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‘I wish there was an easy answer to that.’
‘It’s pretty black and white when it comes to finances, Ellie. What’s going on that you’re not telling us?’
How could she tell her best friends that her mother had gambled away their savings on a horse race? Well, on several horse races and one greyhound race if she’d got her facts right, but it was all the same in the end. No money to pay the loan on the studio. A decline in the economy meant they’d lost a chunk of their student body when their parents could no longer afford added extras like ballet tuition. Then there were the ongoing costs for her mother’s medication, the fact that she hadn’t been able to go back to work...
‘Let’s just say it was a perfect storm.’ Elise sighed.
‘You know I hate it when you shut me out.’ Jasmine pushed back on her chair and picked up her bag.
‘Lucky for me you two put up with all my crap.’
The girls filed out of the café and into the summer air. A cool breeze danced across Elise’s bare arms and caused the hairs to rise. She had a very bad feeling about her meeting with Col...a very bad feeling.
* * *
By the time Col left his last meeting for the day he was drained, in desperate need of a stress-relieving workout...and he was late.
He’d known this trip wouldn’t be an easy one. He wasn’t even sure why his father had him listed as the executor of his will. It wasn’t as if he’d had anything to do with the man for the last decade of his life. Now he had to spend his precious time—time he should be using to prepare for a huge opportunity for his company—digging around a house he never wanted to visit, looking for paperwork so he could settle up an estate that was worth nothing...probably less than nothing by the time he subtracted the lawyer’s fees.
‘Dammit.’
He jogged to the rental car from the shiny office building, pulling his tie loose with one hand and dialling Elise’s number on his mobile with the other. She hadn’t exactly given him her number but Col’s assistant was a skilful detective, and shortly after he’d requested Elise’s number it had appeared in his inbox.
The phone rang once, twice, three times—‘Hello?’
Her husky little voice was enough to light a fire in his blood and tighten the front of his trousers. He was looking forward to seeing her far more than was healthy.
‘It’s Col.’
‘How did you get this nu—?’
‘Never mind that. I’m running late.’ He unlocked the car and slid into the leather seat. The car was stuffy from sitting in the sun and the leather warmed his skin through the thin cotton of his trousers.
‘Shocker.’
‘Let’s catch up near the hotel. That way I can duck back and have a quick shower before we meet.’
‘I don’t believe I actually agreed to meet you.’
‘Tell me you’re not already dressed up and waiting for me.’ Silence on the other end of the line confirmed he was right. ‘I’ll see you there.’
‘You do realise that sounds suspicious as all hell.’
‘It’s not a ploy, Ellie. I really want a shower...though you’re free to join me if you feel like saving on your water bill.’
‘Where are we meeting?’ She wasn’t going to bite...unfortunately.
‘That little bar under the bridge on Southbank. It’s the one—’
‘I know which one it is.’
‘See you there in an hour?’
Click. He’d take that as a confirmation.
An hour and a half later Col arrived at their meeting place and looked around for Elise. The open-air bar was attached to the bridge that ran over the Yarra River. Only in Melbourne would you find a bar suspended above water, with crates for seats and footsteps of the thriving nightlife above. But if there was a nook, an unused space, a seemingly pointless alleyway, Melbourne would find a way to put a café or a bar there.
He’d missed that when he was in New York, though not as much as he’d missed a certain feisty blonde.
A flash of emerald silk caught his attention. Elise sat perched on a stool with a drink in her hand, behind her the lights of the city dazzled in winking shades of yellow and orange. The green of her dress shone against creamy, bare skin. He had a weakness for her in that colour, and he’d told her so frequently. There was something about green in any shade that caused her skin to glow as if she were a naked flame.
The dress hugged her curves but draped modestly where it counted; a small side split in the knee-length skirt taunted him with a sliver of thigh. Her hair was carelessly piled on her head, the river breeze ruffling it out of formation, and two emerald-coloured stones hung from her ears.
‘You’re late,’ she said, a half-empty cocktail in front of her. ‘Later than when you originally rang.’
‘I’m worth the wait.’ He dropped down to the stool next to her and motioned for the bartender.
‘Hardly,’ she said, but the flicker of her tongue against the corner of her glossy pink lips gave her away. That tongue had given her away before.
Col fought the urge to dip his head to hers and pull her tongue into his mouth. This was supposed to be about business. An unexpected wave of guilt rocked in his stomach—so much for all those journos who said he was cold as a New York winter. He still had the capacity to know when he was doing wrong by someone.
‘You look amazing.’ Okay, so maybe some of it wasn’t about business.
The corners of her lips pulled up into a forced smile. ‘Are you going to tell me why you dragged me out here?’
‘Why don’t we catch up first?’ He accepted the tumbler of soda water from the bartender. He didn’t need any alcohol affecting his judgement tonight, not when Elise seemed to do that so effectively on her own. ‘It’s been a while. What have you been doing with yourself?’
‘I’ve been keeping busy.’ She sipped from the edge of her glass delicately, her eyes fluttering closed as she savoured the liquid. He’d brought her here because he knew for a fact that they made a good Manhattan.
Part of him was comforted by the fact that her favourite drink hadn’t changed. She shifted on the bar stool and her dress moved, exposing more of her slender thigh. A gold anklet winked at him from the delicate joint of her ankle; he had an almost uncontrollable urge to run his tongue along the length of it. Enough!
‘Seriously, tell me what’s happened since I left. I’m interested.’
‘In the last five years?’
‘Has it been that long?’ Funny how half a decade could pass when you were sticking your head in the sand.
‘It most certainly has.’
‘And we’re both now responsible adults and entrepreneurs.’
She scoffed. ‘I would hardly call myself an entrepreneur, especially around you.’
‘You’re running your own business, doing well for yourself.’
‘And if by doing well for myself you mean running my business into the ground...’ She frowned, tipping her head back to enjoy the last mouthful of her drink.
‘The GFC has been rough on everyone, Ellie. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’
‘Sure looks like it affected you. Do you have to fly Economy now?’ Sarcasm was her defence of choice, another thing that hadn’t changed.
He drew his mouth into a line. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him, that was for sure. But he always found himself attracted to her ferocious will. Besides, having her at arm’s length would be a good thing. He couldn’t afford to get too emotionally tangled with Elise Johnson. The woman had a way of breaking his heart without even trying, and Lord knew he had enough emotional baggage when it came to rejection.
‘So what have you been doing with yourself, Mr Forbes Young Rich List?’ She gestured to the bartender to bring her another drink. A river cruise boat drifted past them.
He grunted. ‘God, I hate that label.’
‘You should be proud. The Old Rich List is so passé.’ Her voice was teasing but there was a hard glint in her twilight eyes.
He cringed. ‘You know I don’t keep up with trends...unless they involve a circuit board, that is.’
‘Seems to me like you managed to use your status to have a little fun after you moved.’
‘How so?’ He frowned, instinct telling him he was about to walk into a trap.
‘I happened to be reading the paper a while ago and saw a rather compromising photo of you and the daughter of a certain rival technologist.’
Ah, so they were back to this again. Despite what the gossip columnists made out, Col usually ensured any ‘itches that needed to be scratched’ were done so with the utmost discretion. No supermodels, movie stars or society darlings for him. Until he met heiress Tessa Bates, though she had been going under a false name on the night he met her. She turned out to be rebelling against her father and had scouted Col out on one of his ultra-rare public appearances. He’d walked straight into her trap and now there were pictures of him naked on her supposedly private balcony that would haunt him for the rest of his days.
‘You seem rather preoccupied with my sex life.’ He attempted to redirect the conversation.
‘Hardly,’ she scowled.
‘Well, that’s the second time you’ve mentioned it in as many meetings.’ He leant forward on his stool, his knees knocking against hers.
She stiffened. ‘Who you sleep with is up to you.’
‘Well, it was a mistake in any case.’ He shrugged as though it bothered him less than it did.
‘What about you? Are you seeing anyone?’
She pondered his question for a moment. ‘No. I don’t have time for messing around at the moment.’
‘I thought you told me all work and no play made for a dull existence.’
She wrinkled her pert, upturned nose and changed the topic. ‘So tell me, what is it that you think I can help you with?’
‘That’s it? After five years you give me a two-minute catch-up?’
‘It was hardly two minutes.’ She shrugged, unflinching. ‘But it’s more than you deserve.’
Col drew a long breath; he’d known this moment would come. The one where he’d need to open himself up and admit something that had plagued him since childhood. For someone who’d worked with the toughest investors in the world, the sharpest minds in the technology industry and the most vulture-like journalists, he shouldn’t have any fears left. But he did. This one was buried so deep that it had rooted itself into the core of who he was. It was unshakable, unsurpassable. And he needed to confess it to Elise, the one person left in the world that he still admired.
‘I have a very important event coming up, a conference.’ He cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink. ‘I’ve been invited to be the keynote speaker and I need to give a presentation on the way technology is shaping the fitness industry.’
She shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know why you think I can help you out with that.’
‘I need someone to help me prepare for the speech, not in terms of the speech itself but in terms of getting up on stage in front of all those people.’ Even saying the words sent a trickle of ice-cold fear down his spine. ‘You’ve performed your whole life. You know how to deal with the nerves, the stage fright...’
‘Are you seriously telling me you’re frightened of public speaking? You, Col Hillam, CEO, New York lady-killer, technological wunderkind, are afraid of an audience?’ She rolled her eyes.
Heat crawled up his neck. It was hard enough to admit that he was afraid of something, especially when she stared at him open-mouthed like that. Anger prickled the back of his neck, making his fingers curl around his glass.
‘We’re all afraid of something, Elise.’
‘Yes, but you’re...’ She threw her hands up in the air, grappling for words. ‘Don’t you broker deals all the time? Don’t you spend your life networking and selling your business?’
If only. He was known as something of a recluse in the industry. He could handle meetings, of course, but he avoided networking whenever he could...especially the personal kind. In fact, this was the first time he’d sat in a bar with a woman in... He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been on a date. Not that this is a date, he corrected himself, shoved the thought aside.
‘It’s different.’ He squeezed the glass so hard he thought it might shatter. Forcing out a breath, he put the glass down and placed both hands on his knees, a technique he often used when he was feeling out of his depth. Perhaps he should have ordered something stronger than soda water after all.
‘How is it different?’ She seemed...suspicious. Did she think this was a ploy so he could get close to her?
‘Being in a boardroom with ten people is fine, I can handle that. I know what I’m doing. I go hard, I’m aggressive and I win. But being up there with all those eyes watching while they wait for you to make a mistake...’ His chest clenched, his breath came faster.
* * *
Wow, Col Hillam was actually scared of something. His chest rose and fell, the muscles pressing against the thin cotton of his lightweight blue shirt. His neck corded with each inhalation, lips pressed tight together, jaw clenched.
At first she’d wondered if this was his way of forcing her to spend time with him. Perhaps it was some made-up scenario that allowed him to get close to her without committing to anything. It seemed likely, since fleeing the country was his MO. But the light beading of sweat along his hairline and the white-knuckled grip he had on the rustic wooden table in front of them told a different story.
‘I’m sure you could afford someone who specialised in public-speaking phobias to help you—’
‘No.’
He barked the word out, drawing curious stares from the couples around them. Elise tilted her head, watching as his eyes narrowed. He was even more striking since he’d lost the youthful fullness in his face. The slopes and curves had been replaced by hard angles and sharp edges. A faint smattering of dark hair peeked out of the open collar of his shirt, the pushed-up sleeves revealing strong arms. Even his eyes looked harder; their faded blue—like worn denim—was hiding something.
‘You’re doing yourself a disservice, Col. Get some professional help. I’m just a ballerina.’
‘You’re the only one who can help me.’
He reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it, his thumb tracing the ridges of her knuckles. Her breath stuck in her throat as she looked at him. The furrowed brow, the serious eyes, the grim slash of a mouth were all too familiar.
‘You’re the only one who knows me well enough to help me get around this problem.’
Memories flooded her; she’d managed to shut them out for so long but they came roaring back when he touched her. Ten-year-old Col on her doorstep, arms black and blue with bruises, face set into a hard mask of fury. No tears; there were never any tears. He’d asked if he could stay the night and she’d let him in without a word. He’d stunk of the alcohol his father had splashed on him. She’d held him until they both fell asleep, till her father found them lying in front of the fireplace the next morning. She was the only one allowed to comfort him, the only one he’d allow within touching distance. Even Elise’s brother, Rich, who’d been Col’s best friend since kindergarten, wasn’t allowed that close.
‘I can’t help you.’ The memories swirled, unsteadying her.
He gritted his teeth. ‘Please, Ellie.’
She couldn’t fix people that were broken; she’d learnt that the hard way. She tried and tried and tried, but eventually they either left or retreated so far into themselves that she might as well have been alone. The last time she’d tried to help Col she’d failed, and then he’d left. She was now trying in vain to drag her mother down from the brink of oblivion on a daily basis. She wouldn’t put herself in that position again.
‘I’m sorry, you’ll need to find someone else. I’m not the right person to help you.’ She shoved aside the empty cocktail glass and grabbed her bag from the table.
Weaving through the crowd, she dodged the waitress with a tray full of drinks and the other patrons until she found the staircase that led up to the bridge. When the night air hit her burning cheeks she sighed with relief. Distance, that was what she needed. If she could avoid Col while he was in Australia then everything would be fine.
THREE (#uc4ddb125-c884-5c1f-a75c-aa80130f01a2)
