Breaking the Bro Code

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‘Last thing, we keep our focus.’ She dragged her lower lip between her teeth, pausing as if figuring out the correct words to use. ‘I don’t want to talk about the past, I don’t want to ask any questions and I don’t want you to give me any answers.’

His chest ached as if a great, big gaping chasm had split it in two. She wanted to forget that she’d practically saved his life, that she was an integral part of who he was...what he’d become. Suck it up, you left her. Deal with it.

‘Okay?’ She stretched the word out, her grey eyes fixed on him.

‘Okay.’

She nodded, satisfied. ‘Then I’ll help you.’

Relief flooded through him. ‘I’ll have my legal adviser draft up a contract with the terms of our agreement and outline how much I’m willing to pay for your services.’

‘Fine.’ She waved her hand to dismiss him.

Clearly ‘keeping focus’ didn’t include talking financials. He rubbed a hand along his jaw, studying her until she caught his steady gaze.

‘I still find all this strange, you know. I mean, haven’t you done interviews and press conferences before?’

He should have. He’d sold his first computer application at twenty-two, subsequently creating and then selling a start-up company to a technology giant just three years later. He’d been the youngest person to make a million dollars off a company that was less than a year old—though the record had now been broken by a pair of sixteen-year-olds from California.

There had been a lot of media interest at the time of the sale, but he’d staunchly refused interviews and it had become something of a distinguishing feature as his career had grown. One paper had gone so far as to label him ‘the CEO hermit’. In many ways, he knew it was bad for his career to be so media-shy...and this conference was his opportunity to prove to himself that he could conquer his fears. That he was taking steps towards greater success. That he’d moved on from being the charity case he was in school.

‘I tend to focus on what’s important, and that’s building innovative technology.’ He shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth. ‘Not hamming it up for the press. This conference, however, is a great opportunity for my company...so I’m going to do it.’

A cold drip of fear trickled down his spine. Thinking about hundreds of eyes being locked onto him while he stood on stage, the lone occupant of a bright spotlight, was enough to make his chest compress in on itself. His breath became shallow, the muscles in his neck stiffening. Suddenly his breakfast didn’t seem so appealing.

‘I guess you always were a bit of an introvert growing up,’ she conceded, bobbing her head. ‘You were always fiddling with your computers, playing video games. I guess all your passions were indoor activities.’

He didn’t bother to argue; the reason he’d started tinkering with computers in the first place was because he needed something to do to pass the time while his bruises were at their most prominent. Wrinkling his nose, he pushed his plate away from him. He needed to change the topic. Fast.

‘You even helped me indulge some of those indoor activities.’ He made no effort to hide the teasing in his voice.

A flicker of emotion passed over her face, gone as quickly as it appeared. She pushed her breakfast around her plate with her fork; she’d barely touched it. ‘Must be a different life now, having to deal with so many people instead of being holed up on your own.’

‘It is,’ he said. ‘I can’t just think about myself any more. I have a team to lead. They rely on the success of the company, and I have a very big part to play.’

‘I bet they look up to you.’ A soft smile pulled her lips up and for a moment she was lost in her own thoughts.

‘They do.’

Yes, the mask he wore for his team was a good one—solid, practised, comforting. He’d started young, putting on a brave face for the teachers, the doctors, the Johnsons. Being a leader was a learned behaviour, but to the untrained eye it appeared as natural to him as putting his clothes on in the morning. Luckily for him, no one knew what was going on inside...no one except Elise.

FOUR (#uc4ddb125-c884-5c1f-a75c-aa80130f01a2)

‘You agreed to do what I said.’ Elise planted her hands on her hips and tried to stifle the curve of a wicked smile on her lips.

Two flint-like blue eyes stared back at her with such an intensity she could have sworn they were about to fire lightning bolts at her. Col’s breath came rapidly, his chest rising and falling within the confines of his grey T-shirt. Muscles bulged as he crossed his arms tight across his chest.

She stood her ground, staunchly refusing to look at how incredible his body was. It was those biceps; they were a damn distraction!

‘This is ridiculous and pointless and...cruel.’ He looked at the group of little girls who were bouncing up and down on the spot, amusing themselves by babbling to one another and trying to point their ballet-slippered feet.

‘If you can’t stand to be in front of a group of four-year-olds, who don’t understand the concept of judgement, then how can you get up in front of a room full of your peers or your competitors?’

‘This is absolute bull—’

Elise silenced him with a look.

‘Bull...poop.’ He glared at her. ‘And you know it.’

Okay, so perhaps sticking Col at the front of her class full of four-year-old ballet students had the benefit of personal amusement. But she had warned him: if he wanted her help then she was in charge. End of story.

‘If you no longer require my services feel free to leave.’ She held her hand out to the door, calling his bluff.

‘What about the mothers?’ He gestured to the viewing window where several of the students’ mothers milled around, watching the class and talking amongst themselves. ‘Would they really want a man in here with their kids?’

She smiled sweetly, relishing having the upper hand for once. ‘Oh, I got their permission. They’re totally fine with it.’

Defeated, he gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders, facing the class. Good boy.

‘Okay, class,’ she began in her best teacher voice. ‘Today we have a special guest joining us. This is my friend, Col, and I want you to make him feel very welcome. He’s going to be helping me run the lesson today.’

One of her students jabbed a chubby finger in Col’s direction, her cherubic face pulled into a suspicious scowl. ‘You don’t look like a ballet teacher. Where are your ballet shoes?’

Elise’s eyes dropped to the floor. Col’s bare feet stuck out from the frayed hems of his worn jeans. He rocked up onto the balls of his feet so that his heels left the floor. Her eyes travelled back up, skimming over the denim that hugged his muscular thighs like a second skin. His T-shirt was fitted, tight enough to hint at the perfection beneath but not tight enough to look self-serving.

Col shrugged. ‘I’m starting a trend.’

The little girl peered at him and then seemed to accept his answer, turning her face to Elise as if to say: okay, you can start now.

‘We’re going to start with our tendus.’ Elise clapped her hands together to get the attention of her class, most of whom were more interested in twirling on the spot than completing the set exercises. ‘Ready, one, two...’