The Last Guy She Should Call

скачать книгу бесплатно


‘Maybe I was crying because my parents, my sibling and everyone close to me left me to spend the weekend in jail when they could’ve bailed me out any time during the day on Friday. The party was on a Thursday night.’

‘Your parents wanted to teach you a lesson,’ Seb replied, his voice steady.

Rowan stared at the electronic boards above his head. ‘Yeah, well, I learnt it. I learnt that I can only rely on myself, trust myself.’

When she dared to look at him again she saw that his eyes were now glinting with suppressed sympathy. Then amusement crept across his face. ‘Yet here you are relying on me.’

‘Well, all good things have to come to an end,’ Rowan snapped back.

She was so done with being interrogated, and it had been a long time since she’d taken this amount of crap from anyone.

‘So...’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Hooked up with any gold-diggers lately?’

Annoyance replaced sympathy in the blink of an eye. ‘Sending me those sunglasses when you heard that we’d split was a very unnecessary gesture,’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘I know, but I thought you might need them since you finally saw the light. It took you long enough.’

‘Very droll.’ Seb’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

‘Still annoyed that flighty, fey Rowan pegged your ex’s true characteristics and you didn’t?’ Rowan mocked, happy to shift the focus of their conversation to him.

‘Remind me again as to why I didn’t leave you to beg in Jo’burg?’

‘You wanted to torture me. So, are we done biting each other?’

‘For now.’

* * *

As the traffic began to move Rowan watched Seb weave his way through the slower-moving vehicles to speed down the fast lane.

‘Has the traffic got worse?’ she asked when Seb slammed on his brakes and ducked around a truck. Her hand shot out and slammed against the dashboard. The last vestiges of colour drained from her face. ‘Sebastian! Dammit, you lunatic!’

Seb flipped her a glance and then returned his attention to the road, his right hand loosely draped over the steering wheel. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘The problem is that you missed the bumper of that car by inches!’ Rowan retorted, dropping her hand. ‘The traffic hasn’t got worse—your driving has!’

Seb grinned. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit early in our relationship to start nagging?’

‘Bite me.’

Seb flipped the indicator up and made a production of checking his side and rearview mirrors. He gestured to a sedan in front of him. ‘Okay, brace yourself. I’m going to overtake now. Here we go.’

Rowan sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘You are such a moron.’

Seb ducked around another sedan, and flew across two lanes of traffic to take the exit. Rowan leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes and thought it was ironic that she’d crossed seven lanes of motorbikes in Beijing, a solid stream of tuk-tuks in Bangalore and horrific traffic in Mexico to die in a luxury car in her home country at the hands of a crazy person.

Rowan sat up and looked around as they drove into a more upscale neighbourhood and she recognised where she was. ‘Nearly ho... there.’

‘Yep, nearly home. And, despite your inability to say the word, this is still your home, Ro.’

‘It hasn’t been my home for a third of my life,’ Rowan corrected, thinking that she had a twitchy heart, a spirit that was restless, a need to keep moving. Coming back to Cape Town broke made her feel panicky, scared, not in charge of her own destiny. She felt panic well up in her throat and her vocal cords tighten.

Seb’s broad hand squeezing her knee had her sucking in air. When she felt she had enough to breathe she looked at his hand and raised her eyebrows. Then she pulled her eyebrows closer together when she clocked the gleam in his eyes, the obvious glint of masculine appreciation.

‘You’ve grown up well, Brat.’

Bemused by the sexual heat simmering between them, she tried to take refuge in being prosaic. ‘I haven’t grown at all. I’m the same size I was at eighteen—and don’t call me Brat. And take your hand off my knee.’

The corners of his eyes crinkled. ‘It worked to take your mind off whatever you were panicking about. You always did prefer being angry to being scared.’

Seb snorted a laugh when she picked up his hand and dropped it back onto the gearstick.

‘Have you developed any other serious delusions while I’ve been away?’

‘At eighteen...’ Seb carried on talking in that lazy voice that lifted the hair on her arms ‘...you wore ugly make-up, awful clothes and you were off the scale off-limits.’

Rowan, because she didn’t even want to attempt to work out what he meant by that comment, bared her teeth at him. ‘I’m still off-limits.’

Seb ignored that comment. ‘Is that why you are still single at twenty-eight...nine... What? How old are you?’

‘Old enough to say that my relationship status has nothing to do with you.’

‘Relationship status? What are you? A promo person for Facebook?’ Seb grimaced. ‘You’re either married, involved, gay or single. Pick one.’

Rowan snorted her indignation. ‘Gay? For your information, I like what men have. I just frequently don’t like what it is attached to!’

‘So—single, then?’

‘I’d forgotten what an enormous pain in the ass you could be, but it’s all coming back.’ Rowan turned and tucked herself into the corner between the door and seat. At least sparring with Seb was keeping her awake. ‘And you? Any more close calls with Satan’s Skanks?’

She hoped the subject of his ex-fiancée would be enough of a mood-killer to get him off the subject of her non-existent love-life.

‘You really didn’t like her.’ Seb twisted his lips. ‘Was it a general dislike or something more specific?’

There wouldn’t be any harm in telling him now, Rowan thought. ‘She was seriously mean to Callie. I mean, off the scale malicious.’

Seb’s eyes narrowed. ‘I thought they got along well.’

‘That’s what she wanted you to think. She was a nasty piece of work,’ Rowan said, staring at the bank of dials on the dashboard. ‘I really didn’t like her.’

‘I would never have guessed,’ Seb said dryly.

‘My “money-grabbing” comment didn’t clue you in?’

‘It was a bit restrained.’ Seb’s tone was equally sarcastic. ‘Your efforts to sabotage our engagement party were a bit subtle too.’

‘What did I do?’ she demanded, thinking that attack was the best form of defence. ‘And why would I do it since I was looking forward to you being miserable for the rest of your life?’

Seb slid her an ironic glance. ‘Apart from spiking the punch with rum? And turning the pool that violent green that totally clashed with the puke-orange colour scheme? And placing a condom on every side plate? Anything I’ve missed?’

Rowan dropped her head back on the headrest. ‘You knew about that?’

‘I had a good idea it was you.’ Seb’s lips twitched. ‘Okay, hit me. What else did you do?’

‘Nothing,’ Rowan replied, far too quickly.

‘Come on, ’fess up.’

Well, he couldn’t kill her now. She didn’t think...

‘I put itching powder in your bed.’

Rowan felt as if she wanted to dance to the sound of Seb’s laughter. Despite her now overwhelming fatigue, she noticed the scar bisecting his eyebrow, the length of his blond eyelashes. Man, she wanted to link her arms around him, curl up against him and drift off.

‘Ro, I knew about that too.’

He spoke softly and Rowan felt both warm and chilled, her nerve-endings on fire.

‘Luckily we had a fight after the party and I chose to sleep in the spare room...she itched for days.’

‘Good.’ Rowan grinned and fought an enormous yawn. ‘You had really bad taste in women, Seb.’

‘She wasn’t so bad. And if I didn’t know any better I’d say you sound like a jealous shrew.’

‘You really should give up whatever you’re smoking.’

Rowan lifted her nose. As if she’d be jealous of that waste of a womb. Seb might be a thorn in her side but he was her thorn in the side—and Callie’s, obviously. Nobody else was allowed to treat him badly. Especially not some lazy, stupid... Oh, dear God, the old oak tree was still on the corner of their road.

And there¸ through the trees, she could see the redbrick corner of Awelfor.

‘No, don’t panic. Just breathe. It’s only a house, Ro.’

His house. And next door was her old home. And a life she didn’t want to go back to—a life she’d outgrown a long time ago.

Seb turned into his driveway and parked in front of a new rectangular automated gate. While he waited for the gate to slide open he looked at Rowan, his blue eyes serious. ‘Stay the three weeks, spend some time with your parents, and then I’ll loan you the money to fly anywhere in the world.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I think it’s long overdue.’

Rowan shook her head, suspicious. ‘How much time, exactly, must I spend with them?’

Seb looked frustrated. ‘I don’t know! Make an effort to see them—have dinner with them—talk to them and we’ll have a deal.’

It was too good an offer to pass up. It wasn’t ideal but it was a solid plan of action. If she got some money together before that she’d go sooner... No, she couldn’t do that. She was here. She had to see them. To leave without saying hello would be cruel, and she wasn’t by nature cruel. Three weeks. What was twenty-one days in the scheme of things?

Twenty days too long in this city, her sarcastic twin said from her shoulder.

‘I’ll pay you back.’

Seb grinned. ‘Yeah, you will. Yasmeen is on holiday and we’re short of a housekeeper. You can start tomorrow: shopping, cleaning, laundry, cooking. You know what Yas does.’

‘Are you mad? I’m not going to housekeep for you!’ Rowan protested.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t—she’d worked as a maid before—but she wasn’t going to pick up after Seb and his ‘we’.

‘We’re? You said we’re short of a housekeeper? Who else lives here?’ Rowan demanded. If he had a live in lover/partner/girlfriend then she’d just go and sleep on the beach.

Seb steered the car up to his elegant house. ‘Patch has hit a hiccup with his current girlfriend and has moved back into the second floor of the cottage.’

Oh, thank goodness. She didn’t know if she could cope with Seb and any ‘significant other’.

‘So, housekeeping in exchange for your bed and food?’

‘S’pose,’ Rowan reluctantly agreed, thinking that she was jumping from the frying pan into... Well, the third level of the hot place.

* * *

After lugging Rowan’s luggage up to Callie’s old bedroom Seb finally made it to his office—the bottom floor of the two-bedroomed cottage Patch had moved into—temporarily he hoped! His workaholic staff worked flexible hours, so he was accustomed to seeing them at work at odd times, and Carl, his assistant/admin manager, like his hackers, was still around.

Seb listened to Carl’s update and accompanied him into what they called the ‘War Room’. The huge room was windowless, and a massive plasma TV attached to the far wall was tuned to MTV at a volume level that made his ears bleed. He picked up the TV remote that stood in its cradle on the wall and muted the volume. Two male heads and one female head shot up and looked in his direction.

His hackers needed junk food, tons of coffee and music. Deprive them of one of the three and he had their immediate attention. Seb walked into the centre of the room and rapidly scanned the long row of screens where computer code rolled in an unending stream. He read it as easily as he did English, and nodded when he didn’t immediately pick up any problems.

‘Anything I should know about?’ he asked, folding his arms.

He listened while they updated him on their individual projects—testing the security of a government agency, a bank and a massive online bookseller—adding his input when he felt he needed to but mostly just listening while they ran their ideas past him. There was a reason why he’d hired all three and paid them a king’s ransom: they were ethical, super-smart and the best in the field.

Nearly, but not quite, as good as him.

Seb wrapped up the meeting, left the room and headed for his office, which was diametrically opposite to the War Room. There were computers—five of them—with a processing power that could run most Developing World countries—but his office had lots of natural light, a TV tuned to ESPN, an en-suite bathroom and a door directly linked to the gym. Although he nagged and threatened, his staff members rarely used the up-to-date equipment.

Seb tossed his car keys and mobile onto his desk, hooked his chair with his foot and pulled it over to his favourite computer. Having Rowan return with her battered backpack and her world-weary attitude made him think of his mother and had him wondering where she was laying her head these days. He checked on her once or twice a year—with his skills he could find out exactly where she was, how much money she had and pretty much what she was up to. He’d first tracked her down when he was sixteen and he’d found her passport and identity number on a supposedly coded list—ha-ha!—on his father’s computer.

His fingers flew across the screen as he pulled up the program he’d written specifically to let him track her. Within minutes he found out that she’d drifted from Peru to Brazil and then moved around a bit within that country. She was currently in Salvador and running seriously low on funds.

He experienced the usual wave of resentment and anger, wondered if he was a hundred types of a fool—after all, what had she ever done for him?—and then transferred a thousand untraceable dollars into her account. It was less than petty cash to him, and if he didn’t do it he’d lie awake at night, wondering what she’d have to do to dig herself out of that hole. She was, after all, his mother.

Rowan was in pretty much the same position, he thought, and he wondered how she’d come to the same point. He looked at his screen speculatively and thought that with a couple of clicks he could find out exactly what had happened to bring her home. He had everything he needed: her passport number, her bank details. He could, by inputting a line of code into that program, see her travel movements and everything she’d ever purchased with a credit or debit card.

It was that easy.

He’d done it before—not for five years at least, but once or twice a year before that, when her parents hadn’t heard from her for a while and her father had asked him to take a peek. He’d skim over the information, not particularly interested, and report back that she was in London or Perth and reassure them that she seemed to have enough money to cover her costs. There were big deposits and big withdrawals, but there was always a savings account with excess funds. He wondered why she hadn’t had one this time...