Her Favourite Rival

You can do this. You’ve got all night to make this better. Take a deep breath and think.

She stared at her computer screen, but instead of neat bullet points, she saw her bank statement. She’d stretched herself so she could buy the small one-bedroom apartment she called home. She had car payments to meet, too. If she failed to impress tomorrow and the Executioner put her head on the chopping block, it wouldn’t take long before her life unraveled at the seams.

She shook her head in instinctive rejection of the scenario. She had all night. It would be enough.

She would make it enough, if it killed her.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS NEARLY seven by the time Zach switched off his computer and slid the paperwork he was taking home with him into his briefcase.

A single light shone on the other side of the department. Audrey’s office. He hesitated, then changed course. He couldn’t help smiling when he stopped in her doorway. The sleek, put-together woman from this morning was long gone. Her hair had been released from the updo and hung to her shoulders in a rumpled mess. Her jacket had been discarded and her sleeves rolled up. Her shoes were abandoned in the corner, lying on their sides. She glanced at him before her gaze returned to the computer.

“If you’re looking for the quarterly report, I passed it on to Tom already,” she said, referring to a dense, complicated report they circulated among the department to save on paper waste, one of Makers’s feeble attempts at being environmentally aware.

He knew without asking that she was working on her range review; it was what he’d be doing, too, if he’d just learned that his new boss was going to be breathing down his neck during the presentation.

“Unclench, Mathews. Your review is probably word perfect, as always. Go home and get some food and sleep.”

Her gaze lifted to his again, her expression incredulous. “As. If.”

Which was exactly what he’d say, too, if their positions were reversed.

“If you’re overtired, you’ll make mistakes.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Humor me and at least stop for dinner, then.”

She frowned, as well she might. What did he care if she ate or not? She was his rival, not his friend.

“This may come as a shock to you, but I’ve been looking after myself for a few years now. I think I have the hang of it,” she said.

Fine. He wasn’t even sure what impulse had driven him to swing by her office, anyway. Whatever it was, it had been a mistake.

“Suit yourself.” He started to turn away, then hesitated. “If you get to the point where you’re ready to chew your arm off, there’s a stash of protein bars in the bottom left drawer of my desk.”

She blinked, clearly surprised by his offer. He lifted a hand in farewell and headed for the exit, unsettled by his own altruistic impulse. For a long time now, his energies had been focused on only two things—protecting his mother from herself and establishing himself in his career. Everything else—women, friendships, outside interests—had taken a backseat. It was the reason his last girlfriend, Tina, had walked. She’d said he didn’t care enough, and in the eight months since their breakup he’d come to acknowledge that she’d been right. The bottom line was that there were only so many hours in the day, and he had only so much energy. Which was why he’d been sleeping alone since Tina bailed on him.

So why was he looking out for Audrey, worrying about whether she was skipping dinner, for God’s sake?

He threw his briefcase onto the backseat of his Audi sedan and slid behind the wheel, uncomfortably aware that part of his motivation might be that Audrey was about his age, with a damn fine figure and a low, sexy voice that had always intrigued him.

Yeah. Hard as it was to admit, apparently he wasn’t immune to the urgings of testosterone.

Well, his gonads were going to have to find someone else to fixate on, because there was no way in hell he was going to so much as look sideways at a work colleague. He’d seen too many people undone by workplace affairs to be stupid enough to go there.

It took him half an hour to drive across town to his place in Surrey Hills. He’d bought his down-at-the-heel three-bedroom Victorian cottage as an investment and was renovating it in slow stages. Once it was finished he planned to sell it and upgrade. All part of his five-year plan.

The air still smelled faintly of paint when he let himself in, despite the fact that he’d redecorated the front part of the house more than four months ago. Maybe if he cooked a little more, there would be competing smells to drown out the paint odor. He wasn’t about to start tonight, though.

There was leftover Chinese in the fridge, and he nuked it before sitting at the kitchen counter and going over the papers he’d brought home.

Tomorrow was a big day. He had a friend from university who had worked under Henry Whitman at his previous company, so Zach knew Whitman’s reputation for making lightning assessments. If he screwed up his presentation or failed to impress, things were going to get tense.

They might get tense, anyway. It all depended on what Whitman’s mandate was from the retailers who’d employed him to lead their company. Build and cultivate, or slash and burn.

He put his paperwork into his briefcase at nine and grabbed his car keys. What he really wanted was a hot shower and an early night, but ever since he’d spoken to Vera this morning there’d been an alarm sounding in the back of his mind, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he’d checked on his mother.

He drove west until he was wending through the streets of his childhood in the working-class suburb of Footscray. He stopped in front of his mother’s house, but didn’t get out of the car. Now that he was here, he couldn’t bring himself to face her. In all likelihood she would be high, and he wasn’t up to managing her tonight. Familiar guilt tugged at him, but he’d learned long ago that no matter what he did, he would always feel guilty. A tougher lesson had been learning that he was also entitled to a life. Nothing would be gained by his sacrificing everything on the altar of his mother’s addiction.

The lights were on in the front room, the flicker of the television visible through the thin net curtains. There was no car in the driveway or any other sign of a boyfriend. He sat staring at the lit window, hoping like hell that Vera had it wrong. After ten minutes he started the car and drove off.

He stripped and stepped beneath a hot shower when he got home. Moments from the day flashed across his mind’s eye as he let the water run over his shoulders and back, but the one that stuck was the picture of Audrey striding so purposefully and self-importantly across the foyer at 6:30 a.m., a stack of papers in hand. The look on her face when she’d realized it was him and not Whitman...

He laughed out loud. She’d been so damned annoyed. Mind, so had he. But it hadn’t taken her long to find her feet again, calling him on his haircut, just as he’d called her on her new shoes.

It was a pity they worked for the same company, because if he was free to follow his instincts where she was concerned—

What? You’d date her for a while and then screw that up, too?

The smile slipped from his lips.

It was irrelevant. As he’d established more than once today, Audrey wasn’t exactly his biggest fan, and he’d never make a move on her, even if she was.

He turned his face into the spray, reminding himself that there were worse things in the world than being lonely and horny.

Just because he couldn’t think of them right now didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

* * *

AUDREY RUBBED HER temples, willing her aching eyes to focus on the screen. She was so tired she could barely see straight. She’d tweaked her presentation within an inch of its life, but anxiety kept her at her desk, going over and over each page. She wanted to knock it out of the park tomorrow. She wanted Henry Whitman to remember her as the go-getter with the awesome range review, not the chipmunk-cheeked banana-eater from the staff room.

She wanted—

The low, demanding growl of her stomach echoed. She’d been ignoring her belly for the past two hours, but now she was getting to the sick stage of hunger where she was feeling more than a little shaky.

Ever heard of the law of diminishing returns? Time to go home, princess.

She knew the voice in her head was right. Her brain was mush, her judgment out the window. As much as it killed her to admit it, Zach had been on the money when he’d said that if she was overtired, she’d make mistakes.

She hit Save, then—to be safe—made a backup of her presentation and emailed it to herself. She was shutting down her computer when her phone rang in her handbag.

She grabbed it and recognized the number as her parents’. She hesitated, not sure if she was up to a conversation with her mother right now. Then she straightened her spine and took the call.

“Hi, Mum.”

“Audrey. Have I caught you at a bad time?” Her mother’s voice was cool and briskly efficient, as though she was working her way down a to-do list and talking to Audrey was the next item to be crossed off. Knowing her mother, it was probably not far from the truth.