Читать книгу Her Deal with the Devil - Nicola Marsh - Страница 8

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

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

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

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

The guy was infuriating.

The guy was annoying.

The guy was seriously hot.

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

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

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

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

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

Freedom.

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

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

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

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

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

Thankfully she’d wised up, vowed to take better care of her body.

She never, ever wanted to experience the soul-sapping fatigue that had plagued her for weeks when she’d first checked into Tenang. The nebulous chronic fatigue syndrome—something she’d heard bandied around on current affairs programmes but knew little about—had become a scary reality and she’d fought it for all she was worth.

When she’d left Tenang she’d promised to take time out, to achieve a better balance between her business and social lives.

Karma gaped at her, opening and closing his fishy lips, and she could imagine him saying, So how’s that working out for you?

She’d been back on the job a week, easing into the business by scouring accounts, re-establishing contact with clients and making projections for the next financial year. It had been going well, coming to work in casual workout clothes and sneakers, wearing no make-up, not having to put on her ‘company face’ for clients and the cameras.

Being CEO and spokesperson for Seaborns had always given her a thrill, but the stress of possible financial disaster had ruined her enjoyment of the job.

While Seaborns had recovered, courtesy of Ruby and Jax, she’d never let the situation get out of hand again. Which was why she’d latched onto the idea of working alongside Fourde Fashion for the upcoming Melbourne Fashion Week.

A mega seven days in the fashion world, it would secure Seaborns’ future for ever if their exquisite jewellery designs were seen with designer clothes from Fourde’s.

Despite their past, she hadn’t hesitated in contacting Patrick’s PA for an appointment when she’d heard the CEO of Melbourne’s newest fashion house was courting jewellers for a runway partnership.

Patrick’s terse, impersonal response had surprised her but she hadn’t cared. She had her chance.

So why had he shown up at Seaborns yesterday, seemingly hell-bent on rattling her?

If his wicked smile and smouldering eyes hadn’t undermined her, his ability to hone in on how much she’d changed would have.

How had he done that?

The guy she’d known had never pushed for answers, had never bothered to be insightful or concerned. He’d teased and annoyed and badgered his way through their year as lab partners in Biology, never probing beneath the surface.

She’d pretended to tolerate him back then, when in fact—she could finally admit it—she’d looked forward to their prac sessions with a perverse sense of excitement. Biology had been the relief of her senior year. Through the heavy slog of Maths and Economics and Politics—subjects recommended by her mum and careers adviser, she’d craved the tantalising fun she’d have with Patrick.

It had been a game with him back then. A challenge for him to rile her into responding. She hadn’t given him the satisfaction most of the time, choosing to ignore him as a way of dealing with his constant outrageous annoyances. But she’d seen his respect on the odd occasion she’d snapped back, and for some bizarre reason she’d valued it.

He’d made her rigid life bearable. Not that she’d ever let him know. The more he teased and taunted the harder she’d pushed him away.

Until graduation night. The night she’d let down her guard and he’d swooped, making a mockery of her stance to ignore him.

She’d never had a boyfriend in high school, had never been kissed before that night. And the fact Patrick had been her first had really peed her off at the time.

She’d blamed him. He’d taken advantage of the situation. He’d seen her at her worst and had kissed her as part of his usual taunts. He’d probably laughed at her afterwards.

But none of that had been true. In reality he’d been gallant in bringing her home after her date ended up drunk. And his kiss had been one of comfort, not cruelty.

It wasn’t his fault she’d gone a little nuts.

That was why she’d ignored his overtures to meet after that night. Pure mortification. And a small part of her knew she would have hated having him belittle something as special as that spectacular first kiss.

He would have too, to lighten the mood between them—would probably have been as embarrassed as her and covered it by taunting her.

Thankfully he’d given up after a week, headed to Paris, and she’d forgotten about it.

Until now.

Beyond annoying.

She glanced at the alarm clock next to the bed and winced. Less than an hour until her pitch.

Yesterday had been an aberration. The feeling that she’d connected with him on some deeper level that went way beyond their banter in high school hadn’t happened. It had been a figment of her imagination—the same imagination that insisted she go out and find the hottest guy in Melbourne to have some fun with.

That was what their tenuous bond had been about: her need for some male company and his inherent ability to flirt with anything that moved.

Harsh? Yeah. But it was the only way she’d cope with the riot of uncertainty making her doubt her choice of outfit, accessories, and the wisdom of meeting up with him—albeit for work.

‘This is business.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘I can do this.’

Karma’s affirmation consisted of a gill twitch as he ducked behind his treasure chest.

At least she looked the part. Knee-length, A-line sleeveless dress with a fitted bodice and cinched waist in the deepest mulberry, towering stilettos in black patent, and an exquisite amethyst pendant on a simple white gold necklace with matching earrings.

Throw in the dramatic make-up, designed to accentuate her eyes and lips, a hairspray-reinforced slicked-back coif that could withstand the stiffest breeze, and she was ready to face him.

This was how she’d envisaged their first meeting after a decade: with her power-dressed, strutting into his office, demonstrating her control and confidence and savoir-faire.

Considering he’d seen her in her oldest yoga pants and a crop top yesterday she’d kinda lost her advantage.

Then she remembered the look in his eyes when he’d first seen her, as if he’d wanted to gobble her up and come back for main and dessert…Maybe she still held the upper hand after all.

Not that she’d stoop so low as to use her sexuality to seal a business deal, but knowing the great and powerful Patrick found her attractive made her walk that little bit taller.

‘Wish me luck,’ she said, snatching up her bag and smoothing her hair one last time.

Karma gave a lazy swish of his tail. No problem. When she stalked into Patrick’s office shortly armed with a presentation to wow him, she’d have all the good karma she needed.

She’d make this Fashion Week deal happen.

Let him try to stop her.

‘The pieces are good. Really good.’

The fact that Sapphire sat close to Patrick on his office sofa, her stockinged leg within tantalising touching distance, was not so good.

How was a guy supposed to concentrate?

The moment Sapphire had strolled into his office, looking as if she’d stepped off the pages of a fashion mag, he’d been befuddled.

There was nothing revealing in her outfit but the cut of the fabric and the way she wore it made him think of the screen sirens of old. Beautiful, curvaceous women who were proud of their bodies and weren’t afraid to flaunt them in understated elegance.

And stockings…He loved them—the sheerer the better. None of those thick opaques for him. The way they added a sheen to Sapphire’s legs, highlighting their shape…and the possibility that she might be wearing suspenders to hold them up…

Another thing he’d discovered since she’d arrived: hard-ons were distracting and guaranteed to scuttle a business meeting.

His plans to take the Melbourne fashion scene by storm would be derailed before he’d begun if he started thinking with the wrong head.

‘These pieces are some of Ruby’s best work, but she’s willing to design whatever you want—depending on the concept you come up with.’

Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and he wondered if they darkened when she was aroused.

Hell. Still thinking with the wrong head.

‘The show’s next month. Sure you can deliver?’

He hated how abrupt he sounded, but he needed to refocus and stifle the urge to readjust his pants.

‘Definitely. We’ll work nights, do whatever it takes.’

‘You want to be on the runway alongside Fourde that badly?’

A flicker of fear shimmered in her defiant gaze before she blinked, leaving him wondering if he’d imagined it.

‘Yeah, I want Seaborns to be featured with your designs. I’m a savvy businesswoman and, as you know from the suitors bashing down your door, any jeweller in this city would give their last diamond tennis bracelet to accessorise your clothes.’

He admired her honesty. But she was right. He’d had back-to-back meetings all day in which he’d been systematically wooed and impressed by the calibre of jewellers in Melbourne.

The city might not have the same joie-de-vivre as Paris but it had certainly come a long way since he’d lived here.

The fashion scene thrived, with worldwide designers setting up shop, which was the only reason his folks had deemed it prudent to launch a branch of Fourde Fashion here.

With Jerome, his older brother, heading Milan, and his younger sister Phoebe heading New York, he’d been the only one left to thrust into a makeshift CEO position.

Not that he was complaining. He’d been desperate to prove he could do this. The disaster of his first campaign had seen to that.

He knew they thought he was only a figurehead, a puppet whose strings they could yank at will. They’d even installed Serge, the manager of Fourde’s flagship store near the Champs-Élysées, alongside him.

Apparently Serge ‘had the expertise’ and was ‘worth his weight in gold’ despite the fact he and Serge, his best mate, had cut a path through Paris, Monte Carlo, Nice, Barcelona and most of the other cities in Europe together, living the high life, partying their way through each country.

He’d done it in an attempt to shrug off the taint of his first showing, wanting to be known for something other than his notorious failure.

It had worked too. His socialising antics had been diligently reported and the press had soon forgotten the savaging he’d received at their hands following a mistake that had cost Fourde Fashion megabucks.

He’d eventually returned to the company in different roles, learning what he could without being given any real responsibility.

It had suited him. Given him time to re-evaluate personally what had gone wrong. But no matter how many times he tried to analyse it, no matter how many angles he considered, it all came back to one thing: he’d tried to take an established brand and create something new that wouldn’t fit.

His parents had given him free rein for his first showing, wanting to see what he came up with, and he’d been determined to show them what he could do.

Correction: he’d wanted to wow them. He hadn’t had their attention in years—they’d moved to France for their precious business when he was still a teenager, had barely acknowledged their late-life ‘mistake’ for years before that—and he’d wanted to make a major impression.

He’d done that all right. For all the wrong reasons.

He’d swapped the Forde designs for ones he’d planned as part of a small group of designers. A catastrophic move that had cost the company a small fortune and pretty much sealed his career where his parents were concerned.

He’d been a fool to think Fourde Fashion was ready for cutting edge contemporary, and the fact his folks had distanced themselves from him—‘to protect the company,’ apparently—still burned after all this time.

It shouldn’t have come as any great surprise. They’d been emotionally distant for as long as he could remember. Not from any deliberate cruelty but for the simple fact that their business came first. Always.

Birthdays and Christmases were spent having snatched lunches and the obligatory presents before they headed back to the office. Phoebe and Jerome were used to fending for themselves and his parents had expected him to do the same despite their fourteen-year age-gap.

He’d been the baby they’d never expected to have in their mid-forties. He got it. He’d grown used to their absence early on.

But when he’d finally joined the fold and wanted them to sit up and take notice of his talents, of him, it had been a flop.

Their continued lack of appreciation of his efforts, their distrust of his talents, all stemmed from his first failure, and despite how hard he’d worked since they couldn’t forget it.

Well, the success of Melbourne Fashion Week would make them forget.

He’d make sure of it.

‘What can you offer me that the other jewellers can’t?’

Her eyes widened imperceptibly before her gaze dipped momentarily to his lips, and for one crazy, irrational second he wished she’d make an offer that had nothing to do with business.

‘One hundred percent commitment.’ She tilted her chin up and eyeballed him. ‘I’m willing to do whatever it takes to have our designs accessorising yours.’

‘Anything?’

Until now he’d been the epitome of a corporate businessman, with his mind on the job. But with a hard-on that wouldn’t quit, her body enticingly close, and her tempting cinnamon-peach fragrance wrapping him in an erotic fog, he couldn’t help but flirt.

Besides, that was what she thought he was—an idle playboy who’d never worked for anything in his life. He’d gladly disillusion her. Later.

Now, he wanted to play a little.

‘Within reason.’ A tiny frown slashed her brows and she held up hand between them.

Yeah, like that would stop him.

‘Hmm…’ He drummed his fingers against his thigh, pretending to ponder. ‘I could get you to privately model a few designs.’

Her frown deepened and her lips thinned.

‘Or you could help me with the lingerie line.’

She didn’t speak, but the daggers she shot him with her narrow-eyed glare spoke volumes.

‘Or we could get together in my penthouse suite and do some serious—’

‘Stop toying with me.’ She jabbed at his chest. ‘You want the best? Seaborns is it and you know it.’

She snatched her hand away when he glanced at it, still lingering on his chest.

‘Quit stalling. Do we have a deal or not?’

With her eyes flashing indigo fire, her chest heaving from deep breaths and her designer-shoe-clad foot tapping impatiently an inch from his, she was utterly magnificent.

Once again she brought to mind starlets of old: glamorous, powerful women who knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to go after it.

That was when it hit him.

The idea that had been playing around the edges of his mind, taunting him to grab it and run with it.

‘You’re a frigging genius!’ He grabbed her arms so suddenly she was startled, and his maniacal laughter sounded crazy even to his ears.

‘You’re out of your mind.’ She brushed him off with a slick move that suggested martial arts training. ‘Just tell me already.’

He leapt from the sofa and started pacing, riotous ideas peppering his imagination. He needed to sit, jot them down, make some sense of the brainstorm happening in his head.

This was what had happened in Paris, when he’d nailed the spring showing.

He’d done it. His ideas. His campaign. Not that upstart smarmy Jacques with his stupid berets and fast talking.

This creative freefall had also occurred for his first showing too—the one that must not be named, as he’d labelled it in his head following the shemozzle.

The spring collection might have gone some way to restoring his confidence, but it was this show that would prove beyond a doubt that he had what it took to make it in the fashion world.

With Sapphire Seaborn along for the ride every step of the way.

He stopped in front of her, itching to get started. ‘You know we’d be working on this project twenty-four-seven, right?’

‘Of course,’ she said, and the vein in her temple pulsed.

It had been her ‘give’ when she’d been younger—a tell-tale sign that she was rattled—and he didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed that spending time with him disconcerted her.

‘And that doesn’t bother you?’

She stood, cool and confident and lithe. ‘This is business. Why should it?’

That vein beat to a rap rhythm. Yeah, she was rattled. Big time.

‘Okay, then, let’s do it.’

‘Fantastic. You won’t regret this.’ Her lush mouth eased into a wide grin. ‘We’re going to be great together.’

‘Absolutely.’

And he kissed her to prove it.