Until He Met Meg

by Sami Lee

  ‘It was sunny and warm this morning. I thought winter was over.’

  ‘Maybe by the calendar, but there’s often a last burst of cold before spring starts in earnest.’ He wanted to confirm his earlier suspicion about her background. ‘I take it you’re not from Sydney.’

  Her sigh was wistful. ‘No. I’ve always wanted to come here, though. Despite the events of the past couple of weeks I’ve really enjoyed myself.’

  He shouldn’t ask, yet Bryce found himself intrigued. For no other reason than that she’d piqued his curiosity and they were stuck together for the time being, he asked, ‘What’s been so bad about the last couple of weeks?’

  ‘I lost my job. Well, not exactly. I quit but I sort of had to. I was working as a retail assistant in a furniture store. Relations with my supervisor got a little strained when he asked me out and I said no. Soon after that, I started losing shifts.’ She shrugged, a c’est la vie kind of gesture. ‘I decided it would be easier to just leave.’

  Fury rose swiftly within Bryce. Being an employer himself, he was livid that a man in a position of power would act in such a fashion. ‘That’s harassment. You should have reported him.’

  ‘I didn’t have any proof that was why I lost shifts. The store manager said they were cutting back everyone’s hours. Besides, I thought it would be easy to get another job.’ Her mouth twisted in derision. ‘Turns out no one in retail seems to be hiring now, and they won’t be hiring again until the Christmas season. I don’t have money to last until then.’ She heaved a sigh full of dismay. ‘I’ll have to go back home.’

  ‘Where’s home?’

  ‘Karawak Downs. It’s about an hour west of Dubbo. In other words, the middle of nowhere. My Dad owns a hardware store there. I’ve helped out in the shop since I was fourteen, when I started working after school. It’s how I got my retail experience, but not much experience in anything else. Anyway, I’m not planning to be a sales assistant forever.’

  She left the statement hanging in the air as she lowered her head in an abashed gesture. ‘I’m rambling.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ To his surprise Bryce found that he meant it. ‘You can’t say something like that and not elaborate. What is it you really want to do?’

  ‘You’ll think it’s silly.’

  ‘Try me.’

  She turned and pinned him with her bright eyes. He saw them spark with enthusiasm. ‘I want to be an interior designer.’

  He’d half expected she would say she wanted to be an actress. She had the looks for it. ‘What’s silly about that?’

  ‘My Dad and brothers say it’s a waste of time — frivolous girly stuff. But it never seemed frivolous to me. My Mum and I used to sew together. We’d make curtains and lounge covers and things like that. Our house wasn’t much, but it only takes a few simple touches to make a house a home, doesn’t it?’

  Bryce had no earthly idea what she was talking about. What was so darned special about curtains?

  ‘Anyway I did an online course in design. But there’s not exactly a great call for decorators in Karawak Downs, so I came to Sydney. I want a position with a design company, but I had to settle for furniture sales. I can’t get a job in the industry without experience apparently.’

  Bryce twisted his lips. ‘But how to do you get experience without a job?’

  ‘Exactly.’ She smiled at their shared understanding. Bryce felt a camaraderie settle between them, as disrupting to his ability to speak as the sight of her sweetly curved lips. Her smile completely lacked artifice. In his experience smiles were so often born of pretence, and Bryce was taken aback by Meg’s genuine grin and its impact on his blood pressure.

  Suddenly, he could find no words to continue the conversation and a strange sense of alarm rose in his chest.

  He needn’t have worried. Meg Lacy had no such difficulty with easy banter. She tilted her head to the papers he’d left, once again ignored, in his lap. ‘So, what do you do? Are you a stockbroker?’

  Her blonde brows were hiked ever so slightly over her sparkling grey-blue eyes, her rosebud of a mouth still upturned in that amiable smile. ‘Of a sort.’ Bryce dragged his gaze away from the distracting appeal of her lips. ‘I’m the CEO of DCA.’ At her blank expression he elucidated. ‘Drake, Carlton and Associates. It’s a wealth management firm.’

  The second largest in the country, and on track to take out the lead position within five years, Bryce thought with some pride. His decision to merge the medium-sized company left to him by his father with the larger organisation, Drake Incorporated, had been a smart one. All his father’s dreams were finally being realized.

  ‘Wealth management?’

  She spoke as though the term was entirely alien to her. ‘It’s a growing market. More and more people are beginning to see the benefit in having their assets professionally managed. People are living longer so they need more to provide for their retirement…’ He trailed off as he realised that now he was rambling, and probably boring her out of her wits. He’d never rambled in his life.

  ‘It sounds interesting.’

  That was another new experience — being patronised. He stiffened. ‘I think so.’

  ‘I meant it,’ she insisted. ‘Did you think I didn’t mean it?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ But for some reason it did. People were always pandering to him, telling him what they thought he wanted to hear. For a moment he’d found his companion’s forthrightness refreshing.

  ‘Somehow I’ve offended you. I didn’t meant to. You seem like such a nice man.’

  Bryce was so surprised he couldn’t respond. No one had ever called him nice before. Sensible, dependable, trustworthy — but never nice. Certainly his ex-wife Isabelle had never used such a word to describe him, or many charitable words at all, at least not after the first year of their six-year marriage. Cold, unfeeling, neglectful. Those were more her words of choice.

  ‘You know what?’ Meg said suddenly. ‘I bet you are a nice man, underneath this imposing exterior of yours. I can tell.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure.’ Her determination to think well of him made him uncomfortable. He didn’t deserve it. He’d been a terrible husband, that much Isabelle had been right about. As an ex-husband he wasn’t much better, given that he could barely stand to be in the same room as his child’s mother for more than a minute. And as a father… well, he had a daughter who had nannies running scared in droves. Enough said.

  All he could cling to was the knowledge that as a son he was at least doing what had been expected of him. Running the business that was the legacy left to him by his father was a much easier undertaking than running his personal life. Since his divorce, he’d found it less complicated simply not to have a personal life.

  The cab travelled forward through the driving downpour for several silent minutes. The rain beat against the car, turning the windows to sheets of opaque grey that enclosed them in an unnerving intimacy. Dwelling on his own thoughts, Bryce lost track of time until the cab turned into his quiet avenue.

  He instructed the driver to park in the driveway of his tri-level, cream stucco home. Architecturally designed in the 1970s, the house had been bought by his father soon after, when Carlton and Associates had started showing substantial, consistent profits. Save for a brief period while he’d been at university, Bryce had lived here all his life. It would always be home to him, and none of Isabelle’s many complaints that the five-bedroom, three-bathroom house was too small to host any sizeable parties had prompted him to move. He always felt a sense of peace and serenity returning here after a day at the office, but he’d never felt the kind of wonder that he saw come over Meg as she stared at his home.

  ‘Wow,’ she breathed at last. ‘This is your place?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘I guess you’re pretty good at managing wealth, huh?’ She appeared immediately contrite. ‘I’m sorry. That was rude.’

  A smile tried to shape his lips. ‘It’s all right.’ In fact her c
omplete lack of tact was oddly charming. He realised he felt a stab of regret that the cab ride was ending, as well as a peculiar rise of protectiveness that made him instruct the driver to charge the estimated cost of Meg’s ride home to his Platinum Card.

  ‘No!’ Meg protested hotly. ‘I don’t expect you to pay for me.’

  ‘Meg, the trip back to your flat might be very expensive,’ Bryce told her softly. He didn’t want to insult her by insinuating she hadn’t the money to pay for it, but all she’d told him on the cab ride made him aware she had limited finances. ‘You’re only here because I needed to come home in a hurry.’

  ‘That’s irrelevant. I pay my own way.’

  She crossed her arms over her chest so stubbornly that Bryce almost missed the anxiety that crossed her features when the cab driver interjected. ‘Maybe I’ll get your credit-card imprint now Miss, just so there’s no trouble later.’

  Meg turned her fiery gaze to the driver who was eyeing her suspiciously in the rear view mirror. ‘Are you suggesting—’

  ‘I’m sure he wasn’t suggesting you don’t have any money, were you —’ Bryce sought out the driver’s identification tag, ‘Joe?’

  ‘Oh of course not sir,’ Joe said, his tone as dry as bone as he rolled his eyes. ‘But I am trying to make a living here, if you two lovebirds hadn’t noticed.’

  Bryce decided he wouldn’t dignify the driver’s ‘lovebirds’ reference with an objection. ‘Then add the fare to mine.’

  ‘No!’

  Bryce felt his irritation mount. ‘Meg, your pride is making a nuisance of itself.’

  ‘I said no,’ she told him adamantly, surprisingly immoveable in spite of her slim physique.

  They eyed each other for a long moment until the driver interrupted. ‘Will someone please make a decision here? I haven’t got all day.’

  Bryce told Joe, in the tone he used with his employees when he wanted a task carried out immediately, ‘We’re both getting out here.’

  Chapter Two

  While Meg sat in the cab, still as stone, Bryce Carlton settled his fare with the ill-mannered driver and came around to her door. Opening it, he held out his hand to her, as though nothing other than absolute capitulation was a possibility.

  Her temper surged, heating her blood. Why did men always think women should do exactly what they wanted?

  ‘You can’t seriously think I’ll…’ Her protest trailed off as he grasped her elbow and with gentle pressure pulled her from the taxi. The driver peeled out of the driveway, taking with him Meg’s only chance of leaving.

  Bryce’s hand was still at her elbow, pressing gentle, insistent heat to her flesh through the layers of clothing. Swiftly she rounded on him, using the movement to escape his touch and its palpitating effect on her heart. ‘What did you do that for?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Send him away. I told you I was going to pay him.’

  Sounding put upon, Bryce Carlton sighed. ‘I had no choice, since you refused to let me pay for you. Besides, I didn’t like the idea of you riding alone with him.’

  ‘He’s a taxi driver. That’s what people do — ride alone with him.’

  ‘He was rude to you.’

  Meg stared at him. Since when had he become her avid protector? She had enough of those back in Karawak Downs, thank you very much.

  ‘We’re getting wet,’ Bryce pointed out.

  With a start Meg realised he was right. The rain had lessened, but it was still coming down in a light drizzle that was seeping stealthily through her clothing. His clothing, she mentally corrected, remembering too late that she was still wearing Bryce’s suit jacket. He was probably worried that she’d ruin it standing out in the weather like this.

  She thought her suspicion confirmed when he said with barely suppressed exasperation, ‘Come inside before you catch pneumonia.’ His touch landed on her arm again and Meg allowed herself to be propelled toward the imposing front door of the man’s house, if for no other reason than getting drenched through to the skin for the second time in one day was a prospect she viewed with great disrelish.

  Bryce opened the heavy timber front door and Meg followed him into a marble-tiled foyer. To the left was a grand, beige carpeted staircase and to the right a passageway leading into another part of the house. He called up the stairs, ‘Phillipa!’ He unbuttoned his coat. ‘Mrs Dunkirk!’

  Hesitantly, Meg went to follow, pulling up short when she was nearly knocked down by a stout, fifty-ish lady rushing in the opposite direction. Her head was dipped as though she had eyes only for the way out the front door.

  ‘She’s upstairs, doing homework. She says.’ The woman threw the words at Bryce over her shoulder, not slowing down to elaborate. ‘Dinner is on the stove.’

  With that the woman disappeared out the front door, barely sparing Meg a second glance. Soon after a car engine fired up, the sound quickly growing fainter as the woman made a hasty retreat.

  Turning around, Meg caught Bryce’s wry expression. ‘I see you met Mrs Dunkirk.’

  ‘Is she always like that?’

  ‘For as long as I can remember. My father hired her when I was a child. She’s not one for loquacious conversation, but she’s an excellent housekeeper. Why don’t you come through? I’ll call a car service for you.’

  Apparently he wasn’t giving up his quest to pay her way home. With a frown, Meg followed Bryce down the passageway from which the curt Mrs Dunkirk had emerged. ‘That’s okay. If I can just use your phone I’ll call my flatmate. My battery died today.’ She didn’t add that she had not enough credit left on her prepaid phone to make the call anyway. ‘Her boyfriend has a car. I’m sure they’ll come pick me up.’

  If they’re home. Jessica and Lachlan were always rushing in and out of the apartment to their respective jobs or a concert or party. Either that or they were holed up in Jessica’s room, engaged in activities Meg usually didn’t spend time contemplating.

  ‘If you’re sure.’ He showed her a frown of his own. ‘There’s a phone in the den you can use.’

  As they entered the living room, Meg noted the leather furnishings, Persian rugs and the big-screen TV, the expensive-looking artwork and the grand piano in the corner, gleaming ebony in the fading light. Sydney Harbour was framed by large picture windows that rimmed the room. The murky water chopped turbulently toward the distinctive sails of the opera house and the famous arch of the harbour bridge, just visible through the evening gloom. Despite the grey weather, the view was magnificent.

  ‘Crikey!’ Meg exclaimed before she could censure the very country-girl expression. ‘This place is unbelievable!’

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘Who wouldn’t?’

  ‘My ex-wife for one. She always complained it was too stuffy.’

  Meg turned in time to see Bryce’s scowl deepening. She felt sure he hadn’t intended to say what he had about his ex-wife. Meg was a little perturbed, as well. In the taxi she had assumed he was married. Now she discovered that he was divorced, and the knowledge was doing strange things to her vital signs.

  Ridiculous. Why should the fact that he was single have any effect on her pulse rate?

  Avoiding his eyes, Meg glanced around once again at the dark leather sofas, the rather drab floor coverings and the sombre oil colours gracing the walls, and made an effort to be politic. ‘The furniture’s a little…heavy, I suppose. But very tasteful.’

  He cocked a brow. ‘Diplomatically put, Meg. I wasn’t sure you had it in you.’

  ‘I’m full of surprises.’ Her lips tilted upwards.

  ‘I don’t doubt it for a second.’ He smiled back and a completely unexpected dimple appeared in his left cheek. It softened his austere countenance, making him appear almost boyish. It was such an incongruous impression to have of such an imposing man that Meg caught her breath.

  The disturbance in her blood began to feel as turbulent as Sydney Harbour looked. Meg knew she needed to say something, but felt utterly incapable of for
ming a coherent sentence. Relief mingled with surprise when an imperious voice demanded, ‘Just who are you?’

  ‘Phillipa!’ Bryce exclaimed, his attention, blessedly, pulled away from Meg. ‘That was impolite.’

  A little girl’s big brown eyes remained fixed on Meg. She gave Bryce’s remonstrance little notice. ‘I asked you a question Missy.’

  Meg couldn’t help it. She laughed. ‘Missy!’ she exclaimed, wondering if the girl had picked that term up from the surly Mrs Dunkirk. ‘Aren’t you precious?’

  ‘Precious! I know what that means. It’s what Mrs Dunkirk says when I’m being cute. And I was not trying to be cute.’

  ‘Don’t worry yourself,’ Meg said dryly, turning away and wandering idly toward the grand piano in the corner. ‘I didn’t think you were.’

  From the corner of her eye, Meg saw the little girl staring after her, hands perched on tiny hips as she narrowed her gaze. She was wearing a matching skirt and top made of lavender crushed velvet. Her lush dark hair didn’t look as if it had been brushed anytime recently. Thick curls sat half in, half out of a purple band at the back of her head.

  ‘Daddy, she didn’t even introduce herself when I asked.’

  ‘You didn’t ask, Phillipa, you demanded. There’s a difference, as I’ve told you more than once before. When will you learn to be polite?’

  ‘Polite,’ the girl muttered derisively, as though he were suggesting she eat Brussels sprouts. ‘I don’t have time to dawdle.’

  Before Bryce could admonish his daughter again — although she deserved some admonishing and a lot more — Meg walked back to where Phillipa stood. ‘Forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Meg Lacy.’

  ‘Miglasee?’ She wrinkled her pert nose. ‘What a strange name.’

  Meg smiled despite the girl’s outright rudeness. She certainly was a spirited little thing, she had to give her that. ‘It’s no Phillipa Carlton but I’ve had it all my life and it suits me fine. Why don’t you just call me Meg?’