by Amelia Hart
“We’re going out,” she said imperiously. “Open the door.”
He looked down at her, pinned against the wall by the thrust of his pelvis, considered her, his eyes scanning her face. With one hand he reached out, unlatched and opened the door, letting it swing wide.
“Are you a tease, Kate?” he asked, a smile still hovering at his mouth. But she saw the sternness in his eyes, behind the veneer of good humor. He was not a man to be pushed around.
And again operating on instinct she was honest, looking him dead straight in the eye with no smile on her face.
“Not usually. Usually I just take what I want, and offer only what I want to give. No more. Maybe I’m scared how much I want you. Maybe you make me a little crazy.”
For a moment he weighed her words, and the open door felt like a threat of rejection. Then he relaxed, shook his head ruefully and stepped away and out of the house, saying over his shoulder, “Yeah. I can understand that feeling.”
There was a door in the wall behind the bamboo thicket, almost hidden from sight. He punched a number into the keypad there and stepped through into a garage. Lights came on at his entrance. A couple of low-slung, gleaming machines lurked inside, the epitome of machismo vehicles. She looked from the cars to him, and was surprised to see him appear vaguely uncomfortable.
“So this is what you like to drive?”
Again he was rueful. “I achieved some big financial goals all at once, and thought I should spend the money on the sort of things people like to buy: A big, flash house, fast cars, designer clothes . . . I even have a boat. Turns out they’re not that satisfying. But I have them now, so I should use them.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and the sound of car doors unlocking punctuated his statement. “Actually I prefer to walk.” He opened the passenger door and gestured her in.
She slid into the leather-covered bucket seat and smoothed her hands over the luscious padding on either side of her thighs. “Mmm, nice,” she said. The interior smelt new, as if it was fresh out of the show room; which it probably was.
He climbed in next to her, inserted the key and pressed a couple of buttons. The garage door ascended silently. Then he revved the engine and she looked up to see him watching her out of the corner of his eyes, a grin on his face. She laughed, tipping her head back against the headrest.
“Okay then big boy. Show me what she can do.”
He eased his way out of the garage and turned cautiously into the street after double checking both ways. After he had rounded his second corner at a snail’s pace she turned to him accusingly
“You drive like a nana!”
“Actually my grandmother drives faster. This thing is damned scary if you put your foot down. Fine for the open road but I don’t want to be bowling pedestrians.”
She looked out the window, her shoulders shaking in a small, silent laugh.
“Oh, here’s my car,” she told him belatedly as they drove right past it. He braked and executed a five-point turn on the narrow road to get back to it.
It did not take long to put on the shorts and top she had in a bag in her back seat. Mike waited, parked behind her. She considered pulling her hair into a ponytail then decided leaving it rioting around her shoulders was the wisest choice; less like Cathy. She had to take a few deep breaths before she felt ready to leave the familiar safety of her small Japanese import and walk the short distance back to him.
She was on tenterhooks as she slid in beside him, waiting for him to recognize his employee in her casual clothes. But he just gave her a sweet smile and started the engine, pulling away carefully from the curb.
Did he never look at Cathy? Or had she truly created a completely different woman with a change of clothes, makeup and hair color? Did he only see what he expected to see?
She was wearing a diaphanous drape over a tight aqua singlet, shorts that went to mid-thigh and a couple of trendy accessories, packed as a just-in-case with this morning in mind. Her sandals matched the over-the-shoulder handbag she had thrown in at the last minute. She knew she looked good, and felt confident enough to go almost anywhere in the outfit. And truly it was a dramatic difference from the baggy and dull-colored Cathy-clothes.
Or perhaps she was a better actress than she had imagined.
The waterfront was crowded so they had to park some distance up the hill. As they walked toward the crowd he took her hand, swinging it slightly to match their stride. She liked that; liked the dry warmth of it, the faint calluses. She wondered what caused them. Not tapping away on a keyboard. Maybe it was from the company gym, on the same floor as his office. He had good muscle tone unusual in an office worker.
The veins that roped across the back of his hands were fascinating to her fingers. She stroked them lightly with her other hand as they stood waiting for the walk signal at the traffic light, surprised by the yielding softness of them, a contrast to everything else about his body.
They wandered companionably from one area to another, listening to the performers and watching-people. Kate bought a sunhat as the sun climbed higher in the sky, to protect her face and shoulders. They chose ice-cream cones and traded licks with each other, then walked along the promenade and around to the next bay – which was virtually unoccupied – when the crowds grew too thick for comfort.
As they went they talked companionably, discovering shared interests and a mutual dislike of green-lipped mussels, auto correct and people who didn’t pick up the messes their dogs left.
Most of all they laughed. He said such amusing things. She thought of herself as quite serious but with him it was difficult to keep a straight face. He didn’t hesitate to share an embarrassing moment if the story was a funny one.
She was happy to be with him. The sensation was odd and intense. She didn’t understand the dramatic mood swing from the desperation of the early hours of the morning. It must be something about him. It was hard to hold on to angst when he was around; much easier to push it all aside and bask in the warm glow of him.
She was surprised as she considered it. Carefree, with no obligations and no one to answer to, on this unexpectedly shared morning outing.
It wasn’t a comfortable admission, but she had grown unused to the sensation. Beyond the situation of working in DigiCom, working in the family firm had also been tense and at times outright painful. It was a stressful environment and she had wedded herself to it so firmly . . .
Her only escape was university study and there she was driven, focusing on being the best, being perfect, with no time to make new friends.
She must have been wearing blinders.
How had she let her personal life diminish so much? How had it all fallen away, so she couldn’t remember the last time she had walked with a friend, laughed over a meal and enjoyed the sunshine?
It crept up on one.
In one of the small silences between her and Mike she considered the situation, weighed up the past weeks and months and found a pattern of self-neglect that embarrassed her to admit, even to herself.
She was in a painful rut and it wasn’t serving her. No wonder she had been willing to try the challenge of industrial espionage. At least it was a change. She had been longing for a change; itching for one. Yet she had held herself back from determining her own path, instead following where Dad led. Doing as she was told and cramping her life down into a frantic little box.
It was past time to carefully, deliberately make some choices. Better ones than she had been making.
Chapter Eleven
“You’re awfully quiet.”
“I was just thinking.” He let the silence linger until she went on: “I’m enjoying this. It was a good idea. Of course I’m sure we could have amused each other in various other ways,” she traced a line back and forth over the back of his hand with a single index finger, casting a wicked glance at him under her eyelashes, “but this has been fun.”
He leaned back against the wall that rose behind their bench seat, sliding his hand ou
t from under her finger and cupping the back of her neck, thumb drawing little circles on the sensitive skin there. She sighed and tilted her head back, the tension draining out of her muscles.
“There’s something about the sea air, the water. It’s good for the soul.” There were yachts scudding about on the harbor in the light breeze. The surface was ruffled, reflecting the bright blue of the sky.
“Healing,” she agreed with a slow nod.
“If you’re injured.” Again his silence was an invitation. He was so easy to talk to, even for a person as guarded as she.
“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot going on lately. Family stuff. And work has been very . . . stressful. Demanding.”
“With the software roll out?”
Whoops. “We’re not rolling it out yet. It’s still in development. In a few more months maybe.”
“I still get wound up over new releases. The process is pretty smooth these days, but the public domain is the real test. Is it going to sink or swim? It makes me antsy for weeks.”
“So how long have you worked for your company?”
“I started it eleven years ago now.”
“You started it? I thought . . .”
He looked at her with his eyebrows raised, and she hurried to cover her exclamation: “Eleven years is a long time! You must have been very young.”
He looked back out to sea, and she released the breath she was holding.
“I didn’t think so at the time, but I look back now and think . . . well, I’ve learnt a lot of lessons in the past decade, that’s for sure.”
“Did you start it by yourself?”
“I had a partner who was great at marketing, and my parents offered us financial backing. Mum handled the financial side of things for a few years, until it got really big. I’d read a successful company needs someone to handle finance, someone for marketing, and a great idea, and I thought ‘Hey, I can pull those things together and make it fly.’” He made a gesture with his hand that was reminiscent of a plane taking off.
“And it did fly?” she asked, knowing the answer already.
“Hell yeah. We had some turbulence but on the whole it’s been great.”
“So what happened to your partner? You said you had one, past tense,” she added when he looked at her, an eyebrow raised in enquiry.
“We had a parting of the ways quite recently. She wanted us to get into data mining software, and it’s not really my thing.”
“Oh, really?” she asked softly, the ‘she’ making her prick up her ears.
“Mmmm. Long run she’s probably right: everyone will be doing it soon and it’s the way of the future. But frankly I don’t trust the ethics of every big corporation, and I don’t want to be part of handing them the tools to monitor users so they can try and empty their pockets. It just doesn’t sit right with me.”
“There’s a lot of money to be made there,” she said noncommittally, chills going up and down her spine so she wanted to shiver despite the heat.
“Sure enough. But money isn’t everything.” He ran an absent hand through his hair, sweeping it back from his forehead. “There’s no point swimming in cash if I don’t admire the person I have to live with 24/7.”
“So you said goodbye to your partner of eleven years over the issue?”
“We were both pretty determined. So I bought her out and she’s gone off and started another company and is going ahead with the data mining, last thing I heard.”
“Do you keep in touch?”
“Not really. Things got pretty heated and we both said some stuff. Maybe in a few years when it’s all settled down we’ll be friends again. We’ve known each other a long time.”
Kate mulled this over, her gut churning. How could her dad have got it so wrong? DigiCom was Mike’s company. His baby. Run by a man who put ethics ahead of profit. Ahead of friendship too.
Inevitably she drew the parallels, saw her actions in the light that a man with such perspectives must.
He was going to hate her once he found out. He would think her completely vile.
She sucked in a harsh breath and he glanced at her then tilted his whole body towards her in concern.
“Are you okay. Kate? Is something wrong?”
She stared fixedly at the horizon, eyes blind to the beautiful view. “I’m not feeling so good.”
“Is there something I can get you?”
“No, nothing. But we better get back.”
“I can go get the car if you want, while you stay here.”
“That’s kind but no, I’ll be fine. Let’s just go, hmmm?” She was already standing, and now she walked away with her arms wrapped around her middle, where she could feel that dreadful hollowness of grief and regret.
God. Oh God, what had she done?
She tried to redirect her thinking, to focus on something else – the view, passersby, the faint rub of her sandal against her heel on her left foot, but this present reality was too compelling. She tried not to dwell on it, tried to think of something else, but her mind would not obey her. She would not cry. By God she would not cry.
Please don’t let me cry.
He said a couple of things and she answered in monosyllables almost at random, walking faster until he was striding to keep up. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her when she stumbled and almost tripped, and kept it there in a gesture of support.
Round the headland they went, back to the crowds where the jostling, churning press of people forced him to drop his arm. Instead he took her hand and went before her, forging a way through the milling festival attendees until they finally fought their way clear.
By the time they reached the car she was breathing heavily, almost choking under the crushing weight of feeling bearing down on her. It felt like a panic attack; she couldn’t draw a full breath. It was choking her; the remorse and despair and the inability to change things or mend them, ever. He hustled her into the car, got into his side and turned on the engine and the air conditioning.
“Back to my place?”
“No, to my car. Thanks.”
“Kate, what is wrong? Was it something I said?”
“No, no. Well sort of. There’s . . . there’s a situation at work I’ve been . . . avoiding dealing with,” she said, intending to lie again but hearing something that was almost the truth fall out of her mouth. “And I guess I’ve been worrying about it more than I knew. And as you were talking I realized I have to make a very difficult decision and I’m just sick about it. I really am.”
“Can I do anything? You want to talk it through? I’ve had some experience with these things. I’m happy to help any way I can. I could even be with you as you face the person; if that helps.”
She kept her head down, avoiding his too-perceptive gaze.
“You’re very kind. I’m not going to impose, but thanks. Please can we just go?”
There was a long pause before he pulled away from the curb. She looked steadfastly out the window, seeing nothing. It didn’t take long to get back to where her car was parked, the silence deafening between them. She got out of the car with a: “Bye Mike,” and strode away without looking back.
“Hang on,” he called out, and she heard his car door slam as he got out, and the sound of his footsteps approaching. She stopped reluctantly then made a half turn towards him, hand raised to shield her eyes. Her reddened, teary eyes. He caught up to her and stood a little closer than polite acquaintances. “At least call me to let me know how it goes,” he said softly, a hand cupping each shoulder and rubbing gently up and down, his gaze concerned.
She lips twisted in cynicism at that. As if he’d really care what a virtual stranger was going through. It was a nice thought but she didn’t believe it. “Sure,” she said and started to turn away again. His hands tightened on her shoulders, stopping her.
“You don’t have my number. I don’t have yours. How will you contact me?”
“Uh . . .”
“Do you have your phone?�
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“Yes.”
“Give it to me,” he said patiently.
She pulled herself together with a physical effort, forcing herself to breathe, to act normal; or closer to normal; less distracted and crazy. Don’t think about it. Just smile. Don’t think.
After a moment she said: “If you have yours I’ll give you my number and you can just call mine. Then you’ll have my number and I’ll have yours.”
“I left mine at home while we were out together.”
“Oh. Did you?” She blinked, bemused. That was a totally foreign concept. No one cut themselves off like that, even for just a few hours on a Saturday morning; especially not important men like him.
He stood there, waiting, and eventually she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. It flashed and glittered brilliantly in the sunshine. “Very pretty,” he said, and she heard the suppressed humor in his voice.
“My little sister,” she said in a monotone. “She did it for my birthday. Pinched my phone and bedazzled it. She thought I’d like it.” She tilted it back and forth so it reflected the light in bright rainbows in every direction. He pretended to stagger back, overcome and with his hands raised to shield him.
It was her turn to wait patiently until he’d stopped fooling and told her his number. Dutifully she entered it, and then the email address that followed. When she was done she paused, awkward. She didn’t plan to be in touch as Kate. What was the point? The instant he found out the truth it was all over. She wasn’t such a masochist she was going to expose herself to that.
In fact she would probably not come into work again. So she’d never see him again unless they met sometime by chance. This was the last conversation they would have.
As that thought crossed her mind she caught a pained breath, then stepped forward and threw herself into his arms. He was surprised by her move but caught her around the waist nonetheless, lifting her up on her toes as he pulled her in closer. One of her arms looped around his neck, her other hand stroked down his jaw, remembering this moment, this face pressed into her palm. Then she kissed him with a desperate passion, packing everything she couldn’t tell him, everything she couldn’t say, everything she was turning away from into that single blinding kiss.