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She adored Luc and Patric, and she knew that they were fond of her, but they weren’t close. When she’d arrived at Bellechier Estate as their foster sister they’d both been at university and living their own lives. To their credit, they had initially tried to connect with her but she’d been distant and wary and had resisted their easily offered comfort and compassion.
Because pushing people away and stuffing her emotions down rather than expressing them was what she had been taught to do. Her father’s motto had always been: Buck up, don’t cry, deal with it. That was just what he’d done when her mother had dumped on him the six-month-old daughter he’d never known about, and she supposed that was the way he’d dealt with life. How well he had taught her to do the same.
After losing her dad at fifteen, it had been easier, and far less scary, to withdraw into the bubble of self-sufficiency and emotional independence she’d created while living with her introverted, just-deal-with-it father. Thirteen years later and that bubble now had the thickness of a Sherman tank.
She’d had some therapy, and had attended sessions long enough to learn that she was ‘emotionally unavailable’—that her father’s insistence that emotions were wrong had, in the therapist’s words, ‘mucked her up’ for life. He had tolerated her only if she was reasonable and unemotional and, despite her foster parents’ encouragement to express and display her emotions, she’d never quite got the hang of it.
Emotions were messy and ugly. Indulging in them, allowing them to be a factor in her life, was like climbing into a small car the size of a sardine can and playing chicken with a F-17 fighter jet. Something was going to crash and burn and it wouldn’t be the fighter jet. No, it was far better to be sensible and safe.
Why was she even thinking about her past? Ally wondered, switching her thoughts back to the task on hand. She was good at that, she thought with a twist to her lips. She could always focus on work...it was the best way to distract herself from the memories and to keep her from thinking how empty her life was. Work was where she found silent companionship, where she felt safe, needed and valued. It was a harmless place to invest time and emotions.
So, Ross Bennett... He wasn’t a celebrity, an actor, a musician or a sportsperson. He was—she glanced at the folder on the seat next to her—an entrepreneur and the creator of a computer game. A computer game that was selling squijillions, apparently.
Ally recalled the conversation at a family dinner a couple of nights ago that had led to her leaving Geneva and heading south.
‘Run it by me again, Luc.’
Luc had tapped the stem of his glass with his finger. ‘Today’s heroes are not always sportsmen or actors or models. There are others who are doing amazing things...explorers, eco-warriors, conservationists.’
‘Titans, pioneers, visionaries...’ Patric added, leaning forward and placing his arms on the table. ‘Social media has changed the way we live our lives.’
‘Computers, gaming, technology.’ Luc snapped his fingers. ‘Entertainment, but not films or music.’ Luc’s face broke out into a smile as he snapped his fingers. ‘That’s it... That’s who I want.’
Oh, good grief, Ally thought, this is going to come out from left of field—far, far left. ‘Who?’
‘Ross Bennett.’ Patric leaned back in his chair and Luc raised his hand to high-five his brother. ‘Well, him and his game.’
‘Win!?’ Patric asked.
‘Win!’ Luc confirmed.
Patric whistled. ‘That’s pure genius.’
Win what? Ally wondered, seeing Luc’s satisfied smile. She exchanged a confused look with Gina, Patric’s wife. ‘Who?’
‘Ross Bennett,’ Luc said, as if she hadn’t heard the first time. ‘Win!’
‘Win what?’ Ally demanded, frustrated. ‘Stop talking in code!’
‘Ross is an ex-London-based entrepreneur who relocated to Cape Town. He is responsible for bringing some of the brightest computer geeks in the world together to create the best-selling computer game...ever. It’s a sports and leisure game called Win! He’s recently been named one of the most influential people in the world under thirty-five. He is also the founder of... Jeez, I can’t remember its name. but it’s some kind of technology think-tank that takes the brightest of the bunch—inventors, visionaries—and lets them work on developing new tech and systems to benefit developing countries.’
Blah, blah, Ally thought, scrabbling in her bag for her smartphone. ‘Yeah, but is he hot?’ She caught the dual rolling of eyes and prayed for patience. ‘He’s selling one of the most iconic brands in the world, hot is the minimum I require!’
‘He’s tall.’ Luc offered.
God save her from cretins, Ally thought, pulling up her search engine and typing his name in. Twenty seconds later her small screen was filled with a masculine, angular face dominated by a long nose and a rather gorgeous pair of hazel eyes. The goatee would have to go, and the highlights in his brown hair would need to be redone or taken out altogether. He wasn’t, looks-wise, in the league of their other ambassadors—although she was, admittedly, making that call on the basis of a couple of grainy photos on a very small screen.
But still...on a scale of one to ten he clocked in at seven, eight... She needed at the very least a twelve.
‘Jeez, Luc, I really don’t think so.’ Ally thought that they needed to play it safe, stick to what was trusted and true. ‘He just isn’t popping for me.’
Yeah, he was cute—but cute didn’t sell high-end merchandise. ‘Look, if you want someone different, who’s related to sports, then I’ll have another list of suitable candidates by morning. Suave, debonair, sophisticated candidates who match the brand.’
‘I don’t want someone who matches the brand. I want someone who brings a little extra. My gut instinct tells me that this is the guy,’ Luc stated, his voice taking on that tone that suggested that he was digging his feet in. ‘He’s a new breed of CEO—part bad-ass—’
Patric leaned across the table to interrupt him. ‘Did you hear about how he walked into a meeting with the boss of the biggest movie studio in Hollywood and then refused to give them the rights to adapt Win! into a movie because they were too—as he later explained— “up their own ass corporate”?’
‘I read that he’s sold the rights to an independent, small company because they understand the vision of Win!. He’s very determined, very focused, and he marches to the beat of his own drum.’
Direct translation, Ally thought, prima donna. Just what she needed.
‘Luc, trust me on this. He’s not the right guy,’ Ally said in her most rational voice. She didn’t work well with people who coloured outside the lines. They confused her.
‘No, Alyssa, trust me,’ Luc responded. ‘I’ve met him a couple of times and I thinks he’s exactly who we are looking for. He’s rich and successful in his own right, even though he comes from a wealthy family. He’s in touch with a new generation of tech-savvy people who have money. He’s charismatic and interesting. I want you to go to Cape Town, meet the guy, and if you still think he’s the wrong choice then we’ll talk again.’
The wrong choice? Ally now thought. Hah! The perfect choice.
Her mobile rang and she glanced down at the name that flashed on the screen. Luc...of course. She slid her finger across the screen and answered the call.
‘Where are you?’
‘Waiting to meet Ross Bennett again,’ Ally replied in a resigned voice. ‘He’s a strong candidate.’
‘I am the man!’ Luc crowed with a loud, undignified whoop. Ally hoped that he was alone in his office and that nobody could hear his self-congratulations. ‘And that is why they pay me the big bucks, ladies and gentlemen!’
‘Yeah, Luc.... You are the man,’ Ally grumbled. ‘Luc one, Ally zero.’
Luc was silent for a minute before he spoke again. ‘Ally, you can’t possibly be upset because I had an idea that panned out...can you?’
‘Maybe a little,’ she admitted.
Luc’s chuckle was warm and affectionate in her ear. ‘You are such a pork chop, kid. We run Bellechier as a team effort—you know this. I might be the CEO but I frequently ask my dad for help and advice. When Patric gets stuck on a design he calls our mother and they talk it through. You can’t find the face and we’re trying to help you out. When are you going to stop taking everything so personally, sweetheart?’
But it was personal. Because if she wasn’t performing at a hundred per cent she was failing them, wasn’t she? They’d given her so much, and since she couldn’t give them what they most wanted—her thoughts and feelings—she gave them what she could—her labour and her loyalty. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise...you’ve done nothing wrong!’
His words were kind but Ally could imagine Luc shoving his hand into his coal-black hair in frustration. She frequently frustrated her very emotionally expressive and intelligent family. Dammit.
She looked for an excuse to end this conversation. ‘I’m just a bit tired, Luc.’
‘Tired, thin...probably undernourished. You’re working far too hard and you are going to burn out, Alyssa. And then Maman is going to kill me!’
Back to this old chestnut... She’d always been thin—that was nothing new. And, yes, she was working hard, but she always had. ‘Luc, I’m fine! How many times do I have to say it?’
‘We don’t believe you...mostly because you look like a panda and you barely touched your food the other night. Are you coping at work?’
Ally’s eyes narrowed as the barman topped up her wine and she sent him a grateful smile. ‘Do you have any complaints?’
‘No, of course I don’t.’
‘Then I’m coping at work.’
Ally heard the long breath he expelled. ‘You are the reason I don’t have a girlfriend, Ally; I spend too much emotional energy worrying about you.’
Ally had to smile at that. ‘Rubbish. You don’t have a girlfriend because you have a low boredom threshold.’
‘That too. Listen, with Ross try your best, okay? Be charming...funny...because despite the fact that you are as prickly as a hedgehog I know you can be both. Je t’adore, Alyssa.’
She wished she could give him those words back but, as always, they stuck in her throat.
‘Bye, Luc.’
Luc disconnected and Ally dropped her phone into her bag. Her brothers: good-looking, smart, kind. Even if she was prepared to get involved with a man, could get involved, she’d probably still be single because they’d set the bar extremely high.
One day maybe she’d feel brave enough to try to find a man who matched up. Maybe one day she’d have the time to try. One day.
But not any time soon.
TWO
‘Something with your wine?’
Ally looked up into those amazing green-brown-gold eyes and her heart kerplopped in her chest again. His caramel-brown hair was squeaky clean and had been left to curl down his strong neck. Even in the low light of the bar she could see the sun-kissed blond streaks and tips. Too natural to have come out of a salon, she decided, and he didn’t seem to be the type to fuss. He’d removed the two-day-old shadow off his face—sadly, in her opinion—and his cargo pants and vivid red tee had been replaced with a very nice fitted pair of dark jeans and a loose button-down black linen shirt, the cuffs of which he’d rolled up his tanned arms.
Oh, yeah...he so had the X-factor and the Y-factor...and the make-her-hum-factor.
‘Ally?’
The way he said her name, in his deep, quizzical voice, had her pulling herself together. ‘Wine... Hi... The wine is fine. Why do you ask?’
‘You were scowling into it.’ Ross slid onto the stool next to her and ordered a beer from the bartender. Then he turned back to her and made a big point of inspecting her from top to toe. ‘You surprise me, Jones. I was expecting another black and white combo. Nice.’
So he’d noticed...good. Changing his perception about Bellechier—that it was snooty and snobby—was her first goal, and that was why she’d deliberately chosen a very different outfit for this evening. He needed to see that their new line was fun and casual and would suit his obviously casual approach to life and work.
So as part of her strategy for the evening she wore the only dress she had brought with her: a short, flouncy cobalt number that was trimmed in black and cinched in at the waist with a funky silver belt. It also happened to come from the new line they were launching in a few months’ time.
This morning she’d wanted to look professional, and had opted for one of her many easy to wear, smart but comfortable outfits that travelled well. But tonight Ross Bennett needed to get a sense of the line, an idea of what they wanted him to promote, so she’d slipped on the dress and teamed it with another pair of kick-butt shoes. She’d just forgotten how damn short it was.
Now she resisted the urge to pull the skirt towards her knees. She was not comfortable in anything that only hit midthigh and felt particularly conscious of the amount of time Ross was spending looking at her legs.
It made her feel squirmy and hot, unsettled. Dammit, she wanted him to think about the line, about business, not her legs.
Ally flushed under his scrutiny. ‘Thank you. This dress is from the new line we’d like you to endorse.’
‘Okay, not what I expected.’ Ross smiled his thanks as his beer was placed in front of him. ‘And that’s a damn nice watch you’re wearing—very unusual. Is it also part of the line?
‘No.’ Ally looked down at the man’s watch that dangled on her wrist. Flipping it around, she touched the face with its very distinctive dial and ran her finger around the oyster-style band. ‘It was my dad’s—the first Bellechier watch he owned. He bought it before he even started working for Bellechier.’
‘Your real dad or foster dad?’
From a flyaway comment of hers he’d remembered that she was fostered. That was impressive, she thought. ‘My real dad. He was CFO of Bellechier for ten years and Justin Smith’s best friend.’
Ross frowned. ‘Justin Smith? Don’t know him. How does he fit into the picture?’
Ally sipped her wine before she explained. ‘Quick Bellechier history lesson: Sabine Bellechier is my foster mum and her great-grandfather established Bellechier watches in the early twentieth century. Sabine was an only child and she inherited Bellechier. She fell in love with the Bellechier Sales Director—Justin Smith. Justin then took over the CEO position and together they expanded into apparel and accessories. Their sons, Luc and Patric, have a double-barrelled surname: Bellechier-Smith.’
‘Ah, okay. I get it.’ Ross nodded at her wrist. ‘So how did your dad die? And when?’
Ally’s mouth dropped open. ‘God, you are so nosy!’
‘Then tell me to butt out.’
‘Butt out,’ Ally shot back, but she couldn’t help but like his straightforward attitude. After the fake politeness she endured day after day it was refreshing.
She leaned back in her chair and played with her belt buckle. The words were out of her mouth before she could haul them back.
‘He died of a heart attack when I was fifteen.’
In a foreign country halfway across the world. But Ross didn’t need to know that—and, besides, she never spoke about those dark weeks after his death. To anyone.
‘My mother left when I was a baby.’
‘That sucks,’ Ross said with no hint of morbidity, which she appreciated. After a little silence he sent her a mischievous look. ‘You can ask me about my family if you want to. I might not answer, but you can ask.’
‘Thank you, but I’m not nosy. And I’d really prefer it if we kept this conversation to the business at hand.’ Mostly because she wanted to ask him a whole bunch of personal questions...which was very, very out of character for her. She’d learnt a long time ago about the notion of quid pro quo.
Ross slapped his hand on his chest. ‘Ouch. Touché.’ He rested his elbow on the bar and pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘So, no personal stuff. Damn, that’s boring. Are we going to talk about clothes now?’
‘No, the campaign.’
‘Ugh,’ Ross replied, taking a long swallow of his beer. ‘Let’s go back to talking about your clothes, then. Specifically these shoes of yours. How the hell do you keep them on your feet?’
‘You’re beginning to sound like you’re slightly obsessed with my clothes,’ Ally said, and made the mistake of slamming her eyes up to his. Green deepened to gold as she watched them heat and she could almost hear his words... I’m obsessed with getting you out of them.
Oh, wait—maybe that was her silently saying, yelling, panting that phrase. But there was definitely heat in his gaze...something she was pretty sure she hadn’t imagined.
Ross just looked at her as she fumbled around for something to say. She was so out of practice with this man-woman attraction thing, Lord, she hadn’t even been on a proper date since who could remember when.
Blow her down with a feather... And that made her imagine Ross drifting a feather over her torso, lower, lower, and following its path with his wicked mouth.
Feeling herself starting to ignite from the inside out, she fumbled for her wine glass, lifted it up to her lips and allowed the icy liquid to slip down her throat. She drained the glass and gestured to the bartender for a refill.
‘I would pay a lot of money to be on the road trip you just went on,’ Ross drawled in a husky voice...a bedroom voice.
‘Uh, yeah...sorry about that.’ Ally shook her head and held up her hand. ‘Would you excuse me for a minute? I need to...take a...Ladies’.’
Ross stood up as she did and somewhere, in a part of her brain that still had some sort of cognitive thinking, she appreciated his manners. Pulling her bag over her shoulder, she quickly walked over to the Ladies’ restroom, slammed the door open and paced the small area in front of the basins.
