Her Bad, Bad Boss

by Nicola Marsh

‘Melbourne. Enrolled in a biology course.’

  ‘What happened to the job in Alaska?’

  ‘Once I discovered you were behind me being employed, I quit.’

  ‘I was only trying to help.’

  ‘Funny, I saw it as interfering in my life when you knew going it alone was important to me.’

  Her dad coughed, cleared his throat as she threw down her pen when she realised she was doodling love hearts with Rhys’s initials on the back of her practice exam.

  ‘I was worried. After what happened…I didn’t know how to make amends…I wanted to make up for—’

  ‘Dad, it’s okay. I get it.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘I was pretty angry at the time but I’ve had time to think—’ boy, had she had time to think ‘—and I know you were trying to protect me.’

  As her parents had always done. She’d led a charmed life, had been given everything she ever wanted, including her parents’ unswerving devotion. When she’d confronted them, ranted at them, she could imagine how devastated they must’ve been. They’d presumably lost the one honest thing between them: her.

  ‘I’m sorry I put you through all that business, honey. And your mother is too.’

  ‘Apology accepted. Though you know I don’t agree with any of it, right? Your affair, Mum’s tolerance, her expecting me to be like her?’

  Her dad cursed. ‘I’ve been an old fool and I’d hate for you to think what your mother did is right. She should’ve booted me out a long time ago, should never have put up with my crap. I did wrong by her and there’s no excuse for it.’

  She didn’t want to rehash her parents’ private life, didn’t want to dwell on how close she’d come to being trapped in a marriage that could’ve easily turned out the same.

  Had she really been that blind? Or had she deliberately dwelled in the rosy world they’d created, content to ignore anything unsavoury, even a hint of it, so as not to rock the boat?

  She’d mulled over this a lot the last few weeks while contemplating ringing her folks, had come to the unwelcome realisation that maybe she was to blame a little. She’d allowed her parents to shield her so she coasted along, content in her perfect life, in the lap of luxury, not actively pursuing her dream, then was outraged to learn her dad had a hand in getting her a job?

  ‘That’s your business, Dad. Guess I just wanted to touch base, let you know I’m back and maybe we can catch up once my exams are finished?’

  ‘We’d love that, honey. You name the time and place, we’ll be there.’

  His voice caught and the last of her lingering resentment faded.

  She’d never seen her dad cry. Big, bold, brash Beacham, Australia’s top tycoon, never showed vulnerability, so to hear emotion in his voice showed her exactly how sorry he was.

  ‘Great. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Jade?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘We love you, honey.’

  ‘Same here. Bye.’

  Flinging the phone on the table, she linked hands and stretched overhead.

  She’d done it, shifted the sadness weighing her down, taken the first step in re-establishing a relationship with her folks.

  She should feel great. Instead, a spur of sorrow still lodged in her heart, niggling, annoying, hurting.

  Sadly, she couldn’t do anything about it. What she felt for Rhys Cartwright could not be solved with a phone call.

  Her hand hovered over the phone lying face down on the table. It was a day for fresh starts; it was so tempting to call him.

  And say what?

  Hey, it’s me, the idiot who fell so hard for you I’m still pining? The crazy woman who’d give up everything if you wanted me with you?

  Yeah, bet that would go down a treat.

  Shaking her head, she picked up the mobile and shoved it into her bag, right to the bottom, under a stack of texts and Post-It notes and fluorescent highlighters.

  She’d extended enough olive branches for one day.

  Chapter Eighteen

  DÉJÀ VU washed over Jade as she shrugged into a ski jacket, wiggled her fingers into gloves and slid her feet into Ugg boots.

  She’d followed the same routine countless times in Alaska but hadn’t expected to be doing the same in Melbourne in the middle of summer.

  ‘Welcome to the Arctic Lounge, Miss Beacham. Head on through.’

  She smiled at the doorman who’d checked her personal invitation and entered the funky ice bar in the middle of the CBD.

  Having a chance to hear Sir Roland Hyde, the explorer who’d lived in Antarctica for the last decade and who’d just conquered Everest, was worth the hassle of getting rugged up.

  Besides, as she glanced around the ice bar, she couldn’t help but admire what some artistic person had done with thirty tonnes of ice. Everything was made from the stuff, from the bar to the couches to the glasses. Surreal.

  ‘I believe you’re expected in The Freezer Room, Miss Beacham. If you’ll follow me?’

  Impressed by the service, she followed the hostess—doing a mean Eskimo impersonation in her snazzy gear—through the bar to a room at the back.

  She smiled her thanks as she entered, momentarily blinded by the strategically placed lighting reflecting off the ice.

  Blinking, she refocused, only to see a mirage.

  Okay, so she was seriously mixing up her desert and ice metaphors, but the man standing in the centre of the empty room wasn’t Sir Roland.

  He was an adventurer and had conquered more than mountains—namely her heart—and seeing him here, now, when she least expected it rooted her feet to the spot.

  ‘It’s great to see you.’

  Five little words. That was all it took: her knees wobbled, her stomach somersaulted and the last few months apart faded into oblivion.

  Her greedy gaze gobbled up every familiar contour of Rhys’s face: those sharp cheekbones, angular jaw, blazing blue eyes and his mouth…

  She couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the words, so she dragged in a frosty breath, his signature aftershave drowning her senses.

  Divine. Intoxicating. All Rhys.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For missing me.’

  ‘What gives you that idea?’

  He leaned down, kissed her cheek, softly, reverently, all too briefly.

  ‘I can see it in your eyes.’

  Capturing her face between his strong hands, he gave her no option but to meet his gaze, her heart leaping like a caged salmon. ‘Or is it just a reflection of how much I’ve missed you?’

  She wanted to bury her face in his chest, to hold him and squeeze him and never let go.

  But that time had passed and she’d be better off looking at this for what it was: a wanderer probably paying a flying visit to his brother and looking up an old flame along the way.

  ‘Whatever you’re thinking, stop.’

  He released her and she would’ve staggered if he hadn’t grabbed hold of her arm and led her to an ice couch, some brown faux fur draped across its ‘cushions’.

  ‘Comfy?’

  She shot him an ‘are you kidding?’ look. ‘As comfy as I can be sitting on a giant ice block.’

  He smiled at her grouchy tone. ‘Didn’t hear you complaining in Alaska.’

  Mustering her best withering glare and hoping it didn’t come out a squint, she stared him down. ‘I didn’t complain about a lot of things in Alaska I should’ve.’

  He winced. ‘You’re talking about my stupidity in letting you go?’

  ‘And the rest.’

  He laughed, the rich timbre of his chuckles warming her despite the chill. ‘I’ve missed that bluntness.’

  ‘Not enough, obviously,’ she muttered, tucking her gloved hands under her armpits for extra warmth—in reality, to stop from reaching out and touching him to see if he was real.

  Sheepish, he briefly touched her thigh, dropping his hand when she stiffened. ‘I would’ve been here sooner but I
had a lot of stuff to sort out.’

  ‘Work?’

  ‘And this.’

  He tapped his temple. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.’

  She didn’t say a word, waited to see what he’d say.

  When he muttered a curse, leaped to his feet and started pacing, she wasn’t surprised. Discussing anything resembling emotion would be impossible to him. She should know.

  ‘This is hard.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘What, talking to me?’

  ‘Finding the right words despite rehearsing this a million times in my head.’

  Cutting him some slack, she gestured around the room. ‘You wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble to get me here, what with the invitation and the fake lecture and all, if it wasn’t important. So spill.’

  Stopping dead, he jammed his hands in his pockets and shot her a wild-eyed look.

  ‘I’m in love with you,’ he blurted, his expression that of a deer cornered in a bear cave.

  Her heart leaped before she beat it down with a good whack of common sense. She’d yearned to hear those words a few months ago but, in reality, what had changed?

  She had a degree to complete, fences to mend with her family, a life to reassemble.

  So, as much as she wanted to leap off the uncomfortable sofa and do cartwheels, his impassioned declaration changed nothing.

  Jamming a hand through his hair, forgetting he had gloves on, elicited another curse. ‘Say something.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  His jaw dropped. ‘Thanks? I fly halfway around the world, orchestrate this romantic meeting and you thank me?’

  He searched her face for some sign, some clue that what he’d said had struck a chord. But she’d become a master at hiding her emotions this last year and was confident he’d find nothing.

  ‘I’m wasting my time, aren’t I?’

  That was when she saw it, the flicker of raw, soul-slicing pain, the kind of pain she’d endured when she’d walked away from him at Glacier Point.

  She couldn’t speak, her throat clogged with regret and fear and pain. His face crumpled at her continued silence, his devastation a clear sign he cared as deeply as she did.

  To his credit, he didn’t move, didn’t give up.

  ‘Tell me to leave and I will.’

  She should tell him to go. It would be the right thing to do, for there was no hope for them, not really. All that time spent together in Alaska hadn’t been in vain. She’d listened to him, really listened, got to know him, and everything he’d said and done had clearly indicated he wasn’t a guy to settle.

  And that was what she wanted this time around.

  To settle.

  Her way.

  Not for the sake of a fiancé’s precious career, or the appearances of a wealthy family; she wanted a home and a family of her own and a guy who was crazy enough about her to never let her go.

  She knew why he was here. He must’ve finished his stint in Alaska, headed back to Vancouver and got a usual dose of itchy feet, so he’d hopped on a plane to Australia on the pretext of seeing her and his brother.

  But why say he loves you?

  Hmm…she hadn’t quite figured out his motivation behind that yet.

  Shaking his head, he dropped to one knee, grabbed her hand. ‘Tell me.’

  She opened her mouth to say the words to drive him away once and for all, to follow her dream for once.

  But before she muttered a word, her bottom lip trembled and no amount of clamping it shut would stop.

  Oh-oh. When her lip wobbled, the waterworks weren’t far behind and she blinked. To no avail.

  ‘Ah, hell,’ Rhys muttered, rejoining her on the ridiculous ice sofa and bundling her into his arms. Where she belonged, where she ought to be for ever.

  He’d botched this.

  From the minute she’d caught sight of him and he’d seen her initial elation quickly masked by reservation, he’d bungled along, his famed control shot.

  He’d rehearsed what he had to say, how to make her believe him, yet he’d made a hash of it and now she was crying.

  Worse, she hadn’t said she loved him. She’d thanked him, and even an emotional novice like him knew it didn’t bode well when a woman you were crazy about thanked you for loving her.

  He let her sob it out, smoothing her hair, rubbing her back through the ridiculously thick puffy parka.

  Way to go with the romantic gesture. She was so bundled up he couldn’t feel her body. And he desperately wanted to feel her. Not in a sexual way—though the memories of how they burned up the sheets was never far from his mind—but just to hold her, to feel her soft curves moulding to him.

  Thankfully, her sobs soon petered out, and when they turned to the occasional hiccup he gently pulled back.

  ‘You okay?’

  She nodded, biting her bottom lip.

  ‘You’ve hardly spoken two words. That’s so not like you.’

  Her lip wobbled into a smile. It was a start.

  The way he saw it, she wouldn’t be emotional if she didn’t care. Tears were a good sign. Meant he still had a chance.

  For the longer she’d let him hold her, the firmer his conviction grew.

  He was through running.

  If he didn’t make a stand, right here, right now, he’d spend the rest of his life drifting.

  One way or another, he’d get the answers he came for. And wouldn’t budge an inch until he got them.

  ‘Want to know why I arranged this here?’

  She nodded, strands of her thick hair falling around her face, and he couldn’t resist pushing them back behind her ear, cupping her cheek gently for a moment, silently cursing these damned gloves.

  ‘Because I figured you’d need to get reacquainted with the cold again, seeing as I hoped you’d want to migrate to Alaska permanently. You know, live out at Glacier Point, help me run Wild Thing, maybe marry me…’

  He’d run out of bravado, her stunned expression growing utterly still by the time he’d trailed off.

  Not the best marriage proposal in the world, but he’d hedged his bets, leaving room to run if she thanked him again.

  When she finally spoke, he braced himself.

  ‘Did you just propose?’

  ‘Sounded that way to me.’

  He held his breath.

  Then he saw it.

  The first glimmer of warmth creeping into her eyes, the corners of her gorgeous mouth curving up, millimetre by millimetre.

  ‘You’ll have to do way better than that to convince me to live in your shack out in the sticks surrounded by all that ice.’

  ‘I thought you liked my shack?’

  She shrugged, mischief making her eyes twinkle. ‘I do. And all those glaciers kind of grew on me too.’

  She paused, tapped her lip. ‘But there’s my degree to consider—’

  ‘Easy. You can study by correspondence.’

  ‘Then there’s the practical component of the course—’

  ‘What could be better than hands-on experience with the world’s best?’

  A faint pink stained her cheeks as she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. ‘That sounded very cocky.’

  He laughed. ‘I was talking about Wild Thing, but if you were referring to my hands-on expertise in other areas I’d be only too happy to—’

  ‘Later.’

  She placed her fingers over his lips, silencing him, her smile fading.

  ‘I think it’s great you’ve come all this way and been so honest with me, so I guess I owe you that much in return.’

  Oh-oh. He didn’t like the sound of this. Sounded like a prelude to a brush-off speech.

  But what could he do? He’d confessed his feelings, pleaded his case, asked her to marry him. Him, the guy who’d made running away into an art. No way could he run with a wife, and, later, kids. Didn’t she see that?

  ‘I love you too. Probably fell in love with you way back when you spent your whole time running from me.’


  Elated, he reached for her but she held him at bay. ‘But are you sure all this isn’t another form of escapism?’

  His joy fizzled. ‘What do you mean?’

  She plucked at the parka’s cord, fiddling, buying time, before she finally looked him in the eye.

  ‘You had me before. You didn’t want me. Now you don’t have me, you want me. Have you stopped to consider this is a case of escaping what you currently have because it’s old, trite, too comfortable, and wanting to always try something new?’

  She paused, her expression solemn. ‘Isn’t it what you’ve always done?’

  ‘No, of course not…’

  He trailed off, all too aware she had a point.

  Understanding shone in her eyes, her smile compassionate. But he didn’t want her compassion, damn it, he wanted her. All of her. All the time.

  How could he make her understand?

  Yeah, he’d spent a lifetime running, but he’d change it all in an instant for a chance at spending the rest of his days with her.

  ‘It’s okay, I get it.’ She patted his arm, like a mum comforting a kid, and he bristled. ‘It’s what you do, what you’ve always done. But I’m not willing to take a chance on a guy who could up and leave any time once he has me.’

  ‘That would never happen,’ he said through gritted teeth, knowing what it would take to convince her but hating to dredge up a past he’d so successfully buried.

  She shook her head and when she finally met his gaze he saw pity.

  ‘Look at your track record. Speaks for itself.’

  He muttered a curse, attempted to drag a hand through his hair, the bulky glove infuriating him further. Ripping the gloves off, he flung them away, oblivious to the cold, oblivious to anything but convincing her they had a future.

  ‘There’s a reason I run.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, Claudia—’

  ‘No, before that.’

  Pain ripped through him, as fresh and debilitating as the day he’d heard the news.

  He hated feeling like this: so helpless, so out of control, so guilty. Guilty that Archie, the golden boy of the family, had died so young while he’d spent most of his life living the dream. Travelling the world, indulging his passion for nature, coasting from one job to another until making a huge success out of Wild Thing.

  He’d done it all while his big, bold, boisterous brother had been taken too soon.