Her Deal with the Devil

‘Are you done?’

Something in his tone must have alerted her to his inner frustration, for she slumped back into her chair and held up her hands in surrender.

‘Sorry.’

‘No, you’re not. You believe all that crap.’

Just as his folks believed Jacques had single-handedly come up with the concept for the spring collection that had set the couture gowns sales in Paris soaring.

It had been the first time in ten years they’d given him another chance to work on a primary showing, collaborating on the spring collection alongside Jacques. Maybe they expected him to be eternally grateful, maybe they expected him to stuff up again, but never had they considered for one second he’d been the creative genius behind it.

He’d waited for their acknowledgment that he’d made amends for his monumental stuff-up when he’d first started with the company, waited for an encouraging word.

All he’d got was begrudging thanks for being part of a successful team.

Pride had kept him from confessing his true role and he’d realised something. Until he proved he’d put the past behind him on his own no one would believe him.

Least of all himself.

And it was at that moment he’d made his decision.

Making a success of the Australian branch of Fourde Fashion wasn’t debatable. It was imperative.

He needed to do this.

For him.

He’d accept nothing less than being the highest-grossing branch in the company—and that included topping their long-established French connection. Closely followed by putting his secret plan into action.

And he was looking at the one woman who could help make that happen.

‘You think I’m some lazy, indulged, rich playboy who gets by on his charm and little else.’

She couldn’t look him in the eye—vindication that he was spot-on in her assessment of him.

‘You never did give me any credit.’

Her mouth opened and closed, as if she’d wanted to respond and thought better of it. But her eyes didn’t lie, and their shameful regret made him want to thump something at the injustice of being judged so harshly.

‘Irrelevant, because my work will speak for itself.’

He expected to see scepticism.

He saw admiration and it went some way to soothing his inner wildness.

‘Okay, then, I guess we both have something to prove.’ She nodded, tapped her bottom lip, pondered. ‘From here on in a clean slate.’

‘No preconceptions?’

‘None whatsoever.’

For the first time since he’d sought her out today a coy smile curved her mouth, making him wish she’d do it more often.

‘Though you do rely heavily on charm.’

‘Pity it never worked on you,’ he muttered under his breath, surprised by her sharp intake of breath, as if she’d heard him.

She downed the rest of her cappuccino in record time and scooped the pistachio macaron into her palm. ‘Gotta dash. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.’ She cocked her finger and thumb at him. ‘Prepare to be wowed.’

As he watched her stroll away, the Lycra clinging to lean legs and shapely butt, he wondered what she’d think if she knew she’d already achieved her first goal.

CHAPTER TWO

‘YOU’D THINK AFTER three months at a freaking health spa I’d be more relaxed than this.’

Sapphie glared at Karma, the goldfish she’d purchased after checking out of Tenang as part of her new calm approach to life.

Right now rainforest sounds spilling from her iPod dock, lavender fumes from her oil burner and talking to Karma weren’t working.

She’d never felt so tense in all her life and she had Patrick Fourde to blame.

The guy was infuriating.

The guy was annoying.

The guy was seriously hot.

And that was what had her flustered deep down on a visceral level she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Despite his inherent ability to consistently rub her up the wrong way, even after a decade, she found him attractive.

That ruffled, casual, bad-boy aura he had going on? Big turn-on. Huge.

It was why she’d deliberately held him at arm’s length during high school.

Patrick Fourde, in all his slick, laid-back glory, had encapsulated everything she’d yearned to be and couldn’t. She’d had major responsibilities, being groomed to take over Seaborns, and while she’d relished every challenge her mum had thrown her way she’d always secretly wanted what Patrick had.

Freedom.

Freedom to be whomever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Freedom away from maternal expectation. Freedom from being Sapphire—the eldest, responsible one. The confident, competent one. The driven, dependable one.

She’d envied Ruby for the same reason, loving her carefree, creative sister but wishing she could be like her.

It was why she hadn’t burdened Ruby with the promise she’d made to their mum on her deathbed, why she’d kept Sea-borns’ economic situation a secret until it had been too late.

She’d learned the hard way how foolish it was to do it alone, to hide her stress beneath a brittle veneer, and if she hadn’t almost collapsed with fatigue she might have jeopardised the company altogether.

The fact she’d ignored the signs of her ailing body, pushing herself to the limit with the help of caffeine drinks and energy bars, foolish behaviour she’d never accept with anyone, least of all herself. But she’d done it—driven her body into the ground because of her stubborn independence.