Читать онлайн книгу «Her Favourite Rival» автора Sarah Mayberry

Her Favourite Rival
Sarah Mayberry
Audrey Mathews has worked hard to get here. Now she’s up for a promotion and nothing will stand in her way – Including Zach Black. He’s hot, smart and the competition. When they’re assigned to the same project she’s shocked at how much she actually likes about him… and how much she misjudged him.Before long Audrey is seriously falling for Zach – and indulging in an affair that's against company policy. And the stakes raise when it’s clear only one of them can get ahead. So where do they draw the line between competition and love?Especially when she doesn’t want to lose either the promotion or the guy…


A new meaning for office politics
Audrey Mathews has worked hard to get here. Now she’s up for a promotion and nothing will stand in her way—including Zach Black. He’s hot, smart and the competition. When they’re assigned to the same project, she’s shocked at how much she actually likes about him…and how much she misjudged him.
Before long Audrey is seriously falling for Zach—and indulging in an affair that’s against company policy. And the stakes rise when it’s clear only one of them can get ahead. So where do they draw the line between competition and love? Especially when she doesn’t want to lose either the promotion or the guy….
“You enjoy laughing at me, don’t you?”
That wasn’t what Audrey had intended to say to Zach at all. But it was too late to retract her words.
“Why would I want to laugh at you?” he asked.
Because he thought he was better than her. Because it was the way of handsome, entitled, arrogant men to be amused by lessor beings.
But she wasn’t about to say either of those things out loud. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, she braved through with the most obvious—and innocuous—response.
“Because you always smile when you see me.”
His eyebrows shot up, as though she’d astonished him. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe—crazy idea—I might actually enjoy your company?”
It was her turn to be astonished. They’d spent so little time together it was impossible for him to enjoy her company. “No. You and I come from very different places in the world.”
He stared at her. Up close, his eyes appeared almost gray instead of dark blue. The gunmetal color of the ocean before a storm.
“You know what?” he said slowly. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
Dear Reader,
In our household, this book will forever be known as The Lost Book. See, just as I hit Save at around the 70,000 word mark, my hard drive died. And I hadn’t backed up in quite a while. As you can imagine, there were tears and wailing and banging of heads against hard surfaces. Then I calmed down and found a data recovery company who worked magic and salvaged my book.
It took them three weeks to accomplish the miracle and I lived in hope the entire time. I also thought about Audrey and Zach’s story. A lot. By the time I got the manuscript back, I knew I had to sacrifice almost a third of my word count to take the story in a new direction. But I did it, because I was confident I knew Audrey and Zach by then and I knew what their story needed to be.
As you can imagine, writing this one has been a bit of an obstacle course, but I was desperate for these two slightly damaged souls to understand they needed to be together, so I hung in there. I hope the effort was worth it and you enjoy Zach and Audrey’s story.
Happy reading,
Sarah Mayberry
PS—I love to hear from readers! Contact me through my website at www.sarahmayberry.com (http://www.sarahmayberry.com).
Her Favorite Rival
Sarah Mayberry

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sarah Mayberry lives by the sea near Melbourne, Australia, with her husband and a small black cavoodle called Max. She is currently enjoying her recently renovated house—complete with gorgeous new kitchen!—and feeling guilty about her overgrown garden. When she’s not writing, she can be found reading, cooking, gardening, shoe shopping and enjoying a laugh with friends and family. Oh, and sleeping. She is inordinately fond of a “nana nap.”
Where to start with all the thanks?
My brother, for holding my hand through the initial crisis.
All my fabulous writing friends who texted or tweeted or emailed to let me know this had happened to them and to hang in there and hope, with a particular nod to the fabulous Anna Campbell.
My editor, Wanda, for being so damn unflappable and positive and believing, as always, in me.
And Chris, for your wonderful calm and for making me laugh when I didn’t think I could and for all the ferrying to and fro of computer bits... You are, indeed, the shiz, my love.
Last, but not least, to Max, for all the licks and snuffles and walks and cuddles. Whatever did we do without you?
Contents
Chapter One (#u22485a87-2002-5b98-aad1-306e22efdbe7)
Chapter Two (#u604201eb-86c1-50a0-ba29-cc3988a86a0a)
Chapter Three (#u6f57a0e2-3575-5866-90d3-07430424a6ca)
Chapter Four (#u8211e8be-eb87-5aeb-84dc-0b3989e0231a)
Chapter Five (#u6637058e-5bbd-5621-9346-4a110125edaa)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS STILL dark when Audrey Mathews used her swipe card to enter Makers Hardware Cooperative’s headquarters on the southern outskirts of Melbourne. Her new shoes pinched her feet as she made her way to her office, but she figured the pain was worth it. The new CEO, Henry Whitman, started today, and she wanted to look sleek and professional and sharp when she met him. She wanted him to take one look at her and know she was up for anything he might throw at her—including a promotion.
Hence her best suit and new shoes and sleek updo.
Her stomach did a slow roll as she remembered the profile on Whitman she’d read over the weekend. She was a big believer in being prepared, and she’d dug up a bunch of old Business Review Weekly articles on her new boss. To an article, they described him as ruthless, hard-nosed and utterly unsentimental; a man who habitually cut companies to the bone to produce results. One article had even reported that his employees referred to him as the Executioner.
Formidable stuff. But she figured if he was so focused on results, he would appreciate someone who was goal-oriented and hardworking and ambitious.
And nervous. Don’t forget nervous.
Because even though she was prepared to do her damnedest to prove herself—including waking up at the crack of dawn to make a positive first impression—if Whitman ran true to form, there were going to be a lot of retrenchments in the next weeks and months, and there was a chance she might be one of them. Which was why she’d updated her résumé this weekend, too.
She might be an optimist, but she wasn’t stupid.
She checked her watch. One of the articles she’d read claimed Henry Whitman started work at six-thirty every day, without fail. Which meant he should be arriving any second now.
She gathered an armful of papers and strode toward reception. No matter where he entered, Whitman had to pass through the foyer to get to the executive offices, and she planned on being very visible when he did so.
She felt more than a little foolish as she took up a position to the rear of the foyer. For all she knew, Henry Whitman might not even register her when he arrived. Or maybe he’d see right through her ploy and mark her down as a horrible little suck-up.
She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she should give up on this crazy idea, go back to her desk and use her early start to put a dent in her workload instead of trying to manipulate events.
She wavered for a moment, but something inside wouldn’t let her back away from her plan to be noticed. Probably it was the same something that kept her at her desk many nights when most of her colleagues had gone home. If she had to try to distill it down to its component parts, she guessed it would be one part making up for lost time and two parts sheer grit and determination to carve out a useful, productive niche for herself in the world.
She might not be a doctor or a lawyer, but she was damned good at what she did, and that counted for something. Well, it did with her, anyway.
The sound of the door from the underground parking garage opening and closing echoed up the corridor. Lifting her chin, Audrey tightened her grip on her papers and stepped briskly into the foyer, trying to look as though she was on her way somewhere vital and important and urgent.
She pulled up short when she caught sight of the tall, broad-shouldered man striding toward her.
Not Henry Whitman, but Zach Black, fellow buyer and all-around thorn in her side. Why was she not surprised he was here ready to grease up to the new head honcho? The man oozed ambition; it was a miracle he hadn’t set up camp outside Whitman’s office in order to get a jump on everyone else.
She ignored the little voice that pointed out she was here to do exactly the same thing and cocked an eyebrow. There was the smallest of hitches in Zach’s stride as he saw her, then his mouth settled into the familiar, amused curve he always wore around her. As usual, he looked ridiculously, almost offensively handsome in a charcoal pinstriped suit, his pink-and-white checked shirt and pale gray tie managing to somehow straddle the fine line between professional and stylish.
“Mathews. You pulling an all-nighter or something?” he asked as he joined her.
Funny. Not.
“You read the Business Review Weekly article, didn’t you?” she guessed.
“Of course.” His dark blue eyes scanned her body. “New shoes. Nice touch.”
She fought the urge to squirm. So what if she’d put her best foot forward—literally—today of all days? It wasn’t a crime to be keen to impress your new boss.
“You had your hair cut,” she pointed out.
“It was due.”
She arched an eyebrow again. Who was he kidding? Like her, he’d clearly come prepared to smooch maximum butt this morning.
“Is he here yet?” he asked, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the CEO’s office.
“Not yet.”
“Hmm.” He frowned and checked his watch. “Maybe he’s taking meetings off-site today.”
“Maybe.”
“Talking to some of the key suppliers.”
“Could be.”
A lock of almost-black hair flopped over his forehead, lending his good looks a more approachable, boyish appeal. An illusion, of course. Zach was a shark in a suit. He’d been recruited to Makers six months ago, bringing with him a reputation as a wunderkind who’d gone to the right schools and rocketed his way up the corporate ladder at light speed. She’d recognized him as her only real competition for the next category manager’s job that came up the moment she laid eyes on him, and time had done nothing to prove her instincts wrong.
Zach checked his watch again. “Might as well get some work done, I guess.”
She watched as he walked away, her gaze gravitating to the firm muscles of his backside. She had a running bet with her friend Megan that he had his suits specially tailored to flatter his rear. That was the only explanation for how good his butt looked and why he was universally known as the Man With the Golden Ass among the women in the building.
Good thing she was more of a leg woman.
She returned to her own office, frustrated that her grand plan had gone astray—and that she wasn’t the only one who’d had the genius idea of ambushing the new CEO.
Bloody Zach Black.
It took her a moment to get past the prickliness he always seemed to inspire in her to see the humor in the situation: the two of them getting up before sunrise to race into work to impress each other. If it was anyone else, she’d be laughing with them in the staff room over a cup of terrible instant coffee.
But it wasn’t anyone else; it was Zach. It didn’t help that he was three years younger than her with many years less experience in the industry, yet thanks to impressive academic qualifications and a short but stellar CV, had walked into a job on the same level and was probably getting paid more than her. She knew that was the way the world worked—that women, on average, earned 78 percent of what their male colleagues did in equivalent roles, and that the business community tended to value academic qualifications over working-your-way-up-the-ladder, hands-on experience—but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
Nor did his fancy suits and sleek European car and general air of swanky-well-groomed-well-bred-ness. The way he spoke, the way he dressed, even the car he drove seemed designed to let the world know he was that little bit better than everyone else.
Even if it was true, she didn’t need her face rubbed in it.
She also didn’t need to sit at her desk brooding over him. A few hours from now, the office would be buzzing with people who all wanted a piece of her busy schedule. In the meantime, she had a full in-tray to work her way through. More than enough to keep her mind off her pesky colleague.
* * *
ZACH TRIED TO concentrate on the spreadsheet on his computer screen. He was developing a new store-brand power-tool range with one of Makers’s big suppliers, and the information in front of him was important. Unfortunately, all he could think about was Audrey Mathews in her navy suit and new shoes.
She’d beaten him in. If he’d taken the time to think about it, he might have guessed she would do her homework on Whitman, that she’d note the man’s six-thirty start time, and that she’d be here early to impress the man, the same as him. As a general rule, though, he tried not to think about Audrey too much. Not only because he preferred to run his own race. There was something disturbingly distracting about her shiny brown hair and warm golden-brown eyes. Then there was the way she looked in her neat little suits. He shook his head and refocused on his computer. There were too many offerings in the cordless battery range at the budget end of the market. It was crazy to waste shelf space on what was essentially the same product with some minor tweaks.
Maybe he was being paranoid, but he got the distinct impression that he wasn’t Audrey’s favorite person. Which was fine. He’d allocated himself two years at Makers to win a promotion to category manager. He didn’t have time for distractions.
There were ten buyers in the merchandising department, but he’d worked out early on that Audrey was the only competition he needed to worry about. She was one of a handful of female executives, but she never played the gender card to get what she wanted. She was thorough, smart, calm in a crisis and determined. She also had a long history with the company and was well respected. In short, a serious contender for the next category manager opening.
Pity he was going to be the one who got it.
Registering that he was once again thinking about Audrey, he swung away from his computer. Coffee was clearly needed to jump-start his brain. He’d had to forgo his usual morning run to get in early, so caffeine would have to act as a substitute for fresh air and endorphins.
As luck would have it, he had to pass Audrey’s office on the way to the small staff room situated between the marketing and merchandising departments. Her dark head was bent over her desk as she wrote something on a notepad. He wasn’t sure he approved of her new hairstyle. It was too severe for her round face. Made her look like a repressed librarian or school principal.
Still, there was something to be said for repressed librarians. All that pent-up passion...
As if she’d sensed his errant thoughts, Audrey glanced up from her work. She was wearing a pair of dark-framed, rectangular reading glasses, and her gaze met his briefly over the top of the frames, accentuating the schoolmarmish vibe.
She wasn’t schoolmarmish, though. He’d seen her at the office Christmas party, laughing and dancing and enjoying herself. She was fun, when she let her hair down. Fun and more than a little sexy.
Okay, definitely time for coffee.
He made a point of keeping his gaze dead ahead on the return journey and lost himself in his work once he was at his desk. Over the next two hours, the office slowly came to life as the rest of the staff trickled in. He looked up a couple of times as people called out greetings to him, but otherwise he was undisturbed, and he managed to finalize his notes to the supplier.
As nine drew closer, a familiar tension settled into the back of his neck. He waited until nine-thirty before picking up the phone. It was a Monday, after all, and he always checked in with Vera on Mondays.
“Hi, Zach,” she said when she picked up.
“Vera. How are things? Did your daughter have her baby yet?”
“She’s due next week. Although from the size of her I’m beginning to think she’s having twins.” Vera laughed, years of smoking giving the sound a husky roughness.
“This’ll be your third grandchild, right?”
“You’ve got a sharp memory.”
He did. For lots of things, good and bad.
“How’s Mum doing?” he finally asked.
Might as well cut to the chase, since neither Vera nor he was under the illusion that he was calling to talk about the imminent arrival of her grandchild.
“All quiet on the western front at the moment. There might be a new boyfriend on the scene. It’s hard to tell sometimes.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. A new boyfriend. Great. His mother had disastrous taste in men.
“But otherwise everything is good?”
“As far as I can tell.”
“Thanks, Vera. I appreciate it.” Next time he visited his mother, he’d drop by next door, too, and give Vera a box of the Scottish shortbreads she loved and some passes for the movies. She refused to take anything more from him, even though he’d done his best to convince her otherwise over the years.
“You look after yourself, sweetheart,” she said warmly, then he was listening to the dial tone.
He couldn’t stop his mind from racing ahead to what the future would almost inevitably hold if what Vera had said was true. None of it was good. If his mother had a new boyfriend and he ran true to type, there would be hospital visits in the near future. Police visits, too. Then the inevitable binge as his mother drowned her sorrows post-breakup.
Acid burned in his belly. He’d been looking out for his mother one way or another for more than twenty years, and the cycle of ups and downs was always the same. Never-ending. Relentless. And it was always going to be that way, until the day she died.
Suddenly he felt infinitely weary. As though gravity had doubled, dragging him down. He stared at his desk blotter, lost in a world of worry.
The ping of an email arriving cut through his thoughts. His gaze shifted to the screen.
There was work to do—there was always work to do. Reaching for his keyboard, he pushed his troubles aside and concentrated on the matter at hand.
* * *
THE NEW SHOES had been a mistake. By the time midmorning rolled around, Audrey’s feet were throbbing so much she wanted to sob with every step she took. Every time she was safely behind her desk she toed them off, which only made squeezing her now-swollen feet back into the shoes every time she needed to leave her office even more painful.
A lesson learned. Next time she bought new shoes, she would run a marathon in them before she so much as considered wearing them to work.
The “best” thing was that Henry Whitman still hadn’t set foot in the building. The steam off the office street was that Zach’s guess had been right—Henry had taken breakfast meetings with the company’s top five suppliers. Which meant her early start and painful shoes had all been for nothing.
Awesome.
She had a slew of phone calls leading up to lunch and was about to rush out to a sandwich shop to grab a bite when she saw her fellow buyer and friend Megan hustling past her office with her head down. Spider senses tingling, Audrey followed her to the ladies’ room. She entered in time to see her friend’s face crumple with misery. She didn’t hesitate, opening her arms and pulling Megan close for a hug.
“Is this what I think it is?” Audrey asked.
“Yes.”
“Megsy, it’ll happen,” she said quietly. “By hook or by crook, it’ll happen.”
Megan and her husband had been trying to get pregnant for a while now, having suffered a miscarriage early in their relationship.
“I’m so sick of this. Why won’t my body work? What’s wrong with me?” Megan’s voice was thick with tears, her small-featured face flushed.
Audrey pressed a kiss to her temple and squeezed her a little tighter. Megan was going to make a great mum, and Audrey didn’t doubt for a moment that somehow she would get there, whether through the old-fashioned way or IVF or adoption, but it was a long, exhausting row to hoe.
“Hang in there. It’ll happen. And if it doesn’t, you’ll find a way to make it happen.”
“I know. It’s just...hard.” Megan sniffed loudly and Audrey released her, leaning across to pluck a handful of tissues from the box next to the washbasin.
“Thanks.” Megan blew her nose, then took a big, shuddery breath. “Do I look like a panda?”
They both turned to consider her reflection in the mirror—smudged eyes, sad mouth, wavy blonde hair down to her shoulders.
“I’m thinking raccoon. Or Lady Gaga the morning after,” Audrey said.
Megan gave an almost-smile. “I wish.”
“Want me to go get your handbag?”
“Would you?”
Audrey gave her a gentle punch on the arm. “Even though it’s a feat on a par with landing a man on the moon, I will. Because it’s you, and because I’m that kind of girl.”
By the time she’d returned and helped Megan repair her makeup and talked some more about her friend’s recalcitrant ovaries and uncooperative uterus, the window for sandwich-grabbing had well and truly closed. Audrey was due in her office for a phone hookup with some interstate colleagues. Not that she minded, at all. Megan had saved her sanity more times than she could count, and Audrey would have been happy to hold her friend’s hand all afternoon.
Still, by two-thirty hunger was gnawing a hole in her belly, and she hobbled to the staff room to collect the tub of emergency yogurt she had stashed in the fridge. She did a little air punch when she saw that a generous colleague had left a bunch of bananas on the table with a note taped to them: Help yourself. Banana and yogurt—practically a three-course meal.
She took a seat before pulling the largest and ripest fruit from the bunch and peeling the top off her yogurt. She’d just eased her shoes off and taken a big bite of banana when a tall, gray-haired man in his late fifties appeared in the doorway. She recognized him instantly as Henry Whitman and nearly choked.
“Excuse me, can you tell me where Gary O’Connor’s office is, please?” The man smiled thinly, his gray eyes flicking over her in efficient assessment before taking a quick inventory of the staff room.
Audrey swallowed a mortified moan. She’d dragged herself out of bed at the horrific hour of four-thirty so she could be in a position to make a good first impression on this man, and instead she got to meet him with bulging cheeks and an enormous half-peeled banana in her hand.
She chewed like crazy and tried to force the lump of banana down her suddenly tight throat. The silence seemed to stretch as he waited for her answer, eyebrows slightly raised. She was on the verge of attempting to mime directions to Gary’s office when the banana finally slid down her throat.
Thank. God.
Eyes watering, she summoned what she hoped was a gracious, professional smile. “Sorry about that.” Her voice sounded funny. As though she’d choked down a chunk of banana, in fact. “Gary’s office is the first on your left around the corner. The one with the Father Christmas suit hanging from the coatrack.”
“Father Christmas. Right. Thank you.”
She started to introduce herself, but he was already turning away. A heartbeat later, he was gone.
Audrey swore under her breath and groped under the table with her feet, searching for her shoes. Had he noticed that her feet were bare? God, she hoped not. She so did not want her new boss’s first impression to be of her barefoot and chipmunk-cheeked, holding the world’s most phallic food.
She was sliding her right foot into its shoe when Zach cruised into the room, coffee mug in hand.
“Mathews.” He gave her a casual salute.
She stood. She wasn’t in the mood for his mocking smiles right now. She’d just crashed and burned, big time. Despite her careful plotting and planning, her scary, intimidating new boss now thought she was about as dynamic as a cud-chewing Jersey cow.
“You know, something’s been bugging me, Mathews.” Zach leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, his tone serious but his eyes laughing. “We were the only people here this morning—so where exactly were you headed so urgently with all those important papers?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Not the world’s wittiest comeback, but it was the best she could do at short notice.
“That was the point of me asking, actually.”
She wasn’t sure what devil prompted her next words. Maybe it was the way Zach was laughing at her, or maybe it was because she was disconcertingly aware of the fact that his crossed-arm posture accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and the muscles in his biceps.
“So, what do you think of Whitman?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t met him yet.” Zach’s eyes narrowed. “Why, have you?”
“We had a little chat.”
Very little, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Yeah? What about?”
“This and that. Christmas, that kind of thing.” She waved a hand to suggest a broader conversation.
“What was your impression?”
She thought to the moment when she’d looked into Whitman’s cold, steely eyes.
“Surprisingly approachable, actually.”
Zach would find out soon enough that their new CEO was a cyborg, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep him off-balance in the short term.
“Good to hear,” Zach said. “Makes the range review presentations a little less daunting.”
She’d been turning to leave, wanting to exit on a high, but his words brought her up short.
“The range reviews? What’s he got to do with the range reviews?”
Regularly reviewing and assessing the performance of the products within the various departments under her purview was an integral part of her—and Zach’s—role.
“He’s sitting in on them. Didn’t you hear?”
She blinked rapidly, trying to get her head around his announcement. The range reviews were tomorrow. She’d assumed she’d be presenting to the merchandising manager, Gary, as usual, as well as the panel of store owners who sat on the catalog committee. Since Makers was a cooperative, its 645 member stores liked to have a say in what was stocked and how it was promoted, and the representative store owners on the committee spoke on their behalf. They could be a force to be reckoned with at times, but she was used to dealing with them.
Henry Whitman was a whole other story, though.
“When did you find this out?” Her voice was high with surprise.
“Last week sometime.”
Which meant he’d had days to make his presentation as kick-ass as possible, while she had—she checked her watch—less than twenty-four hours.
Aware of Zach watching her, she forced herself to shrug as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Should make it a bit more interesting than usual.”
“Absolutely.” He grinned, the epitome of cocky arrogance.
She forced her mouth into what she hoped was an equally confident smile and headed for the door, making an effort not to hobble in her too-tight shoes or show by the flicker of an eyelid that she was battling a panicky wash of adrenaline. Showing any weakness in front of this man was the equivalent of a limping gazelle bathing in gravy and handing out paper plates and serviettes to the waiting lions. She wasn’t about to make it easy for him.
In her office, she dialed her boss.
“Gary, what’s this I’m hearing about Henry Whitman sitting in on our range reviews tomorrow?”
“Oh, yeah. I meant to let you know. He wants to get a feel for our systems, see people in action.”
“Right.” She bit the single word out. Gary was a good guy, but sometimes he forgot to pass on things and this was a classic example.
“Relax, Audrey. You’ll do fine.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
She tossed the phone onto her desk and called up the range review file. She’d opted to rationalize the portable heating range and had arranged her points neatly in a slide show presentation, complete with product specifications, images and pricing. It was fine, perfectly adequate, but there were no bells or whistles or extras. She knew without a doubt that Zach’s would have all of the above, and more.
“Crap.”
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.
“No, no, you’re good. How are you? How’s Dad?” She could hear the polite stiffness in her own voice but was powerless to stop it. After years of agonizing over their relationship and trying to make up for the mistakes of her past, she had come to accept that this was simply the way things were—not so bad, but not so great, either.
“We’re well, thank you. I won’t keep you, but I wanted to ask you to save the seventeenth for Leah’s birthday. Your father is keen to take her somewhere special for lunch.”
“Sure. I’ll put it in my calendar now.” It was her sister’s thirtieth, so it made sense that their father would want to make a splash.
“She’s been working so hard lately, she deserves a treat.”
Like both their parents, Leah was a doctor, but while Karen and John were both G.P.s, Leah was training to be a cardiothoracic surgeon, something their mother had always wanted for her.
“How many years left now?” Audrey asked.
“Four. Which seems like a long time at the moment but the sky is literally the limit when she’s completed her training.” There was no missing the pride in her voice.
And why not? Leah had always been the best at everything. High school had been a walk in the park, she’d graduated at top of her class at university and she’d secured a place in the cardiothoracic program without breaking a sweat. It stood to reason that once Leah finished her training she would have a stellar career that would make their mother even prouder.
“Well, she’s on the downhill run now,” Audrey joked. “She can start taking it easy soon.”
“I don’t think your sister knows how. We had a spa day together last week and she spent the whole time checking her messages and making phone calls. Typical high achiever.” Her mother gave a fond sigh.
Audrey picked up her pen and started drawing circles on the notepad beside her phone.
“How’s everything else? Did you sort out the problem with the lawn?”
“What problem with the lawn?” Her mother sounded completely blank.
“The drainage. Last time we spoke you’d had some problems with flooding down the back.”
“Oh, that was months ago. Your father had someone come in and dig a ditch or something. Anyway, it’s all fine now.”
“Good.”
They talked about the weather and her parents’ garden for a few more minutes, then her mother insisted on “letting her go.”
Audrey closed her eyes, aware of the old, old hollow feeling behind her breastbone. Every now and then, her mother or father or sister said something that gave her a glimpse into the world they shared with one another—cozy dinners for three, outings to the theater, European holidays. Last week, a mother-daughter spa day.
And Audrey hadn’t spoken to any of them for over a month. Even after so many years, it hurt to know it all went on without her. She’d be lying if she pretended anything else.
“Definitely time to go home.”
Before she became completely maudlin and pathetic.
She snagged the strap of her handbag and her briefcase then stood. The room spun crazily as the blood rushed from her head, and she slapped her hand onto the desk to steady herself.
Whoa. Someone has low blood sugar.
She held out her hand, and sure enough it was shaking. It was nearly ten, and she’d been at her desk since six-thirty in the morning. Lunch had been two bites of banana and a snack-size yogurt—hours ago.
So much for knowing how to look after herself. Barefoot, she made her way to the staff room in the hope that there were some bananas left. No such luck. The cookie jar was empty, too, only a few crumbs in the bottom to taunt the truly desperate. She opened the fridge and eyed the detritus left from other people’s lunches. Squishy-looking fruit and dry, curled sandwiches. Blurg.
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 shut the fridge door. There was no way she was raiding Zach’s stash. There was something about the idea of accepting a favor from him that made her uncomfortable.
Her stomach growled, an audible counterargument to her thoughts. She looked around the kitchen a little desperately. She’d make herself another cup of coffee with lots of sugar. That should do the trick. She opened the fridge in search of milk, only to find none.
Damn it. She hated black coffee with a passion.
Stop being so bloody precious. Eat his protein bar and go home and get a good night’s sleep. Like a grown-up.
Gritting her teeth, she marched out of the staff room before she could think the matter to death. Zach’s office was on the opposite side of the department from hers. She paused in the doorway, then committed herself to his domain.
Like her, he had a company-issue desk made from blond wood veneer. The bookcase and filing cabinet were also standard-issue, but he’d hung a series of black-and-white framed photographs on the walls, arty shots of old buildings and other architectural features, as well as bringing in an old-fashioned wood-and-brass desk lamp. She’d been in his office for only brief moments before, and she paused in front of one the photographs. A moody photograph of a European street, it was stark and simple. She wondered if he’d taken it himself.
She gave herself a shake. She was here for sustenance, not snooping. She couldn’t stop herself from noticing his pristine desktop as she pushed his chair back to access the drawers, though. His blotter was unblemished, his in-and out-trays empty. By contrast, her own desk looked like a war zone: piles of papers, catalogs bristling with sticky notes, crumbs in her keyboard, a million reminders to herself scribbled across the blotter. She hadn’t sighted her in-tray for over a month, it was buried beneath so much paperwork. She prided herself on the fact that, if pushed, she could lay her hand on anything within thirty seconds, but the fact remained that Zach had her beat, hands down, in the anal tidiness stakes.
She slid the bottom drawer open. Sure enough, a box of protein bars was inside. There were two flavors, Dutch chocolate and French vanilla, and she chose vanilla. She was about to shut the drawer when her gaze fell on a bottle of aftershave. She reached for it and lifted it to her nose, inhaling a light citrus scent with surprising spicy base notes. Mmm. Nice. She sniffed again, closing her eyes as she tried to identify what it reminded her of. The beach in summer? No, it was more intimate than that. Perhaps—
Abruptly she registered what was she was doing—hovering over Zach’s desk, sniffing his aftershave. She whipped her hand away from her face so quickly she almost dropped the bottle. She returned it to the drawer, being careful to put it exactly where she had found it, then closed the drawer. There was a memo pad beside Zach’s computer and she reached for the nearest pen to write him an IOU. It wasn’t until she felt the weight of the thing that she realized she wasn’t holding an ordinary plastic ballpoint. Black and shiny with warm golden accents, the pen had real heft to it. When she pressed it against the paper, it rolled effortlessly, silkily across the page. Then she spotted the tiny telltale star logo on the end.
Montblanc.
Wow. No wonder his handwriting was always so crisp and elegantly formed.
Must be nice to be able to drop three figures on a fancy pen. She made a noise, unable to imagine a universe where she would have enough money to spare to allow herself that kind of indulgence.
She returned the pen to the caddy on Zach’s desk and escaped his office, taking with her the slightly guilty sense that she’d invaded his privacy. Checking out his photos and sniffing his aftershave and using his fancy-schmancy pen was hardly on a par with riffling through his underwear drawer, but if their positions were reversed, she knew she wouldn’t be thrilled to know he’d lingered over her personal effects. In fact, the thought of him examining her space in that way made her toes curl into the carpet.
In her office, she tore the wrapper off the protein bar and ate it with stolid determination, chewing and swallowing until the thing was gone and the edgy, shaky feeling had passed.
She let out a sigh of relief, then grabbed her bag, briefcase and shoes and headed for the garage.
Whether she liked it or not, Zach had saved her bacon tonight. She would make a point of thanking him for his generosity tomorrow—as well as replacing the bar, of course. Under no circumstances would she try to get close enough to find out if he was wearing any of that delicious aftershave, though. And she definitely wouldn’t ask him to confirm her guess about the photos on his office wall.
He was still the enemy, after all. Or, at best, her fiercest rival. It would never pay to forget that.
* * *
“HOW DID IT GO?” Megan asked.
Audrey sank onto the bar stool next to her best friend and let her bag slide to the floor. “I’m alive. That’s about all I’m willing to commit to right now.”
Twenty minutes ago she’d left the conference room after delivering her range review and enduring nearly an hour and a half of brutal, probing questions courtesy of Henry Whitman. He’d asked about her range initiative, grilling her on every possible detail, then branched out into asking about her strategy for the department, her thoughts on the retail hardware sector in Australia, her experience in the industry...
Even though it was only five o’clock when she emerged, she’d been so exhausted and wrung out she hadn’t hesitated to bail when she found Megan’s note indicating that she’d be waiting at Al’s Place. She’d said goodbye to her assistant, Lucy, and made for the exit as though the hounds of hell were on her tail.
Megan slid a glass of red wine along the bar toward her. “Here. You look like you could use this.”
“Does it come in IV form?” Audrey slumped forward, propping her elbows on the bar.
Megan pushed her hair over her shoulder. “Wow. He really gave you a going-over, huh? I pretty much said my piece, answered a few questions from the retailers and then buggered off.”
Audrey stared at her. “Really? He didn’t grill you on everything from your favorite color to whether you believe in the Easter Bunny or not?”
“It was an Easter Bunny–free conversation.” Megan’s brow puckered. “Do you think that’s a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I have no idea.”
“I think it’s a bad thing. He was obviously interested in you. Me, not so much.” Megan shrugged philosophically, her expression clearing. “Oh, well. As soon as I’m knocked up I’m out of here anyway, so it probably doesn’t really matter what the Executioner thinks of me.”
“I think we need a different nickname. The Interrogator is much more accurate,” Audrey said.
“The Interrogator. Nice. Has a good, intimidating ring to it.”
Audrey sucked down a mouthful of wine. “We should probably eat something with this.”
They both had to get behind the wheel to drive home, after all.
“Already on it. Cameron is bringing curly fries.”
“I knew there was a reason we love it here.”
They’d discovered Al’s Place a couple of years ago. A dark and dingy little bar in the strip of shops across from Makers, the rest of their colleagues gave it a wide berth, making it the perfect place for post-work bitch sessions and two-woman mutual sympathy parties. The floor was sticky and the decor firmly stuck in the eighties, but Cameron always gave them lots of pretzels and was never stingy with his pouring.
“Okay, the big question for you,” Megan said, twisting so she faced Audrey more squarely. “If Whitman came over all Robert Redford in Indecent Proposal with you, would you or wouldn’t you?”
Audrey let out a crack of laughter. Trust Megan to find such a unique, irreverent way to put the afternoon’s ordeal into perspective.
“Come on.” Megan nudged her. “Would you sleep with him to keep your job or not?”
Audrey considered that. Whitman had to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, but he was in good shape, no spare tire or jowly chops. If she squinted and the lighting was right, he might be considered a silver fox. But there was no amount of squinting that could erase those steely, all-seeing eyes.
“Not in a million years,” she said.
“What was it that did it for you? The sausage fingers or the seagull eyes?”
“The eyes. I didn’t even notice his fingers.”
“Oh, you will, trust me. They’re hard to miss.” Megan shuddered, then took a sip.
Audrey huffed out a laugh. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”
“I’m thinking he’s a socks-with-sandals kind of guy, too. I bet he breaks them out at the conference, along with bad floral shirts with short sleeves.”
Audrey nearly choked on her wine. “God, I’d forgotten all about the conference.”
She’d been so consumed with researching her new boss it had slipped her mind that she and her colleagues would soon be flying to sunny Queensland for three days of intense business powwows with more than six hundred member retailers.
“Only ten days to go.” Megan raised her glass in mock toast.
Audrey didn’t lift her glass in return. This would be her second conference in the capacity of buyer, and she wasn’t looking forward to being cornered by random retailers and taken to task over some imagined slight or oversight or deficiency. Throw Henry Whitman and his X-ray vision and hard questions into the mix, and the conference began to look like an endurance test of epic proportions.
“Look at it this way—it’s three days’ worth of sucking-up opportunities. We can all sing for our supper and make the big man feel suitably powerful, then come home again and get back to business as usual,” Megan said matter-of-factly.
“You really think it will be business as usual?”
Megan’s blue eyes became serious. “No. I think Whitman is going to go through us like a combine harvester. But there’s nothing I can do to stop that from happening, so I am going to do my best and live my life and take the worst as it comes, if it comes.”
They were both silent as they contemplated the truth of Megan’s words. Cameron broke the moment by sliding a bowl of golden fries in front of them.
“Enjoy, ladies.”
“Bless you. Animal fats to the rescue,” Audrey said.
They both reached for a handful of potato curls.
“Who do you think will go first?” Audrey asked.
Megan sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe Barry? And possibly Gordon. In my experience, guys like Whitman always have their own team they want to bring on board.”
Since Barry and Gordon both worked in the financial area, Megan’s assessment made sense.
“Out of us, I wouldn’t want to be Tom.” Megan referred to the buyer in charge of building materials.
Audrey nodded in agreement. Tom was a lovely man, but he was close to retirement age and definitely old school in his approach.
“I tell you who won’t be going, though—Zach. Fifty bucks he gets a promotion out of all of this.”
Audrey reached for the fries. “He’s not that good.”
“Sorry, sweetie, but he is. He’s smart, he’s good at what he does and he could charm a snake out of its skin.”
Audrey rolled her eyes. “You’re only saying that because you have a soft spot for him.”
“Yeah, it’s called a vagina.”
Audrey shook her head at her friend’s outrageousness. “You are so lucky no one from work comes here.”
Megan stuffed a fry into her mouth before cocking her head. “You honestly don’t think he’s hot?”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
Audrey did know. She shrugged. “He’s okay. A bit too perfect, pretty-boy for my taste.”
“He’s not a pretty boy. He’s got that little bump on the bridge of his nose like he’s been in a fight. And he’s got that cowboy-to-the-rescue walk.” Megan mimed Zach’s confident swagger from her seated position.
“Does your husband know about your little obsession?” Audrey asked.
“What he doesn’t know he can’t use in the divorce proceedings. You know, if you were a true friend, you’d go there for me and give me a full report.”
“You’re a pervert, you know that?”
“Okay, don’t give me a full report. But for God’s sake don’t let an opportunity like Zach Black pass you by.”
“He’s just a man, Megsy. He takes his pants off one leg at a time. He probably has trouble finding the clitoris like every other male on the planet.”
“Honey, Zach knows exactly where the clitoris is. All you have to do is look into his eyes to know that.”
An odd little shiver ran down Audrey’s spine. She knew what Megan was talking about—the knowing, dirty glint in Zach’s eyes that spoke of tangled sheets and roaming hands and healthy, earthy curiosity.
“Stop it. I don’t want to think about Zach in relation to my clitoris or any other body part.”
“Ahem.”
The sound came from behind her, and had a distinctly masculine tone. Belatedly she noticed the cool brush of air on the nape of her neck—as though someone had recently entered—and the tide of color rising up Megan’s chest and into her face.
Everything in her went very still. She closed her eyes. “Please tell me Zach isn’t standing behind me.”
“I could tell you that, but it wouldn’t be true,” her friend replied.
Audrey mouthed a four-letter word as embarrassed heat flooded her face. She told herself to turn around and face the music, but her body was rigid with mortification.
“It’s not going to get any easier, Mathews,” Zach said. “Might as well get it over and done with.”
She knew exactly what expression he’d be wearing—smug, slightly self-satisfied. How...appalling.
Slowly she turned. Contrary to her expectation, his expression was carefully neutral. For the life of her she couldn’t tell if he was pissed or amused or something else entirely.
“I tried your phone, but it went straight to voice mail, and Lucy said to try over here. A courier dropped off a delivery in the parking garage and backed into your car.”
“What?” Audrey slid off the stool and onto her feet, concern for her car momentarily trumping her humiliation.
“It’s not major, but I figured you’d want to know about it. Lucy’s got the guy’s insurance details.”
Her thoughts rushing ahead to insurance claims and the inconvenience of repairs, Audrey collected her bag and turned to go. At the last minute she remembered the bar tab and turned back.
“Don’t worry about it. Your treat next time,” Megan said, waving her off.
It wasn’t until she was exiting Al’s Place and blinking in the bright late-afternoon sunlight that Audrey realized she’d have to make the walk back to the office with Zach at her side.
If she’d stopped to think for even a second, she would have made some excuse to send him ahead of her—anything to avoid the awkward, loaded silence that descended as they made their way to the traffic lights. She pressed the button and stared across the four lanes of road separating her from her place of work. Never had a few meters of asphalt seemed to stretch so far.
She sneaked a look at Zach out of the corner of her eye. He was staring straight ahead, his expression still unreadable. She wondered how much of the conversation he’d heard. Obviously, the bit where she’d referenced her very private body parts and his name in the same sentence. But had he heard the bit where Megan had admired his prowess? Or the bit where Audrey had dismissed him as a pretty boy?
She was still hot from the first wave of embarrassment, but she could feel a second, deeper heat stealing into her cheeks. So much for Al’s being a safe place of refuge. She would never sit with her back to the door again for the rest of her life.
The light changed and they strode onto the road. Audrey kept sneaking glances at Zach, but he had the best poker face she’d ever come across.
Finally she broke. “Look, I know it must have sounded pretty bad, but what you heard was totally out of context.”
They’d reached the center island and Zach stopped, forcing her to stop, too.
“Maybe I’m a bit thick, but I can’t come up with too many contexts that feature your clitoris and me in the same conversation that aren’t exactly what I’m thinking.”
Dear God. She couldn’t believe she was standing in the middle of a freeway listening to Zach refer to her lady parts as casually as if he was discussing the weather.
“We were actually discussing the likelihood of you being promoted,” she said a little desperately.
He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and considered her for a moment. “Okay, I’ll bite. What on earth has that got to do with your clitoris?”
She gritted her teeth. “Could you stop saying that, please?”
“What? Clitoris?”
“Yes.”
A truck blew past, making his jacket flap.
“Would you prefer me to call it something else? Little man in the boat? Love button?”
He was enjoying himself, she could tell by the creases around his eyes. And maybe she deserved to suffer a little. If she’d caught him having the same conversation about her with one of their male colleagues, she would be justifiably outraged.
“I would really, really like you to erase the last five minutes from your memory.”
He turned and hit the button to trigger the pedestrian lights. When he faced her he shrugged.
“Okay.”
She stared at him, but there wasn’t much else she could do or say. He’d caught her having an inappropriate conversation with a friend, and she was going to have to live with the knowledge that Zach now believed she and Megan habitually talked about him in intimate terms in their spare time.
The light changed and they walked in silence the rest of the way. Zach led the way to the garage before standing back while she inspected the large dent in the side of her little hatchback. She was very aware of him as she ran her hand over the damage.
“Ugly but drivable,” she said.
“Yeah. His insurance should cover the repair.”
She looked at him. Humiliation aside, he’d gone out of his way to find her so she wouldn’t return and find her car all banged up. A pretty nice thing to do.
And he’d fed her last night.
“Thanks for coming to get me. I appreciate it.”
“It was no big deal.” He buttoned his suit jacket. “See you tomorrow.”
He headed for the stairs, no doubt going back up to his office to put in more overtime. She watched him walk away, begrudgingly agreeing with Megan—he was too manly and masculine to be a true pretty boy, even if his face was very pretty.
But it seemed he wasn’t just an attractive face. He could be nice, too, as well as considerate.
She frowned. She didn’t want to start seeing the human side of Zach. He got under her skin enough already. If they were in a meeting together, it was always his comments she remembered the most clearly afterward. At large work functions, she always knew where he was and who he was talking to. And when he took leave or traveled interstate, the office felt too quiet and slow in his absence, as though some vital element was missing.
She didn’t want to be so aware of him. In fact, it was the very last thing she wanted. Half the women in the building had a crush on him, and she steadfastly refused to join their ranks.
Besides, even if he was a nice person under his well-cut suits and perfect hair, it didn’t change the fact that he would throw her under a bus if he thought it would further his career.
Admit it, you’d give him a shove, too.
Maybe. Part of her liked to think she would. She worked in a male-dominated industry, and it was important to be as tough, as emotionless as many of the men she had around her. The other part of her questioned if any role or pay raise was worth all the stress and exhaustion and worry.
She squared her shoulders. It was worth it. The alternatives—sitting in the corner waiting to be rewarded for being a good little girl, or giving up entirely and finding something less demanding—were not really alternatives. She could no more walk away from this job and her ambition than she could change the color of her eyes or her skin. She needed to prove herself. She needed it like she needed oxygen.
Turning her back on her scratched and dented car, she headed back to her office. If Zach was putting in the long hours tonight, she needed to be, too.
That was just the way it was.
CHAPTER THREE
ZACH WASN’T ABOUT to kid himself—there was no way he would get any work done with Audrey’s words bouncing around inside his head.
I don’t want to think about Zach in relation to my clitoris or any other body part.
He’d entered the bar just in time to catch Audrey’s words, and he was burning to know what she and Megan had been talking about before he arrived.
Him—obviously—but had the conversation been led by Megan or Audrey? And had it been the kind of conversation a guy liked to think women might have about him when he wasn’t around, or the kind that could leave a man scarred for life?
He made a frustrated noise as it hit him that he would never know. The odds of Audrey ever willingly broaching the topic again were slim to none, and he certainly wasn’t going to harangue her into confessing. That would give her too much power.
He would simply have to learn to live with the mystery. Yet another unanswered question where she was concerned, to be added to the host of other things he wanted to know about her.
Like what she did when she wasn’t working, and why he found her so compelling, and if the pale, downy skin at the nape of her neck was as soft and fragrant as he imagined....
He loosened his tie and gave himself a mental slap, pushing thoughts of Audrey into a dark, deep corner. Where they were going to stay, for the sake of his peace of mind and his career.
He made a point of not noticing if Audrey’s office was still lit as he made his way to his car an hour later. He drove home via the supermarket and walked in the door just after eight o’clock. He kicked off his shoes, made himself a chicken sandwich and ate in front of the TV. Even though he was tired, he felt wired, his brain unable to focus on the screen.
Maybe he should go out, catch a movie or something. Or maybe read a book. He walked to the bookcase in his study and checked out the shelf he’d reserved for fiction. Two lonely, dusty spy thrillers sat there, and he’d read both of them. Still, it had been a while. The odds were good he’d forgotten enough of the plot to still go along for the ride.
He returned to the couch, one of the books in hand, and muted the TV. He settled down with his legs outstretched, a cushion behind his head. He opened the first page and started reading.
He was intensely aware of the silence in the house, so much so that his own breathing sounded loud in his head. It hit him that this was the first time in months that he’d taken some time for himself, and even though he was ostensibly chilling out, there was still a voice in the back of his mind telling him he should check his email and go over another report.
He set the book down on his belly and let his head drop back. Was it possible to lose the ability to relax? Because if so, he was there.
He stared at the stain on the ceiling from where the roof had leaked and wondered what Audrey was doing tonight.
“Idiot.”
He stood abruptly, the book sliding to the floor.
This little crush he was developing stopped now. No more self-indulgence. No more flirting with the possibilities.
Even though it was dark outside, he changed into his running gear and hit the street. An hour later, he was drenched in sweat, his thigh muscles burning. Most importantly, his mind was blessedly clear.
It would stay that way, too. He had the conference coming up, then a series of catalogs to plan for. Plus whatever drama Whitman would no doubt stir up.
Then there was his mother.
More than enough for one man to handle.
* * *
AUDREY ARRIVED AT work the next morning with a plan: to acknowledge Zach’s generosity in helping her with her car while simultaneously avoiding him as much as possible in the hope that they could both forget the clitoris thing. On the surface they were two agendas at odds with each other, but she was hoping she could swing it. She started her campaign by leaving a box of protein bars on his desk, complete with a breezy note. Thanks for your help yesterday and for the much-needed snack the other night. Both much appreciated. A.
It had taken her a whole hour last night to compose those two sentences, and while she wasn’t entirely happy with them, she figured her note covered the first part of her plan. The second part—the avoidance part—would require more effort and vigilance. The merchandising department might employ in excess of thirty people, but it was essentially a fishbowl and they all swam around one another all day. There were multiple opportunities to run into Zach in the hall, in the staff room, at the printer, near the photocopier, so she needed to stay sharp and be quick on her feet.
And spend a lot of time hiding in her office.
A couple of days should do it, she figured. Long enough for her to stop blushing every time she remembered that moment in the bar, and hopefully long enough for him to forget what he’d overheard.
All went well, avoidance-wise, until midafternoon when she arrived three minutes late for the weekly departmental meeting to find only one seat left. Right next to Zach, naturally.
Well, shit.
Shaking a mental fist at fate, she slid into the empty seat. Zach glanced at her briefly before focusing on Gary, who had the floor. Audrey flipped to a new page in her notebook, determined to get past this silly self-consciousness where he was concerned.
So, she’d said something stupid and potentially revealing in front of the one colleague whom she really didn’t want to do any of the above with. It wasn’t the end of the world. Right?
Right?
Megan sat diagonally opposite, her eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. Audrey pressed her lips together, sure her friend was remembering last night.
At least someone was getting something positive out of the situation. That was nice.
Gary talked about the sales results for the first week of the current catalog, and she made notes to compare some of the figures with her own data. She steadfastly refused to glance sideways at Zach, but she could feel heat stealing into her face anyway, a slow, steadily growing burn.
She concentrated fiercely on her notes, taking down almost every word Gary said, and slowly her embarrassment subsided—that is, until Zach shifted beside her, bumping her shoulder, and the whole rising-tide-of-heat thing started all over again.
By the time the meeting ended she had damp armpits and was desperate for five minutes alone to regain her equilibrium. The moment Gary signaled they could go she was on her feet, gathering her things as though school had been let out for summer.
“Audrey, could I have a word?” Gary called as she all but sprinted for the door.
She pulled up short. “Sure. Of course.”
She joined him at the head of the table, mentally reviewing her to-do list. Maybe he wanted to talk about the new proposal they’d had from one of their lighting suppliers. Or the additions she wanted to make to the rechargeable battery range.
But Gary’s gaze was focused over her shoulder. “You, too, Zach.”
Of course he wanted to talk to Zach at the same time. Today was clearly her day. Not. She hugged her papers to her chest as Zach joined them.
“I’ve got a meeting in ten so I’ll cut to the chase,” Gary said. “Whitman has asked us to put together a competitor analysis. Strengths, weaknesses, growth areas. You know the drill. I thought maybe you two would like to handle it.”
Okay, now she knew fate really was dicking with her. The last-remaining-seat situation was one thing, but offering her a chance to score some major corporate brownie points while linking that same opportunity to her having to work hand-in-glove with Zach? That was simply cruel.
“Sounds good,” Zach said easily. “But I’m happy to handle it on my own if Audrey’s snowed.”
She blinked, drawn out of her own thoughts by his casually worded attempted coup. She bet he’d be happy to handle the analysis on his own. He’d probably love to give Whitman a little shoulder rub and polish his car, too.
“Oh no, I’m up for it,” she said brightly.
Only belatedly did she consider how her words might be construed, given what Zach had overheard her say last night. “I mean, I’m not snowed.” That didn’t sound good, either. Not when she was talking to her immediate boss. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m busy, but I’d like the opportunity.”
“Good. You’ve got two weeks. Whitman wants a presentation after the conference.” Gary gave her a curious look before heading for the door.
She cleared her throat and faced her temporary partner in crime. Determined to be professional about this, no matter what.
“So...how do you want to do this?”
“I guess we should divide up the workload. Write our sections separately, then pool data and conclusions,” Zach said.
She forced herself to look at him directly for the first time all day. He was wearing a dark blue shirt, the color lending extra depth to his eyes. For once he wasn’t laughing at her. A small win.
“Sounds good. Do you want to reconvene after five, draw up a schedule...?”
“Can we make it six? I’ve got a conference call with some of the guys from Perth.”
“Sure, suits me.”
He gestured for her to precede him from the room and they parted in the hallway.
In her office, she gave herself a little pep talk. This report was an opportunity, and she was going to hit it out of the park. End of story.
She applied herself to her task list with a Terminator-like zeal, aware that she would have to carve out the time to research and write her share of the analysis over the coming week. Since no one had miraculously added a couple of extra hours to every day, she was going to have to work harder and smarter to fit everything in.
Accordingly, she was armed with some initial thoughts when she made her way to the meeting room at six. Zach hadn’t arrived yet, so she set herself up at one end of the long table, spreading printouts and past reports in front of her.
Makers had three major rivals—two corporate “big box” type retailers and a group of smaller independents that had banded together. While Makers kept a keen eye on all players, the company hadn’t commissioned a comprehensive competitor analysis for more than four years. A major oversight, in Audrey’s opinion, and she wasn’t surprised Whitman had made it one of his first priorities.
She worked her way through the last report, highlighting figures that would need updating in fluorescent pink.
“Sorry. We had a bad connection and the call went over.” Zach dropped into the chair next to her, sighing heavily. He considered all the printouts she’d laid out. “You’ve been busy.”
“I pulled some old reports. Most of them are irrelevant now, the market has moved on so much. But there’s good background information in some of them we might be able to use.”
“Good plan.”
He leaned across to grab one of the reports and a spicy, mellow scent drifted her way. She recognized it as the aftershave he had stashed in his desk and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn’t want to notice his aftershave. Even if it was really delicious.
“We need to pull in a lot of data,” she said. “I’ll put out a shout to the state marketing coordinators tomorrow to get them started on some figures.”
She was aware of Zach looking at her, but rather than make eye contact she turned another page and lifted her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.
“If we’re going to divide this up, how do you want to do it?” she asked.
When he didn’t answer immediately, she lifted her gaze. He was watching her, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Clearly amused by something. As always.
“I could take on Mathesons, and you could do Handy Hardware. Which leaves us with Home Savings—we can split that last one,” she suggested.
“Sounds good. Gary mentioned a consulting firm we can call on for industry data?”
They talked over the details of the project for half an hour, making notes and plans. Every now and then she glanced up and caught him smiling that small, amused smile, but he didn’t offer to share the joke and she wasn’t about to ask. The cup of tea she’d had before joining him was starting to make its presence felt.
“Won’t be a moment,” she said as she stood.
He was busy making a notation in the margin of one of the older reports as she left the room. She rolled her shoulders as she made her way to the ladies’. She really needed to learn to loosen up around him; her shoulders felt like they were set in concrete.
She saw the mark on her face the moment she entered the bathroom—a big fluorescent pink streak from the middle of her cheek up into her hairline.
“What the—?”
Then she remembered pushing back her hair with the highlighter in her hand. D’oh.
No wonder he’d been smirking at her.
“Thanks for the heads-up, buddy,” she muttered to herself as she scrubbed her face clean. She took care of business, then returned to the meeting room, aware that she was, yet again, at a disadvantage where he was concerned. Just once it would be nice if he was the one who looked like a dick.
She waited for him to say something about her face—finally—when she entered the room, but he simply gave another one of those small almost-smiles and pushed a printout her way.
“There’s some good stuff in here about projected revenues. We can springboard off historical predictions and talk about how the entry of the second big-box retailer into the market has changed the environment.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
She tried to concentrate on what she was doing, but she couldn’t let go of the fact that he’d sat next to her for more than half an hour, laughing privately at her striped face, amusing himself at her expense.
The more she thought about it, the more steamed she got, and finally she couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“You could have said something.”
“Sorry?” He looked up from the page he was reading, his expression distracted.
“The highlighter on my face. You could have said something.”
His gaze went to her cheek. “Could I?”
“Yes, you could have.”
“But then we would have gotten into the whole ‘where is it?’ and ‘have I got it all?’ thing. Next thing you know, I’d be spitting on my hanky and wiping your face.” He smiled, inviting her to share the joke.
At last.
“You enjoy laughing at me, don’t you?” The words popped out of their own accord.
He frowned. “Do I?”
“You know you do.”
“Actually, I don’t. Why would I want to laugh at you?”
Because he thought he was better than her. Because it was the way of handsome, entitled, arrogant men to be amused by lesser beings.
But she wasn’t about to say either of those things out loud. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“We don’t have time for this.” She made a big deal out of sorting through the papers in front of her.
“You brought it up, not me.”
“Forget I said anything.”
“You can’t throw an accusation like that out there and then shut down the conversation. Why on earth would you think I was laughing at you?” He looked and sounded genuinely perplexed.
“Because you always smile when you see me, for starters.”
His eyebrows shot up, as though she’d astonished him. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe—crazy idea—I might actually enjoy your company?”
It was her turn to be astonished. “No.”
“Wow. Okay.” He shook his head as though she’d confused the hell out of him.
“You want the next category manager’s role. Don’t pretend you don’t. And you know I’m your toughest competition.”
“So, what, we can’t be friends?”
She didn’t even need to think about it. “No. My career is too important for me to screw it up by allowing other considerations to enter into the equation.”
“That’s uncanny. You sounded exactly like Gordon Gekko in Wall Street when you said that.”
“I’m not ashamed of being ambitious. I’m the only person in the world I can rely on, and if I don’t make things happen, they don’t happen. I’m not going to apologize for that.”
Suddenly he looked very serious. “You think I don’t understand that?”
She caught herself before she scoffed out loud. He had to be kidding. He was a walking advertisement for indulgence, from the luxury watch to his silk-and-wool suit to his Italian leather shoes. His pen alone represented a mortgage payment on her tiny place. As the daughter of two hardworking GPs, she’d grown up in a house where money had never really been an issue, but Zach reeked of a whole different level of privilege. The kind where houses were “estates” and children had numerals after their names to differentiate them from their noble forebears.
“There’s a difference between wanting something and needing it. For example, I’m sure you want your polo pony, but I need to pay my electricity bill.”
He blinked. Then he sat back in his chair. He looked...stunned was the only word she could come up with. As though she’d sneaked up and goosed him.
“You think I have a polo pony?”
She had no idea how the other half lived—or, more accurately, the one percent—but her point still stood. No way would he ever be as hungry as she was.
“If you’ve got it, flaunt it, right?” she said.
When he continued to look baffled, she pointed to his shoes. “Hugo Boss.” She glanced at his wrist, where the gleam of his slim, elegant rose-gold watch peeked out beneath the cuff of his jacket. “Patek Philippe.” She indicated his suit. “Armani.”
“Okay. I like nice things. Your point is?”
“That you and I come from very different places in the world.”
He stared at her. Up close, his eyes appeared almost gray instead of dark blue. The gunmetal color of the ocean before a storm.
“Look. Maybe we should just concentrate on getting this project sorted and we can both get on with our lives,” she said.
He still didn’t say anything and she shook her head slightly. She didn’t get why he was looking so gobsmacked. Did he really think people hadn’t noticed he was different?
“I’ll take this stuff home and draw up an outline for my sections. If you do the same, we can meet again tomorrow after work and finalize our brief before diving in. How does that sound?”
His frown was gone now, his expression impenetrable. “Whatever suits.”
“Good. Same time tomorrow?”
“That works for me.”
He stood and scooped up his things.
“Hang on, I think you’ve got my phone...” she said, frowning.
He flipped up the protective cover and checked. “You’re right, sorry,” he said, his tone clipped as they swapped handsets.
She was about to tell him that it was an easy enough mistake since they all had the same company-issued handsets and covers, but before she could say another word he was gone. She stared at the empty doorway. She felt uncomfortable about what had just happened. She should have bitten her tongue and swallowed her impulsive words, for the sake of the project if nothing else. If she hadn’t been feeling so dumb after the highlighter incident, maybe she would have, but she’d hated the thought of him being amused at her expense. Sitting there laughing at her up his sleeve while she’d been doing her best to make this project fly.
She made a growling noise in her throat.
Why did she always wind up second-guessing herself where Zach was concerned? No one else in her world made her feel so self-conscious and uneasy.
She didn’t know what it was, but she didn’t like it. The sooner this project was over, the better.
CHAPTER FOUR
APPARENTLY, HE WAS an elitist snob, born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
How ’bout that.
Zach threw another folder into his briefcase, trying to work out if he was flattered by Audrey’s insanely inaccurate take on who he was or if he was, in fact, supremely pissed at being dismissed as a trust-fund playboy dabbling in a career for fun.
He’d grown up with nothing, in both material and spiritual senses. Any money that came into the household had gone straight up his mother’s arm, and the only reason he was still alive today was because of the people in his mother’s life—various hangers-on and fellow addicts and the few persistent, stubborn family members who had persevered in maintaining contact with his mother over the years, despite her many, many abuses of their trust.
His school uniforms had been secondhand; his textbooks, too. He worked after school and earned himself scholarships and held down two part-time jobs to support himself while at university. No one had handed him anything, ever.
Yet, according to Audrey, he came across as a snotty-nosed rich kid. Someone who’d had every good thing in life gifted to him on a silver platter.
How...bizarre.
It had never occurred to him that anyone might take him for anything other than what he was—a poor kid who’d made good. He liked nice things, but he hadn’t bought his car or his watch or his suit because he wanted other people to look at him and think he was something he wasn’t. He’d bought them because he could. Because he’d admired and wanted them, and he’d had more than enough of missing out in his life. Seeing something beautiful and fine and knowing he could make it his own was a power he would never, ever take for granted and never, ever tire of exercising.
Screw it. Who cares what she thinks? Let her believe what she wants to believe.
An excellent notion, except for one small problem: he did care what Audrey thought of him. And not only because he wanted to get her naked.
She was smart. She was determined. She was funny. There was something about her, a tilt to her chin or a light in her eye or...something that spoke to him. He wanted to know more about her. Where she came from, who her parents were, what her school years had been like, if she was all about chocolate or if vanilla was her poison of choice. He wanted more of her.
I’m the only person in the world I can rely on, and if I don’t make things happen, they don’t happen. I’m not going to apologize for that.
They were her words, but the huge irony was that he could just as well have spoken them himself. Certainly they reflected his philosophy in life.
Audrey might not recognize it, but they had a lot in common.
He mulled over the other things she’d said as he drove home, especially the stuff about him laughing at her. Did he really always smile when he saw her? He thought back over their recent interactions, but couldn’t remember what he’d been doing with his face when he’d been talking to her. Certainly, he always relished the opportunity to be in the same room as her. Was it possible his enjoyment manifested itself in the form of a gormless grin?
He shook his head in self-disgust. He really, truly needed to get a grip on himself if that was the case, for his own personal dignity if not for sound business reasons. The last thing he wanted was to be cast as the unrequited desperado in their little office drama.
Not a look he’d ever been keen to cultivate.
By the time he got home he’d decided the best thing he could do—the smartest thing—was to get through this project as quickly and painlessly as possible. Do his bit, keep to himself, keep things purely professional. And make sure he was aware of what his mouth was doing when he was around her.
Simple.
Which didn’t explain why he woke at two in the morning and spent twenty minutes rummaging through dusty old boxes in the back of his closet until he’d found what he was looking for: the official grade two school photograph from Footscray Primary, circa 1989. The corners were curled, but there was no missing his scrawny, scrape-kneed seven-year-old self in the front row. He stared at the image for a long moment. The thin, unsmiling kid in the photo had been grappling with both his mother’s and his father’s destructive lifestyles at the time the picture was taken, learning that the things other kids in his class took for granted—meals, loving supervision, care—were only ever going to be sporadic features in his own life.
Happy times. Thank God he’d survived them.
Pushing the carton back into the depths of the closet, he crossed to his briefcase and slipped the photograph into a pocket.
The thought of it burned in the back of his mind the whole of the next day as he debated the wisdom behind the urge that had driven him out of bed in the early hours.
He didn’t want Audrey to mistake who he was. He didn’t want her to misunderstand him. Probably a futile, dangerous wish, given their work situation and the pressures they were both currently facing, but her misconception of him was eating away at his gut and he was almost certain he couldn’t simply suck it up and move on.
Probably that made him an idiot, but so be it. He’d been called worse things in his time.
Still, he was undecided about what he was going to do with the photograph right up until the moment he joined Audrey in the meeting room. She’d beaten him to the punch—again—and was writing something in her notebook when he entered, a small frown wrinkling her brow, her glasses balanced on the end of her nose. Her head was propped on one hand, the chestnut silk of her hair spilling over her shoulder. She looked studious and serious and shiny and good, and something tightened in his chest as he looked at her.
Then she registered his presence and her expression became wary and stiff. She slid off her glasses. “Oh, hi. I was about to grab a coffee. Do you want one?”
In that second he made his decision, for good or for ill. Placing his briefcase on the table, he flicked it open and pulled the photograph from the inside pocket.
“Thanks. But there’s something I want to show you first.”
Then, even though he knew it was dumb and that it would serve no purpose whatsoever, he slid the photograph across the table toward her.
* * *
AUDREY STARED AT the photograph Zach had pushed in front of her. Why on earth was he giving her a tatty old class photo?
“Is this something to do with the analysis?” she asked stupidly.
Then her gaze fell on the small, dark-haired boy in the front row and she understood what this was and who she was looking at. Zach was smaller than the other children. He was also the only one who wasn’t smiling. Both his knees were dark with gravel rash, and his hair very badly needed a cut. Her gaze shifted to the plaque one of the children was holding: Footscray Primary School, Grade Two, 1989.
Slowly she lifted her gaze to his.
“You went to Footscray Primary?” She could hear the incredulity in her own voice. She felt incredulous—there was no way that this polished, perfect man could have emerged from one of Melbourne’s most problematic inner-city suburbs. It didn’t seem possible to her. Although Footscray had enjoyed a renaissance in recent years thanks to the real estate boom and its proximity to the city, for many, many years the inner western suburb had been about stolen cars and drug deals and people doing it tough.
“Footscray Secondary College, too,” Zach confirmed.
She blinked as the full import of what he was saying hit home. All the assumptions she’d made about him and all of the niggling little resentments and moments of self-conscious inadequacy that had sprung from those assumptions... All wrong.
All of it.
Oh, boy.
She’d judged him from day one, slotting him neatly into a tidy little box that accorded with her view of the world. All because she’d looked at his expensive suits and smooth good looks and fancy car and decided he was one of God’s gifted people. But it hadn’t only been about him—about her perception of him, anyway. It had also been about her, about the chip she carried on her shoulder because no matter how hard she worked and how far up the food chain she climbed and how carefully she colored in between the lines, there was a part of her that would always feel like an impostor thanks to the lessons of her childhood and the mistakes of her teenage years.
“You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you truly stumped for a response,” Zach said.
“Hardly.” It seemed to her that she was all too often speechless and incoherent when he was around. “I’ve made a lot of assumptions about you, haven’t I? I’m sorry. That was...really dumb and rude of me.”
“I didn’t set the record straight because I wanted an apology. I figured if we were working together it would be good if we were on the same page.”
Very decent of him. Not that she deserved it. When she thought of all the different ways she’d misjudged him... It literally made her toes curl inside her shoes. When had she become such a horrible, narrow-minded, threatened person?
“I feel like an enormous idiot, if it’s any consolation to you.” Along with a lot of other things—petty, smug, stupid, to name a few.
“To be fair, I do own a Patek Philippe watch.”
She realized a little dazedly that he was smiling, and she understood that he was very generously letting her off the hook.
“Don’t forget your Hugo Boss shoes,” she said after a short pause.
“And my Armani suit. Although today it’s Ermenegildo Zegna.”
“Pretty impressive.” She meant it, too. Not because she was impressed by luxury brands, but because he’d clearly shaken off a behind-the-eight-ball start in life to get to a point where he could buy himself such beautiful things. That kind of commitment and hard work and determination took gumption and smarts and whole host of other damned fine characteristics.
“The point has never been to impress anyone.”
She believed him. He’d never been ostentatious about his belongings. If anything, he’d been understated—to the point where she’d assumed his nonchalance stemmed from contempt bred from familiarity.
She picked up the photograph, studying seven-year-old Zach again. How she could have gotten it so wrong for so long was a question that was going to keep her awake into the small hours, squirming with discomfort. Which was as it should be.
“It’s not a big deal, Audrey. I just wanted to clear the air.”
She looked at him, studying him through the prism of her new understanding. The bump in his nose took on new significance, as did the breadth of his shoulders and the bright directness of his gaze. It struck her that she’d been right when she’d judged Zach as being different—she’d simply misunderstood the why of it.
The beep of her phone registering an email broke the silence. She blinked and looked away from him, suddenly aware that ninety-five percent of the reasons she’d used to keep him at arm’s length had just dissolved in a puff of smoke.
Instead of being an arrogant, overprivileged pretty boy with cockiness to spare, Zach was suddenly an approachable, high-achieving man with a very hot body and the world’s most delicious aftershave.
And she was stuck in a meeting room with him for the foreseeable future.
“Well. We should probably get stuck into this, or we’ll be here all night,” she said.
They launched into work, reading over each other’s proposals and suggesting areas where more research might be required. Zach was sharp and focused, and her pride demanded that she bring her A-game, too, no matter how off-balance she felt. By seven-thirty they’d agreed to the parameters of the report and identified the data they would require to complete it.
“Right. I guess we need to write up our separate parts and then meet again sometime next week to go over everything,” Zach said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms over his head.
She did her damnedest not to notice the way his shirt pulled across his belly and chest, but wasn’t sure she succeeded.
“What day suits you? I’ve got late meetings Monday and Tuesday.”
“We leave for conference Friday. Will Wednesday be cutting it too fine?” he asked.
She called up the calendar on her phone and checked her schedule. If they had a first draft written by Wednesday night, they’d have Thursday night to finesse things into some kind of coherent presentation. A close call, but not impossible, and maybe they could find some time during the conference itself to do a dry run so they were prepared to present to Whitman when they returned.
“I think it’s doable,” she said.
“Okay. I’ll block out Wednesday and Thursday nights.”
She sighed. Sleep and downtime were obviously going to be scarce commodities in the next week or so.
“It could be worse. Gary could have asked someone else to do it,” Zach said.
She couldn’t help grinning. He was totally on the money—she would be so ticked off if someone else had won this opportunity instead of her.
“True.”
They packed up their things in comfortable silence, the first Audrey could ever remember them sharing. Together they walked back to the merchandising department, both of them loaded down with files and laptops.
“To infinity and beyond,” Zach said when it was time for them to part ways.
It wasn’t until she was back in her office that Audrey recognized his words as a quote from Buzz Lightyear. It made her think of the photograph he’d shown her, of that skinny, raw-kneed boy with the too-long hair and too-serious expression.
It was strange, knowing so much about him. What he looked like as a child. Where he grew up. The fact that he’d earned everything he had with his own efforts.
And yet they weren’t friends. Not by a long shot. She wasn’t sure what they were.
Not enemies anymore. Rivals? Colleagues? Both words didn’t feel quite right.
Audrey gave herself a mental shake. It was late; she was tired and hungry. It was time to go home and pretend she had a life.
* * *
ZACH SPENT THE bulk of his spare time for the rest of the week working on the competitor analysis. He pulled company reports from Mathesons off the internet, paid for a media search, and spoke to various suppliers and industry bodies. He spent Saturday pulling all the information he’d gathered into some kind of shape, staring at his laptop until he was bleary-eyed. The only upside of any of it—apart from the potential payoff at the end when Whitman was blown away by the report—was knowing that Audrey was in the trench with him.
Three o’clock. Sunday morning found him tapping away on his laptop, driven from his bed by restless thoughts. He swore out loud when the email notification pinged loudly in the quiet of the living room, startling him, then shook his head when he saw it was from Audrey. Nice to know he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.

What’s wrong, Mathews? Did you wet the bed?

He was tired enough that he’d hit Send before it occurred to him that even though their working relationship had improved since their little cards-on-the-table chat the other night, it might not be up to incontinence jokes just yet.
“Good one, smart-ass,” he told his computer screen, scrubbing his face with his hands.
A second later, another ping.

Had to get up to see Sven and Lars out. Crazy night. Think we might have broken the bed.

He barked out a laugh at her bold response.
That’s the problem with the Swedes: too enthusiastic, he typed back.
He stared at the screen, waiting for her response.

Is there such a thing as being too enthusiastic? I’m not sure. Speaking of...I’ve finished my first draft. Want to correct my grammar?

Thought you’d never ask. Here’s mine, just so you don’t feel left out. In an attempt to preempt any ridicule, I freely admit that spelling is not my forte. Have at it.

Thanks for taking all the fun out of it. I was going to print off your worst offenses and show them to Megan on Monday.

Feel free. I’ve already posted your comments about Whitman’s sausage fingers on Facebook.

I don’t believe I’ve ever mentioned Whitman’s freakishly overinflated digits to you before, so I’m not sure what you’ll be posting...oh, wait...

He laughed out loud again and pulled the laptop a little closer to the edge of the coffee table.
Your secrets are safe with me, he typed.

Seriously, though...Those sausage fingers. Megan and I thought we were the only ones who’d noticed.
Dude, you’d have to be hard of seeing not to notice those puppies.

I haven’t been called “dude” since the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were big in primary school.

My pleasure.

There was a short pause before the next message appeared.

Hey. I just realized Can’t Stop the Music is on. And they say insomnia is bad.

????

You haven’t seen it? Dude, you are missing out. Let me sketch a few details for you: Steve Guttenberg, roller skates, New York City. And if that doesn’t clinch the deal for you, it was a movie vehicle for the Village People.

Sold.

He grabbed the remote, flicked the TV on and changed the channel. Cheesy music blasted into the room, while the screen filled with a cityscape, complete with a man in white jeans roller-skating down the street, Walkman clutched in one hand.
Wow, he typed.

I know. I’ll leave you to enjoy in peace. My gift to you, fellow workaholic.

He stared at the computer screen, only now registering how much he’d been enjoying their exchange. How engaged he’d been, imagining Audrey sitting up in bed tapping away at her laptop, wearing nothing but one of those tight little tank tops and a pair of lacy panties....
Yeah.
Maybe it was just as well she’d signed off, before he let lack of sleep and the intimacy of the early hour lead him into dangerous territory.
Audrey might be sexy and funny and smart, but she was still his coworker. He had no business thinking about her panties. Especially while he and Audrey were coauthoring the competitor analysis together.
He shut his laptop, in case he was tempted to renew contact, and settled back on the couch to watch what promised to be a spectacularly bad movie.
He liked the idea that somewhere in Melbourne, Audrey was doing the same thing.
In a tight little tank top.
And black—no, red—panties.
He was only human, after all.
* * *
“SO. HOW’S IT GOING?” Megan took a slurp from her milkshake and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that when you say ‘it’ you’re referring to my working relationship with Zach,” Audrey said drily.
It was Thursday, one day before they flew out to Queensland for the conference, and her last day of working hand-in-glove with Zach.
“Quit stalling. Have you had wild monkey sex yet? Have you seen him without his shirt?”
Audrey rolled her eyes. “You’re obsessed with sex, you know that?”
Although it was very telling that the thought of Zach sans shirt made her heart rate go a little crazy.
“Hello? Trying to get pregnant over here. Sex is my life. Not wild monkey sex, though, sadly. We have slightly dutiful procreational sex. Still fun, but not very spontaneous. I think it’s all the mucous checking.”
“What on earth—” Audrey caught herself and held up a hand. “Actually, you know what? I don’t want to know.”
“I’ll spare you. I’d hate for there to be no surprises for you if you ever decide to have children.”
“Thank you. You’re very generous.”
“So, I’m thinking eight inches, solid girth...?”
“Jesus, Megan.” This time Audrey glanced over her shoulder, even though she was pretty sure no one else from work was currently patronizing the food court at the local shopping mall.
“What?” Megan asked, a devilish glint in her eye.
“I don’t want to think about Zach’s...girth, okay? We’re working together.”
Not that she hadn’t given some consideration to the more intimate aspects of his body over the past week, most notably when she’d been drifting back to sleep at four o’clock Sunday morning, picturing Zach doing the same thing on the other side of town. She was only human, and he was the sexiest man she’d ever spent so much time with.
Hands down.
All he had to do was walk into the room these days and she could feel her body warming. She didn’t even want to imagine what he could do if he put his mind to it.
Okay, she did. But she wasn’t going to, because she loved her job, and she wanted to get ahead, and sleeping with Zach was the best way she could think of to destroy both those things.
She would dearly love to discuss all of the above with Megan, however, because that was what they did best. It would be so good to get her friend’s perspective. But Megan would make a big deal out it, along with encouraging all sorts of reckless fantasies and behavior, and Audrey so did not need that kind of encouragement right now.
It was bad enough dealing with her own inappropriate thoughts and feelings.
Megan sighed heavily. “I knew it. You’re wasting this golden opportunity by squabbling with him, aren’t you?”
“No.”
Not since the night he’d forced her to see him as he really was. Nope, since then they’d been getting on just fine. Chatting in the staff room. Popping into each other’s offices to pass on new pieces of information they’d dug up. Emailing each other in the dead of night and having inappropriate, unprofessional conversations.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
Audrey adopted a more serious expression. “Is that better?”
“You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, if you and Zach were doing the dirty?” Megan asked beseechingly.
Audrey suspected her friend was only half kidding.
“You’ll be the first to know. Outside of Zach, of course.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Stick a needle in my eye,” Audrey promised.
It wasn’t as though it was ever going to be an issue, after all. She might be sexually frustrated, but she wasn’t an idiot.
“Okay, fine.” Megan pointed to the half a sandwich still left on Audrey’s plate. “Are you going to eat that?”
“It’s all yours.”
“Thank you. That sub barely touched the sides. I think I’m having a growth spurt.”
Audrey managed to change the subject then, but Megan’s words popped into her mind as she hit the mall afterward to shop for a present for her sister.
The truth was, she was finding it incredibly difficult to believe that she had ever not liked Zach. He was funny. He was cheeky. He said amazingly clever things that made her brain hurt trying to keep up. And he was also one hundred percent male.
Hot, firm, hard male.
Yesterday, they’d shared a pizza and worked into the night as they pasted their separate sections of the analysis into one coherent report and massaged it into shape. At some point he’d loosened his tie and she’d kicked off her shoes. She’d been tired after days of doing her normal job as well as working every spare minute on the project, but Zach had made it fun.
Be honest. He made it more than fun.
Okay, he’d made it exciting. Sitting in the same room with him when the rest of the building was dark and silent had created a special sort of intimacy. They’d laughed and told jokes in between bouts of intense productivity. And they were doing it all over again tonight.
There was no denying the frisson of excitement that fizzed through her belly at the thought. There was also no denying that she’d dressed with particular care this morning, choosing a black pencil skirt and fitted latte-colored silk blouse that made her feel like a heroine in a forties movie. And yes, she’d even spritzed on perfume, something she didn’t usually bother with for the office.
“He’s your coworker,” she murmured to herself, in case that rather important fact had slipped her mind.
“Excuse me, ma’am? Can I help you?”
Audrey lifted her gaze from the scarf display she’d been eyeing and realized that the sales assistant had overheard her talking to herself. Such a good look.
“I’m just browsing, thanks,” she said with a sheepish smile.
“For yourself or are you looking for a gift?” the young woman asked.
“It’s a gift, for my sister. Her thirtieth, actually.”
“Something special, then? Were you thinking a scarf? We have some lovely French silk scarves....”
Audrey blinked at the display. She had no idea, really, why she’d stopped in front of it.
“I was thinking maybe a watch, actually. Or a piece of jewelry.”
“Lovely. Jeannie is over in the watch department. She’ll be sure to help you out,” the saleswoman said, already drifting away to serve another customer.
Audrey made her way to the shiny glass display cabinets in the jewelry department, finally locating the watches. She did a slow circuit of the cabinets, running her eye over the range, hoping something would jump out at her as being perfect for Leah.
Her gaze moved from watch to watch, doubt and indecision gnawing at her. Despite the fact that there were only four years separating them, she and Leah had never really been close. She had no idea whether her sister would be all over a watch loaded with shiny bling, or if she would prefer a more conservative, traditional model.
Funny, because she could still remember how excited she’d been when she’d learned her parents would be bringing home a little sister for her from the hospital. She’d mistakenly believed that it would be her and Leah against the world.
She did a slower circuit, this time stopping when she saw a small-faced gold watch with a leather band and distinctive art deco styling. She thought it was beautiful, but there was no telling whether Leah would. For a moment Audrey was filled with a piercing, ineffable sadness that she knew so little about her own sister’s likes and dislikes.
“Excuse me. Could I take a closer look at this one, please?” Audrey called out to the saleswoman.
“Of course, let me grab my key.”
Half a minute later, Audrey was wrapping the thin leather band around her wrist. It really was gorgeous. Maybe she should take a punt on it, go with her gut and hope for the best. She flipped the dangling price tag over and blinked in shock when she saw the price.
Twelve hundred dollars.
Whoa.
She did a mental check of her savings account, but she already knew the watch was beyond her budget.
“So, what do you think?” the saleswoman asked.
“It’s lovely, but I might look around a little more before I make my final decision,” Audrey said.
She smiled politely and handed the watch back before resuming her slow cruise of the display. Nothing else caught her eye, and after five minutes she left the store and headed for her car. Her thoughts kept returning to the watch as she drove back to Makers, however. If she extended the limit on her credit card, she could swing it, barely. It would take a bite out of her savings and make life a little less fun for a few months, but she could do it.
It was her little sister’s thirtieth, after all. She wanted to mark the occasion.
What you really mean is that you want to try to buy your way into her favor.
It was a sobering realization, so profound that she didn’t notice the traffic light change and had to be honked to awareness by the driver behind her.
Amazing, the way the past could keep coming back to bite her on the ass, even when she was sure that she’d dealt with it and reconciled herself and gotten on with things. Because she’d thought she was done with trying to make amends, in the same way that she’d thought she was beyond feeling hurt by her outsider status in her own family.
She drove into the garage and parked in her allocated spot. She didn’t immediately get out of her car. She needed a moment to get herself together.
If she could go back in time, if she could change one decision, undo one choice, she would return to the moment when her angry, resentful, achingly lonely sixteen-year-old self had stuffed a handful of clothes into a duffel bag and climbed out the window and into the waiting car of her boyfriend.
But she couldn’t, just as she couldn’t undo any of the foolish, dangerous things she’d done in the eighteen months following that night. Stealing from her parents and her sister. Endless rounds of binge drinking. The way she’d allowed herself to be treated by Johnny and his friends for fear that she’d lose the one person who had ever really seen her and believed in her and loved her. Or so she’d thought at the time.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the headrest. God, she’d been so young and so hungry for approval and attention. The great irony was that the two people she’d most wanted to sit up and take notice—her parents—were the two people who had never quite forgiven her for the months of worry and heartache and shame she’d inflicted on them as they searched and fretted over their runaway daughter.
They pretended they had. Everyone was perfectly civil and polite to one another once she’d moved home and embarked on the never-ending mission of redeeming herself. But the truth was that that rash, reckless dash into the night when she was sixteen had permanently cemented her black sheep status, and she’d never been able to claw her way back.
Not with good behavior. Not with heartfelt words. And not with gifts.
And certainly not by buying her sister a very expensive watch for her birthday.
She breathed in through her nose, held her breath for a handful of heartbeats, then released it fully. Then she opened the door and climbed out.
How did that L.P. Hartley quote go? “The past is a foreign country.” And she didn’t have the time or the energy to go there.
Not today, anyway.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE WAS WEARING perfume. Something light, with sweet vanilla undertones.
Zach looked up from the page he was proofreading and glanced at Audrey’s profile, trying to gauge her mindset. They’d been going over the finished analysis for the past hour, correcting typos, adding information, finessing the layout. Not by the flicker of an eyelid had she indicated that tonight was any different from last night or any of the other times they’d met to work on the report—except she didn’t usually wear perfume.

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