One Wicked Week

‘I’m fine.’ She sounded snappish and that damn mouth eased into a grin. ‘When can you start?’

‘When do you want me?’

‘As soon as possible.’

It had been so long since her last date she had no idea if Brock was flirting or not. What if she’d misread his smirk? What if he was having a little fun at her expense because she’d been uptight ever since she walked into this place?

‘You’re in luck. I’m in Melbourne for the next two weeks, then I’m moving on to a job in Sydney.’ He slid his mobile out of his jacket pocket and scrolled through the calendar. ‘I can take a look tomorrow afternoon, if that suits?’

‘Perfect.’

Some of the tension holding her spine rigid eased and she relaxed into the chair for the first time since she’d got here. She could do this. Work with him for a week or two, get her business up and running, put the past few years as her parents’ general dogsbody behind her and pay homage to Sasha the way she wanted and should have done years ago.

She hated how naive she’d been, how she’d striven to be the perfect daughter, how she’d constantly sought their approval, how she’d yearned to replace Sasha in their eyes. But nothing she’d done had been good enough. Her older sister might have died eleven years ago leaving her an only child, but in her parents’ eyes she’d always be second best.

‘Is it making you uncomfortable, the fact we’ll be working together?’ Brock rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, his intense scrutiny making her want to bolt. ‘Because you approached me and I’m fine with it if you are?’

Jayda didn’t want to discuss anything to do with that night they’d lost their minds together so she skirted around the issue, giving him a snippet to distract.

‘I’m mentally planning all the work we have to do to get this project off the ground and it’s intimidating.’ She flashed him a fake smile. ‘But I’m glad you’re on board because I need all the help I can get.’

He didn’t believe her. She saw the doubt in those all-seeing eyes. ‘Why is this so important to you?’

‘I already told you. I want to help kids—’

‘Cut the altruistic bullshit, Jayda.’ He blew out a breath. ‘I’m the last guy on earth you would’ve approached for help unless you weren’t desperate so I want to know why setting up this charity means so much to you.’

‘Fuck you,’ hovered on her lips. She didn’t owe him any explanations. This would be a business transaction, nothing more. She’d pay him for his expertise; he’d make sure her IT services were top notch. But she knew him. He wouldn’t let this go. He’d been the same on graduation night, pushing her for answers as to why she’d been so upset, not giving up until she’d blurted the sad truth and ended up seeking comfort in his arms.

No way in hell would she allow that to happen this time, so she settled for the truth.

‘My sister died eighteen months before I started university.’

Sympathy darkened his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’

‘Nobody knew. I didn’t want what happened to Sasha to define me so I never mentioned it.’

Mainly because her parents never stopped: they’d talk about Sasha every single day, singing her praises, lamenting her loss, boosting her higher on the pedestal where they permanently revered her. Jayda adored Sasha too but not once had they comforted her or consoled her. Instead, they’d turned to each other, as insular in their grief as they were in everything else. When they’d finally acknowledged they had another child it had been to lay a guilt trip on her, ensuring she shelved her own dreams after uni and followed theirs.

She’d been their yes-girl, agreeing to everything in an attempt to make up for being second best. Not that they ever labelled her as such; they didn’t have to. She saw the disappointment in their eyes every time they looked at her, no matter how much she did to please them.

She’d never live up to their golden child Sasha and it had been one hell of a wake-up call to discover she didn’t have to. Her parents weren’t the good people she’d thought they were and she’d be damned if she tried to impress them any longer. They’d be lucky if she ever spoke to them again considering what she’d recently discovered within their so-called ‘charity’ work.

‘What’s Sasha got to do with your business now?’

Jayda knew once she started down this track she’d have to tell him everything. It didn’t make it any easier.

‘Sasha was amazing. Top student, excellent musician, incredible polo player.’ Her heart twanged as it always did at the memory of her sister. ‘She was one of those people who loved everyone and the feeling was mutual.’

He hesitated, before blurting, ‘You weren’t jealous?’

‘Maybe a little.’ She shrugged, deliberately blocking that useless, insidious emotion she’d conquered a long time ago. No point being jealous of a ghost, no matter how much her folks rubbed her nose in Sasha’s perfection. ‘But I loved her too. She had a good heart and that’s what ultimately killed her.’

Sorrow clogged her throat and she swallowed it, needing to finish this now that she’d started. ‘She took a gap year after finishing high school and volunteered to teach kids English in a small Guatemalan village. It was her way of showing our folks that she wouldn’t bow down to their expectations no matter how much they wanted her to take over the business one day.’

Tears prickled her eyes and she blinked them away. ‘A landslide swept through the village during her third month there. They never recovered her body.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Brock reached out and clasped her icy hand between his.

She didn’t need his sympathy, she’d moved on from her grief a long time ago, but it felt nice to have his solid hands rubbing hers, infusing her with his warmth. However, when his hands stilled, she became all too aware of the warmth spreading higher; up her arm, through her chest, into her belly, a languid heat that morphed from comforting into something else entirely.

Quickly sliding her hand out of his, she scooted back in her chair. ‘Anyway, this charity I’m setting up is my way of honouring Sasha’s memory and continuing the work she would’ve done if she’d had the chance. I want to raise money to fund education for poorer areas in South America so that children everywhere have a chance to make something of themselves.’

Admiration lit his eyes and she hated how good it made her feel. She hadn’t told him to gain respect. She’d told him to distract, to ensure he wouldn’t keep badgering her as to the real reason behind her discomfort around him.

‘So now you know.’

‘It’s a good thing you’re doing,’ he said, his tone low and soothing. ‘I’m proud of you.’

‘I don’t need your praise,’ she snapped, the urge to lean in for a hug too strong, too tempting.

‘Then what do you need?’

He wasn’t talking about his IT skills and she knew it.

Since when did the glowering geek morph into this intuitive charmer? It made her like him all the more. Not good.

‘I need you to focus on us working together.’

She eyeballed him, daring him to disagree. He’d always backed down in the past, not willing to spar, unlike other guys. He’d been closed-off and dour in uni, which had made her want to tease him all the more. But he’d avoided her unless it had involved assignments and she’d accepted that he didn’t like her. Something he’d proved otherwise on that fateful night she’d revealed herself to him in more ways than one.

‘What else do you need?’ He reached across the table and touched her knee, a glance of his fingertips that sent a pleasant shock through her.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Damn, could she sound any feebler?

‘The Jayda I used to know had a permanent smile on her face and a cheeky twinkle in her eyes.’ He gestured at her. ‘You look sad and I think it’s more than your sister’s death and your parents’ shoddy treatment.’

Damn, how did he do that? Home in on her hidden insecurities? Not that she’d tell him the real reason behind her moroseness. She’d shared way too much of herself already today. Besides, part of her reinvention in turning her back on her parents and striking out on her own meant she had to be bold, brash and not beholden to anyone, ever.

She didn’t need to be psychoanalysed by him or anyone else. She needed to take control of this situation, starting now.

Her gaze landed on the pianist, who made a smooth transition from elevator music to an upbeat jazz number. And in that moment she knew how to assert her confidence and show him how much she’d changed from that clingy, needy woman he’d known for one night six years ago.

‘Do you still like jazz?’

He blinked in surprise before nodding. ‘Yeah, I’m a tragic. How did you know?’