by Paula Roe
When Cal’s gaze landed on Emily, she returned it with a polite smile before opening her notebook, ready to take notes.
Her familiar cool professionalism was like a shot of Valium in the arm.
“Where are you staying?” Cal asked.
“The Park Hyatt on the Quay.”
“Nice.” Silence fell, and awkward seconds stretched by until Cal finally said, “Are you free on March the fifteenth?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m getting married. Attempt number two,” he added with a self-deprecating smile.
“What happened to—?” Zac clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t need to know.
“You didn’t see the write-up in the papers?” At Zac’s curt head shake, Cal looked oddly irked. “Ava fainted, got taken to hospital. We’re putting it off until after the baby’s born in January.”
The automatic refusal fizzled on the tip of Zac’s tongue, his hesitation furrowing Cal’s brow.
“Congratulations, Mr. Prescott,” Emily automatically responded, her fingers flicking through her schedule book. “Zac, you have a meeting on the thirteenth—” to her credit, when she looked up and caught his expression she didn’t even stumble “—but that’s not confirmed,” she added diplomatically.
“You’re going to turn me down again?” Cal said in disbelief.
What the hell was going on? Cal’s thunderous silence over the years had screamed everything words couldn’t. And now in the space of a few months, he’d not only called twice but was inviting him to his wedding again?
Then Victor strode in and all conversation ground to a halt.
Like all great businessmen, Victor Prescott commanded the room by his mere presence. “Reputation, authority, attitude and entitlement—make like you have them and people will give you respect,” he’d always said. Zac swallowed heavily. He couldn’t remember a time when Victor’s little decree of wisdom hadn’t been on the tail end of every life lesson, every business deal he’d made.
The sour pill of irony was that he’d called upon it more times than he cared to remember these last three years.
Yes, he was free of all that tension and conflict. Yes, he knew who he truly was. But that didn’t stop the suffocating expectation from surging up to tighten his chest and quicken his breath.
“Dad,” he said now, forcing his voice into neutrality.
“Zac.” Victor made a point of leaning over the table and offering his hand. Zac returned the handshake, then sat back down.
“Look, I have a meeting this afternoon,” Zac said without preamble. “So I’ll make this quick. You’ve got me here. What do you want?”
Victor paused, his eyes going from Zac then to Cal, who gave him a faint nod.
“I told you—as soon as you sign the papers, you’ll be VP Tech’s new CEO. Of course, you’d start as cochair on the board,” Victor said, ignoring Zac’s scowl. “Then, after six months’ probation, getting to know the business, our products and clients, you’ll take on the position of CEO. That means you’d—”
“Hang on,” Zac lifted an impatient hand, then glared at Cal. “You actually meant what you said last Thursday?”
At Cal’s nod, Zac speared Victor with his gaze. “You’re CEO. Where are you going?”
“It’s time I took a step back.”
No way. “You’re retiring?”
“Sort of.”
“Victor…” Cal began, but paused as Victor stared back. Something passed between the two men, then Victor finally let out an aggrieved sigh.
“I had an operation a few months ago. I’m fine now,” Victor shrugged off Zac’s look, “but the doctors advised I should cut back on my hours.”
“I see.” Zac looked to a suspiciously silent Cal. “And what about you?”
“Cal has a family to think of,” Victor said coolly. “He doesn’t need the pressure or stress.”
And I bet that just pisses you off. “And I do?”
“Zac,” Cal began, but his younger brother’s glare silenced him.
“After all those years,” Zac said, “those brutal hours working yourself half to death, you’re passing up the top job?”
The look on Cal’s face was unreadable. “As Victor said, I have a family now.”
This was unbelievable. “So you both thought I’d fall over myself to step into the breach? That I’d embrace this opportunity to return to the Prescott fold?”
He couldn’t—wouldn’t—hide the sneer in his voice. Latent anger bubbled up, burning his throat. Once he’d desperately needed his father’s approval, but Victor’s lies and manipulation had pushed him over the line. Way, way over the line.
Zac had walked away from it all without a drop of guilt.
I can’t go back to that.
He rose swiftly, back rigid. “No. Find someone else.”
“Zac!” Victor rose too, preventing his escape with one swift step forward. “At least think about it. You owe it to—”
“Don’t. Say. Another. Word,” Zac ground out as the past swirled his vision, shrouding it in a patchwork of shadow and bright, painful light.
“You’re a Prescott whether you like it or not,” Cal said calmly behind him. “It’s part of who you are. So is this company.”
Zac spun back, a dozen furious comebacks tangling his tongue before he chewed them down. “That was your dream, Cal. I never wanted it. And I’m sure as hell not going to be guilted into it.”
And then he stalked out the door, Emily close behind.
As the elevator glided down, Emily chanced a glance at Zac. She’d known this meeting was the last thing he’d wanted, but the struggle now etched on his face spoke of so much more.
He took a deep breath, then another. If that was her, she’d be a quivering mess on the floor. Not Zac—he dealt with conflict, breathed it out and then moved on. He didn’t let things get to him, which was why he was so perfectly comfortable in his own skin.
It was a quality that fascinated as much as it attracted.
As the doors slid open, Zac surged forward, long strides devouring the corridor. Yet as they made their way toward the exit, he gradually began to ease up. First, his rigid back and tense shoulders loosened an inch. Then, that furious march turned into his familiar rolling gait. When he nodded goodbye to the front desk, his jaw had relaxed. Finally, as the doors swooshed open and they stepped out onto sun-filled Berry Street, whatever lingering traces that remained had fallen away.
“We’re meeting with the Point One team in an hour,” she reminded him.
“Good.” He glanced at his watch, then at his mobile as it started to ring. He pocketed it. “Let’s get going.”
“Zac! Wait up.”
They both turned as Cal emerged from the glass doors, breaking into a jog to catch up. “I need to talk to you.”
Emily glanced at Zac. He gave her a quick nod, his expression stiffly cautious. “I won’t be a minute.”
Zac waited until Emily had reached their car parked a few spaces down before he turned back to Cal. “I thought I made myself clear upstairs.”
Cal pocketed his hands and shifted his weight. “Very. And I don’t blame you.” His surprise must’ve shown, because Cal let out a small laugh. “You don’t think I know how Victor operates? Do you have any idea of the crap he’s been dealing out these past few months?”
“Yeah, thanks for including me.”
“Don’t be a smartarse. Whatever Victor’s faults—and we know he has many—he’s had a rough time. He—”
“I don’t want to know, Cal. I left all this behind, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Yes, you did.”
Irritation flared at Cal’s subtle jab. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You left—not once but twice. The first time I get—you were eighteen, you’d scored a place at that university in Sweden. You needed to do stuff for yourself, to stand on your own feet. But the second time, after you’d graduated, you were home one week, gone the next. No calls,
no e-mails. What the hell do you think I’d think?”
Zac scowled. “Would it have changed anything? You were on Victor’s side, you always were—”
Cal’s foul curse snapped Zac’s brow up. “You’re my brother, Zac. You owed me an explanation.”
“Victor thought I owed him, too, and look how that turned out.” Cloying memories wound their way around his chest, choking his lungs. “And hey, if we’re laying the blame here, why didn’t you pick up the bloody phone before now and call me?” He snapped his head back to the car, refusing to feel guilty about the fleeting remorse twisting Cal’s face. “I’ve got to go.”
“Zac…”
He turned and marched off toward the car, toward Emily, and away from the gut-wrenching emotions of his past.
Four
Seven. That’s how many times Zac checked his phone, then ignored the call. Throughout their two-hour meeting with the Point One Sydney team in the hotel’s private meeting room, Zac’s attention had been distracted by that phone, which was so unlike him.
“Are you okay?” she asked casually when the meeting finally broke up and she began gathering up the files.
“Huh? Yeah. Fine.” He firmly stuck his phone back in his pocket. “Do you have any questions so far?”
“Not yet. Thanks,” she added when Zac relieved her of the document bag, hefting the long strap onto his shoulder. “We have our site inspection at four—shall I order lunch up?”
He nodded absently, his mind a thousand miles away, and Emily wondered if his thoughts were on the business at hand or still stuck back at VP Tech.
When she returned to her suite, his mood had rubbed off, dimming the enjoyment of room service, distracting her thoughts as she went over the paperwork again.
Finally, at three o’clock, she gave up. As she leaned back in the couch, pulled the band from her hair, then smoothly retied it, a sudden thought occurred.
The laptop glowed back at her. I could just…
No. She slammed the computer closed and crossed her arms. Zac had never discussed his family, which meant that part of his life was off-limits. She wasn’t about to violate that trust now by trawling through the Internet in search of salacious—and probably highly inaccurate—details.
Yet thanks to this morning, her curiosity had begun to grow.
She’d never seen Zac so wound up, barely able to keep a lid on his simmering anger, which meant something major had happened. Something big enough to make him walk away from his family.
She rose, suddenly restless, and stalked over to the huge sliding doors that led onto the balcony. The tinted glass warmed her palms, a familiar sensation that brought to mind another time, another place. Another kind of heat.
With her forehead resting on the smooth window, she allowed herself a brief moment of indulgence, a moment to recall Zac’s mouth, his scent. His ability to make her forget everything in her past and just be. With him.
Finally, she straightened, dragging a long breath in. Enough. She’d been appalled at the thought of Zac digging around in her life. Getting involved in his family problems was unprofessional. It had nothing to do with her.
Nothing.
When they reconvened in the foyer at three-thirty, she was relieved to see Zac back to his normal self. Yet even as they talked work during the entire drive to Potts Point, Emily still found herself thinking increasingly unprofessional thoughts during the lulls.
She was worried about him. This thing with the Prescotts had gotten under his skin, affecting him in a way she’d never seen before. The most difficult of clients hadn’t elicited even half the reaction he’d given this.
“We’re here.”
As Zac pulled up into a space, Emily’s gaze automatically went to the window.
Building plastic and chipboard covered the ground floor. Leaning forward, her gaze went up…and up, and up. From what she’d read, the complex was twenty-five stories high, twenty levels of private apartments, a fourth-level gym and indoor pool, a laundry level, three more for businesses, and a ground floor restaurant, coffee shop and café.
And Zac had put his faith in her to launch this to the Sydney public.
“Coming?” Zac was on the sidewalk, peering steadily in at her.
“It’ll be full-on getting it all ready by December.” She scrambled out, barely faltering as he rounded the car to take her bag.
“Yep.”
“Long hours, late nights…” She smoothed her jacket then retrieved her bag from him.
He nodded. “For a while, yes.”
Irritation threaded her blood, her partly demolished wall teetering as one brick reappeared with a solid thunk. “I’ve drafted a preliminary list of requirements—staff, budget…”
“Sure. E-mail me when it’s finalized.” He swept one arm toward the service entrance. “They’re meeting us in the penthouse suite.”
Emily straightened her shoulders and nodded. She’d said yes to this job, had given her word. It wouldn’t be forever. Even if she couldn’t get into Queensland University by second term, she’d still end up repaying Zac by then.
You can do this. You’ve honed professional to a fine art. You’re an expert at focusing on work.
And she would not stress about Zac Prescott.
As the Sydney team made their way through the freshly painted top-floor penthouse apartment, Emily studied them again, filing away their names and positions for future reference. The structural engineer, the acoustic consultant, the fit-out specialist. But it was Sattler Design, Sydney’s leading brother-and-sister interior design duo, that captured her attention. Steve and Trish Sattler were walking, talking ex-cover models—Steve with rangy good looks and artfully messy hair that only added to his urban sophistication. He was a perfect foil for Trish, with her long, glossy mahogany mane and big brown eyes that frequently focused on Zac with entirely too much interest.
Zac, to his credit, didn’t pick up on that, instead conducting himself as professionally as always. She had to give him points for that, if not for the way he didn’t entirely discourage Trish’s overly friendly body language.
Her boss was unlike any man she’d met: trustworthy, honorable, loyal. She actually liked him, which was saying something. He couldn’t help it if all those attributes oozed a “come here” aura that attracted women of all ages.
She glanced up from the schematics just in time to catch Trish’s look. She was studying Zac’s profile with almost lustful relish, a small smile hovering on her lips. When she caught Emily looking, she merely raised one eyebrow, giving her a woman-to-woman smile. Without acknowledging it, Emily returned to the plans.
Point proven right there. Another ex-girlfriend-in-training. She fielded a handful of those calls each week.
From the twenty-fifth floor they went systematically down, addressing outstanding issues until they ended up in the plastic-covered foyer of a soon-to-be authentic Balinese restaurant.
Meeting over, Emily shook everyone’s hand with a smile and a nod. From the corner of her vision she watched Trish approach Zac.
“I just wanted to thank you for this wonderful opportunity, Mr. Prescott,” she began, a wide smile on her perfectly made-up mouth.
“Zac, please.”
“Zac.” She practically purred out his name. Emily narrowed her eyes as she checked her phone messages.
“Sattler Design’s reputation precedes you, Miss Sattler.”
“Trish, please.”
Trish, please, Emily mentally mimicked, scrolling through her calls with single-minded intent.
“Are you free for dinner? Steve has another client, but I thought you and I could discuss the finer points of our brief, to get a firm handle on what you really need.”
Oh, please. Emily nearly rolled her eyes at the double entendre but noted that Zac had pulled out his phone again.
“No, I think everything’s looking pretty good at this stage. Emily?”
“Sorry?” Emily blinked innocently as both sets of eyes fe
ll on her.
“Do you have any issues you need to raise with Trish?”
Yes. You’re only one in a long line. She smiled and shook her head. “Not right now. But I’m sure we’ll be talking later.”
She watched Zac shake hands, thanking them for coming. The look on Trish’s face didn’t crack, but Emily knew the woman was reconnoitering, already working out another way to achieve her goal. It was a familiar dance, one that had begun as an amusing weekly anecdote she related to her sister. But now it had slipped from amusing to tiresome. Especially since…
She pulled herself up short with a frown.
Especially since you kissed him?
Yes.
He was talking to her and she was nodding, giving the outward appearance of actually listening. But inside her heart pounded, her blood racing at breakneck speed while her brain buzzed annoyingly.
Okay. So this is just a physical thing. You’ve been celibate for close to two years. Of course you’re reacting to the first man who’s shown any interest in you since…Jimmy.
Ooh. Bad comparison.
“Emily? You okay?”
A hand on her shoulder stopped her thoughts. She blinked up at Zac, at the concern in his eyes. Expressive olive eyes designed to make short work of a woman’s will.
A pulse of irritation spread through her belly and she quickly jerked her jacket back into place. The stiff collar suddenly chafed.
“Just thinking about Point One. It’s…different from your usual.”
“There are only so many mansions you can build before you need a bigger challenge,” he answered with a smile, pulling open the glass doors for her.
“True. A challenge is good.”
He slid in the car after her, clipping on his seatbelt. “You up for it, Emily?”
His eyes mesmerized her, part amusement, part determination. Suddenly the air in the car got way too warm.
“Yes.” Her voice came out way too breathy. Her cheeks heated as his lips spread into a grin, and she quickly coughed, warmth swamping her limbs. “Yes,” she added more firmly. “I am.”
“Great.” With that devilish smile still in place, he shoved on his sunglasses and started the car.