiling, devil-may-care Cam?

  He smirks, shakes his head, but it’s an expression of disbelief. ‘That was before.’

  Before I hurt him. Before he tried to tell me how he felt and I shut him down.

  ‘You threw my invitation back in my face, along with my dreams for us.’

  His words are like shots from the nail gun I see on the new deck. ‘I know, and I want to apologise. You were right about me. My life isn’t enough.’

  I take a shuddering step forward and then halt when the expression on his face stays blank and cold. I put the cool-bag down on the grass.

  ‘I want those dreams, Cam. I want you.’

  He looks away to the horizon and I crumple a little more. I’m blowing this, allowing my one chance to slip through my fingers. I lift my chin, willing him silently to look back at me with every cell in my body.

  Our eyes meet, just like that first time in Monaco, only now I love this man about whom my first impressions were so wrong. ‘I want this dream, Cam. The cottage, waking up to the sunrise, sitting by your side on that deck to watch the sunset. I know I said I didn’t want a relationship, but that was because I was scared that I had some vital emotional piece of me lacking. Scared to try. Scared to fail. Scared that I’d be nothing without my career because that’s all I’ve had, all I’ve been able
to control for so long.’

  ‘So what’s changed? I’m still the same me I was yesterday. The same me you didn’t value enough to give a chance.’ He hooks his thumbs into his worn leather tool belt in a way I’m certain he’s done a thousand times, and my body jolts, because I want to be there to see him do it a thousand times more. To watch him build this cottage, his dream, and to help him build many more dreams of our shared future.

  ‘Nothing’s changed, or everything.’ I twist my hands together. This isn’t going well. ‘I know I’m not making sense. But I spoke to my father earlier, and I realised something. Well, I realised lots of things, actually. But the most important ones were that I don’t care what he thinks. I only care about proving something to you.’

  ‘I told you last night. You never have to prove anything to me—’

  ‘I do.’ I step closer, urgency driving me, although his sphere of personal space vibrates around him like a force-field, keeping me at a distance. ‘I need to prove that I love you, because I know I’ve hurt you and it’s my biggest regret—that and letting you go in the first place. Thinking I could live without you.’

  He still looks wary, even as his eyes latch on to mine, penetrating and searching.

  ‘I know you won’t believe that I love you for a while, but I’ll keep trying, keep showing you until you’re convinced.’ I pop one hand on my hip and push my sunglasses up onto my head so he can see I mean business.

  ‘I mean it, Cam—you know how driven I am when I want something. You, multi-billion-dollar deals...it’s all the same to me. I won’t give up.’ My weight shifts from one foot to the other, despite the confident spiel. I wish he’d say something, even if it’s Get off my property. Anything to break the tension.

  I’m about to turn away in defeat when he says, ‘You’re wearing the earrings.’

  I’m so focused on breathing so I don’t collapse that it takes me a moment to understand. ‘What? Oh, yes.’ I touch the earring again, the intricate gold filigree reassuring under my fingertip. ‘I wanted a new reminder. Every time I touch these, every time I look in the mirror, I want to remember you, remember all the moments, incredible moments we shared. Because that’s the life I want, Cam. A life filled with incredible, joyous, sexy, fun-packed, simple moments. With you.’

  My pulse roars in my ears.

  He stares, unmoving, his beautiful eyes expressionless.

  And then, with his strangled grunt in my ears, I’m dragged into his arms, his big, strong, comforting arms. I’m pressed against his bare, sweaty chest, which is all dusty with sawdust, and I’ve never felt more at home. His mouth covers mine, and I curl my fingers into his hair, never wanting to let him go ever again.

  I pull away from the kiss, keeping a hold of his face. ‘I’m sorry. Thank you for challenging me, showing me I can be whoever I want to be. I can re-invent myself and break free of my own cage.’

  He grips my shoulders. ‘You’re wonderful, just the way you are. I love you.’

  I kiss him again and he pushes me back by the shoulders. ‘Thank you for putting everything into perspective. You showed me I’m not defined by my inheritance, that I can rule it, rather than it ruling me.’

  ‘You’re not your father, Cam. It’s just money. It’s this,’ I wave an arm in the direction of the cottage, his labour of love, ‘and this,’ I press my palm flat on his chest, over his heart, ‘how you live your life, how you use your inheritance to make a difference—that’s who you are.’

  We kiss again and this time when we pull apart we’re both laughing, joyous, thrilling laughter I want to hear and feel every day for the rest of my life.

  ‘So are you going to show me the cottage or not?’ I put my arms around his waist and rest my head against his chest, feel the steady thump of his heart.

  My heart.

  His voice rumbles from deep within his chest. ‘Sure, but there’s nowhere else to sit apart from here.’ He points to two dusty, paint-splattered deckchairs on the lawn, perfectly positioned to watch the sun rise and set.

  I look up, lift my eyebrows, new pangs of envy making me pout. ‘Two? Had company, have you?’ The thought of anyone looking at my man while he’s shirtless makes me form fists. I might have to erect a privacy fence until he’s finished the cottage.

  He tucks me under his arm, kisses the top of my head and leads me towards the house with a chuckle. ‘My cousin’s been helping me.’

  ‘The one you sent the car to?’

  He nods.

  ‘Good, because from here on in, that second deckchair has got my name on it—I’m going to enjoy spending the summer watching you sweat shirtless and get splinters I can kiss better.’ I lift his hand to my mouth and press a kiss over his fingertips.

  ‘Is that right?’ he says, his mouth twisted in that way that makes my blood sing and my insides clench in anticipation. He leads me through the demolished kitchen and down the hall to the cooler rear part of the house. He kicks open the last door. It’s a bedroom, a single camp bed is pushed up against one wall, and Cam’s tuxedo from last night hangs from a rusty nail on the back of the door.

  I turn, already mentally undressing him as I undo the buttons of my blouse, making it clear what I propose we do with the rest of the night.

  ‘What about my beer?’ He pops open his fly and heels off his work boots, his heated stare tightening my nipples to hard peaks.

  I smile at my man. ‘It’ll keep. Let’s take a moment.’ And I kiss him, flopping backwards onto the narrow mattress and tugging him down on top of me.

  EPILOGUE

  Cam

  THE NEW YORK M CLUB’S ballroom is packed with partygoers, every member dressed to the nines and in festive spirit. It’s the biggest gathering of immense wealth and beautiful, glamorous people I’ve ever seen—twice the size of the Masquerade Gala in Sydney—but I only have eyes for one woman.

  My woman.

  I watch her talking to Imogen Carmichael, her exquisite face animated and her eyes dancing with the reflection of a million fairy lights scattered throughout the ballroom. She carries herself with the same grace and poise as the first time I saw her, perched on a stool at the casino in Monaco, only now she’s relaxed. She smiles more, laughs more, and waking up with her every morning is a privilege I’ll never take for granted.

  She’s taken her first holiday in five years. As promised, she’s spent the summer sitting on that tatty deckchair watching me work on the cottage while she drinks my beer. She even comes surfing with me sometimes. The only time she complains is when I put my shirt back on. She told me yesterday that my working semi-naked helps her to think.

  She catches my eye, winds up her conversation with Imogen and slinks my way, so by the time she reaches my side the only thoughts in my head are how quickly I can get her out of here so I can love her the way I want to.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ She slips her arm around my waist and tucks her body into my side. ‘Tell me now, because I think I know that look on your face.’ She presses her lips to my neck with a sexy little hum.

  I smile down at her and bend low to press an all too brief kiss on her lips. ‘I was wondering what you think about when I’m shirtless.’

  Her eyes dance. ‘Well, duh, the same thing half of Sydney thinks about—ways to get you out of the other half of your clothes, of course.’ She laughs, rises up onto her tiptoes and kisses me back. ‘You know you’re becoming quite the celebrity, right?’

  She’s talking about the changes I made to the construction company I once worked for after I bought it and the training school I set up to give apprenticeships to youngsters who need a break in life.

  ‘Well, you showed me how to let go of my resentment. I think he’d approve of how I’m using it,’ I say of my father, the remorse in my voice causing Orla’s eyes to shine with love and support.

  ‘Of course he would. Opening new hosp
ital wings you’ve sponsored, delivering brand-new equipment to the local surf lifesavers, planting trees. You’re always splashed on the front of some newspaper or magazine these days, usually shirtless. I think he’d prefer it if you wore a shirt though.’ She pouts, mock censure on her beautiful mouth.

  I roll my eyes but I can’t help smiling at her teasing. ‘I was shirtless one time, Orla. One time. And that was only because I was trying out the surfboards.’

  She laughs, a lovely tinkling sound I never grow tired of hearing. ‘Oh, don’t worry. If I had this body,’ she runs her hand over my abs and up to my chest, ‘I’d want to show it off all the time too.’

  I put my arms around her waist and hold her close. ‘You’re doing just fine with the body you’ve got. Trust me.’

  Our exchange turns heated, X-rated, non-verbal communication passing between us in that way couples do when they know exactly what the other is thinking.

  ‘Want to get out of here?’ she asks, her voice smoky with lust. ‘I have a surprise for you.’

  ‘Yes.’ It’s a no-brainer. The chemistry, the bond we share, shows no signs of letting up; if anything it gets stronger every day. And I have a surprise for her too.

  My Christmas present.

  The cottage is almost finished and it’s hers. I signed over the deeds today and the key feels heavy in my pocket. Excitement joins the slug of potent, almost incapacitating desire I always feel in Orla’s company, desire made stronger by whatever is putting that gleam in her eyes, because I know she’ll always keep me on my toes.

  We make our way out of the ballroom, stopping briefly to say goodnight to one or two friends. Instead of heading for the exit, she leads me towards the club’s private rooms.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  She unlocks one of the doors, her small smile knowing. ‘I thought we could spend the night here.’

  Inside, the room is intimate and romantic and exactly what she deserves after weeks of sleeping at the cottage with me because she knows I’m more comfortable there than at the penthouse. Of course, we upgraded to a double camp bed, but she deserves a little luxury after weeks of sawdust, dodgy plumbing and unreliable electrics.