‘Comparisons?’ I place my coffee on the desk and look at my computer screen, doing as he asks.
‘Sure. I figured I’d make it easy for you. In the attachments you’ll find a whole host of competitors and the reason Waring Holdings outperforms them all.’
I open up his email and the first attachment, giving it a quick scan, and then the next, and the next.
What the hell?
‘How can you—?’
‘How can I know who I’m up against? Your launch party told me that, and my research team did the rest. I may be missing a few—in fact I’m sure I will be—but if they’re not on my radar they’re not worth worrying about.’
I can’t believe it. A thorough analysis worthy of myself or my team is laid out before me. It wouldn’t take me long to check what the reports say for accuracy, but I know in my gut that I won’t find anything to fault.
And then Nate’s words come back to haunt me—his timely text from Friday night, the multitude of communications since: You can’t trust him.
I look at Lucas now and Nate’s warning clashes with what I know for myself, with what I feel.
Why did he want me to see that Nate had called? Was it his way of saying his conscience is clear? That he’s not worried about him or what he has to say? And if his conscience is clear, then what does that say about my brother? My family?
A wave of uncertainty washes over me and I throw my focus into the spreadsheets and the words before me. But they simply blur.
Lucas left, though. The company collapsed, my brother and father dealt with the fallout, and Lucas was long gone. Why didn’t he stick around and protest his innocence? At least help? Why did he go without saying goodbye?
And there it is—the crux of it.
Christ, it was hardly like you spent any time together by then. He owed you nothing.
But the pain is there, and I know it’s a huge part of it all. He left without so much as a nod in my direction, without even attempting to clear his name with me, and he must have known the crap my family would lay at his feet.
‘What really happened?’ I say, looking at the screen.
‘Excuse me?’
I look at him now, my eyes narrowed. ‘Between you and Nate...the company?’
He stills, his posture straight as his eyes fall away from me. ‘You should talk to him about it.’
‘I’m talking to you.’
Not to mention that it’s the last thing I want to raise with Nate. He went off the rails for two years after the company collapsed, drinking heavily, socialising day and night—he was a mess. No one talks about it. Least of all me.
‘If we’re potentially going to work together, I want to hear your version of events.’
‘It’s not my place.’
‘The hell it’s not! You left when the going got tough—is that how it was? Because that’s exactly how my family see it. Things got a touch hard and you legged it, leaving them to pick up the pieces.’
Colour seeps into his cheekbones, his knuckles whiten around the mug he still holds, and his eyes harden as they land on me.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Then tell me—give me your side and I’ll consider you as equally as I am everyone else.’
‘My company stands for itself. I’m not justifying the past to you.’
‘You told me Friday night that you make it your business to know all there is about the companies you wish to work with and the people who run them. This is me doing the same due diligence.’
He leans forward in his chair and I think he is about to speak. I hold my breath, waiting. This is it: the truth, his side to balance out theirs.
‘Thank Clare for the coffee.’
What?
He places his mug on the desk and gets to his feet.
I stand abruptly. ‘You can’t leave.’
‘Changed your mind already?’
There’s humour in his words but not in his eyes.
‘We have things to discuss, to go over,’ I say.
‘It’s all there in the email. The last attachment details the arrangement I propose. I think you’ll find it fair.’
‘But—’
‘Speak to Nate, Eva, or drop the past.’
His tone brooks no argument, but how can I tell him I don’t dare have it out with my brother for fear of a relapse?
‘My business references speak for themselves. Speak to anyone about Waring Holdings and they will put your mind at ease...if it’s truly the business you’re worried about.’
He lifts his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugs it on, taking up his laptop and case.
‘My number is in the email—call me when you’re ready to talk business.’
And with that he leaves. I haven’t even managed a goodbye. I’m still floundering under the mess that is the past and the present, my family and my business—and, if I’m truly honest, my heart.
To think I had believed it possible to be around him again and keep it tucked away was ridiculous.
Maybe in some way I hoped the past would protect me, keep me safe from falling again. And maybe it would have, if not for the fact that the past as I know it—as my family know it—could well be based on a lie. Or a clever manipulation of the truth. My brother was a pro at doing both when he wanted to.
And Lucas’s words in my kitchen about his ten-year wait... They told me there was more to his rejection than I believed all those years ago.
But where does any of that leave me now?
If the company failure was down to Nate, why would Lucas want to go into business with another Beaumont? Why would he sleep with me?
I don’t want to think of it as some sort of vendetta, but I can’t help it. The rejected eighteen-year-old still inside me can’t believe his sudden turnaround. Get in business with the little sister...get in bed with her.
It makes for the greatest revenge. But...
‘I’ve had ten years to wait for this.’
Surely that shows he cares about me? Not my family, not my business, but me?
I want answers. To explain ten years ago, five years ago. I want the whole damn lot.
And that means going after him.
My phone starts to buzz, along with my watch, and I know it’s Nate again without even looking. I ignore it.
I’m going to finish going through the email. I’m going to get my meetings done for the day. And then I’m going get my head around all of this.
If only it can be as simple as it sounds.
CHAPTER SIX
I POUND THE paving beneath my feet, trying to run her out of my system, to forget her family and the past. Tower Bridge and its array of lights against the night sky make the perfect scene to lose myself and regain peace. And normally it works. But not today.
I’ve had five years to bury the anger the Beaumonts spark in me, the resentment, the betrayal, but it’s still as raw as if it was yesterday.
I’ve done this to myself. I should have stayed away.
There are other products, other investment opportunities—plenty to occupy me. The truth is, when you have money it’s easy to make money—so long as you’re careful. Nate should have remembered that five years ago, instead of taking it upon himself to sign a deal that I’d already warned him against.
No, not warned. Forbidden. Yet he’d broken my trust and done it anyway.
And, hey, presto: today’s mess.
Although I can’t really blame him for what’s happening right now. For her. Life was fine. I wasn’t fulfilled, but I was a damn sight happier than this.
Yes, it would have been easy enough for me to find opportunities elsewhere, but did I? No. I went knocking on her door, telling myself it was for the product.
The reality hits me—winds me, even—and I
double over, my fingers gripping my thighs as I stare unseeingly at the ground.
I went for her.
It’s obvious now. So obvious I can’t believe I didn’t see it in the first place. I told myself it was the instant hit of mutual attraction at the party that blurred the boundaries, but like hell it was.
Idiot. I smack my knees in frustration and take off at a sprint, uncaring that people are looking at me as if I’m crazy.
I am crazy.
Crazy to have reopened this old wound, brought back the past, her, Nate, the family I once belonged to, was loyal to.
I always cited that loyalty as the reason I stopped myself from giving in to the feelings I had for her. Now that loyalty is gone it’s bloody obvious it was an excuse, a handy barrier to stop myself getting too close to someone else.
If my own mother wasn’t able to love me, and my father was never in the picture, how could I expect someone else to? Someone who didn’t have to? That kind of unconditional love doesn’t exist. Eva’s family proved that to me when they booted me out to protect Nate’s arse. Now no one gets that close to me—no one has that kind of power over me.
No one but her, it seems. Fuck.
I round the corner to my building. I have an apartment above the company headquarters, which makes life easy when I’m working late. It’s time to hit the shower and go out. Maybe a few drinks and a female companion will fit the bill.
Even my cock mocks me. No one will make me forget her—not now. Everything we’ve shared, every intense second has only ramped up the way I feel. It’s like an obsession, an addiction, and neither is healthy or acceptable but I am powerless to stop it.
And as if to prove my point I see her—in the foyer of my building, chatting to security. She’s leaning on their high-rise desk, legs crossed at the ankles. Judging by the sin-inspiring shoes, she hasn’t changed since I saw her at work, only donned the black coat that’s tied tight at the waist.
I stop short, staring through the glass as though at any moment she will vanish. And then I hear her laugh. It escapes through the door as someone opens it to leave and there’s no mistaking it.
I realise belatedly that the person is holding the door open for me, and I give him a brief nod of thanks as I take hold of it.
But I don’t enter—not yet.
I’m wrapped up in watching her, so relaxed, at ease, chatting, and the way others respond to her, get caught up in her happy web. Just like at the party, where everyone hung on her every word. Now she has Ron—a security guard, built like a wrestler, with a face that doesn’t smile—beaming like a man-child.
And then he spies me, clears his throat as he gives a brief nod.
She steps back, turns to face me.
I move before her eyes reach me, striding into the foyer. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.’
I scan her face as I get nearer, looking for any hint as to what’s brought her here.
Has she spoken to Nate? Does she know the truth? Is she here to discuss it? Or the deal?
All these questions blaze through my mind, racing with the crazy heat her nearness instils, but I can read nothing other than surprise in her face, in the flare to her eyes and her parted lips.
Which is odd since it’s my building—who else does she expect to see?
And then heat flushes up her chest, her mouth snaps shut, her eyes drop and she fiddles with the handbag over her shoulder. ‘I thought we could talk...’
She wets her lips nervously and looks up into my face. She’s all demure and inviting at once, and I can only just about manage, ‘Now?’
‘If you’re free...’
If I wasn’t, I know I’d be making myself so. ‘Have you eaten?’ I ask.
I don’t know why I’m proposing dinner, but I haven’t eaten, and I suspect she hasn’t found time to either. And dinner feels safe.
Safer than the other thing that springs to mind.
My body throbs with it. Sex with Eva. I want her so much it hurts. There’s the ache of longing, of desire, but there’s a greater ache—a riskier one, the one I know I should listen to. Dinner in a public place will help.
‘Erm...no.’
‘Let’s talk over dinner. I just need a quick shower.’
The mention of a shower has her cheeks flushing deeper. ‘Shall I wait here?’ she asks.
My sanity says yes. Having her in my place would be too intimate. It would be too easy. And the look in her eyes is feeding that realisation.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Come up and I’ll fix you a drink.’
She looks to the security guard as I move off. ‘Thanks, Ron.’
And then she falls into step beside me as I head to the lift, the doors already opening to greet us.
Every one of my senses, pumped up from my run, is doing overtime as we enter the space together and that warning ache builds. I use my pass to send the lift to my private floor and step back—a feeble attempt at creating distance.
‘Nice run?’
I murmur an incoherent ‘yes’ and keep my eyes fixed ahead. It’s hard enough that her perfume fills the space. To look at her in this private enclosure will tip me over. Make me think to hell with security cameras and giving Ron an eyeful.
‘Something wrong?’
She’s looking at me. I can make out her confused frown in my periphery and it’s killing me. The urge to pull her to me and be done with it.
I never realised this lift took so long.
Jesus.
I let go of a trapped breath and the lift doors finally open onto my private foyer.
I gesture for her to lead the way and hang back a second longer than necessary. Again, space. Much-needed space.
I want to point her in the direction of the drinks cabinet and tell her to fix her own drink, but I’m a sucker for etiquette.
You’d think restrictive running shorts would provide some resistance against the nagging erection I’m already sporting, but it seems not. I feel exposed, both physically and mentally, my brain constantly teasing me with memories of her naked and writhing over me.
I clear my throat and stride forward to the kitchen, assuming she will follow—which she does. I can sense her continued frown, but I need that shower. Fast.
‘What would you like? Wine? Gin and tonic? Beer?’
She used to like a beer. When she wasn’t supping champagne with her well-to-do chums. Like that night... Her birthday bash, her white dress, the taste of her lips, those lips that I’ve yet to enjoy again... It’s all there, singeing my body, my mind.
She laughs as she shrugs off her coat and slings it over one of the bar stools that line the centre island. ‘You know, no one ever offers me a beer.’
‘You forget how well I know you.’
It’s out before I can stop it—the reminder of the past and how well we used to know one another. But this time she doesn’t shrink away from it. She only smiles at me, a reminiscent look in her eye that has me heating up further, and I snap my gaze away as I pull open the fridge and grab myself a beer.
‘I guess you just don’t look the type.’
‘No—much to my parents’ pleasure, I’m sure.’
The smile is still in her voice, the connection, and it’s pulling me in.
‘They hate seeing me with a bottle.’
‘Well, they’re not here now. Beer?’ My tone is tighter than I’d like, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes sparkle into mine with such mischief... Christ, I want her, need her... So bad.
‘Why not.’
I’m practically climbing inside the fridge in my need to cool down and hide my raging hard-on from her gaze. I grab her a bottle too, and place both down on the counter, turning away as I swing the door closed and pull a bottle opener out of a drawer.
I’m so fixated on breathing steadily that
I barely notice her move until she’s right alongside me, staring at the wall. No, not at the wall. At the shelf and the photo framed atop it.
Fuck.
It’s been there so long it’s part of the furnishings. I curse my stupidity. I should’ve remembered—should’ve done something.
‘You still have this?’
I can hear the incredulity in her tone. Hell, I’m incredulous with myself.
I look at the bottles as I open them and inject nonchalance into my tone. ‘It was a good night.’
She’s leaning across the counter; her eyes slide from the incriminating photograph to mine. ‘No wonder you remember what I was wearing...’
I couldn’t forget. Photo or not.
She looks back to the picture, her lower lip caught in her teeth as she smiles wistfully. ‘You and Nate look so young...so happy.’
I take a slug of my beer and let my gaze drift to it too: Eva, Me, Nate, our arms over each other’s shoulders, doing a rendition of...
‘The cancan, wasn’t it?’ she says.
‘Yes.’ I have to force the simple syllable past the wedge in my throat.
‘It was a bitch in that dress—but worth every second to see you and Nate falling over yourselves to see who could get their legs the highest.’
She gives a soft laugh and then she turns to face me, her eyes curious. Too curious.
‘I’m going to take that shower. Help yourself to anything—living room is just through there.’
I’m already moving, escaping her magnetic pull, but she’s not letting me. She’s on my tail.
‘Why keep it?’
‘I told you—it was a good night.’
Really it’s a memory of a lesson learned. Never to get that close to anyone again. Not just Eva, but Nate too. It’s also the night things changed. The night she made her feelings so clear, her passion. Her switch from besotted spunky teen to—
Christ, don’t go there.
‘It was ten years ago, and you’ve had nothing to do with us for five—why would you keep it?’
I turn to look at her and she’s practically upon me. Her eyes are wide, probing. She’s looking for a deeper meaning that I know I can’t give her. I can’t open myself up to her. I trust her, but I don’t trust her with that. There can be no future for us. To confess now would be pointless and would only complicate things. I don’t want her pity and, knowing her like I do, that’s what I’ll get.
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