Читать книгу Her Enemy With Benefits - Nicola Marsh - Страница 13

SAPPHIE LASTED A whole three days without succumbing to the temptation of seeing Patrick’s face.

Then he sent her a text, citing an urgent Skype meeting, and she caved.

Purely business, of course. And the fact she spent ten minutes primping in front of a mirror? It was the usual routine she’d do before any work meeting.

The part where her palms grew clammy as she swiped on mascara and scrubbed off her lippy twice before settling on the perfect shade was pure feminine preening.

She had four more days before he made good on his promise. Just the two of them and a decadent weekend. With boxes.

She’d been a smart-ass, taunting him at the conclusion of their last face-to-face meeting, but deep down she was a quivering mess of confusion and nerves and lust. The kind of lust she’d never experienced. The kind of lust guaranteed to turn her into a fool.

She didn’t suffer fools lightly, and respected hard work and dedication in comparison with deceitful women who faked helplessness in order to score points with men. The type of women Patrick usually hung out with if the internet was anything to go by.

It had been a stupid, spur-of-the moment decision to check out his more recent past, spurred by two glasses of Chardon-nay and a rampant curiosity.

It had been the end of a long eighteen-hour day—the day after she’d seen him; a day in which she’d determinedly buried herself in work to erase the lingering memory of his touch, and her response.

The wine had helped her wind down but it hadn’t taken the edge off her curiosity and she’d succumbed to temptation.

The internet had been enlightening, to say the least, and had provided her with a plethora of images and articles. Usu-ally depicting Patrick with a stunning supermodel on his arm, laughing into the camera, with a different country landscape in the background. From Santorini to Monte Carlo, Nice to Barcelona, Patrick was there, partying his way through Eu-rope.

She’d given up after the tenth page. The endless hits had been rather depressing.

He’d lived such an exciting life amid glamorous people while she’d spent the last ten years devoting hers to Seaborns.

She didn’t regret a single moment—discounting the last year when she’d been an idiot in shouldering the burden alone—and still experienced a thrill when she walked into their amazing showroom. But seeing pictorial evidence of Patrick’s lifestyle reinforced what she’d always felt around him: gauche, prim, floundering a little.

And envious. She’d always been a tad envious of his ability to charm people, his ease to cruise through life without a care in the world, his natural exuberance that made everyone around him smile.

If anything, those images had reinforced what she already knew deep down: that Patrick was way different and always had been. Back in high school he’d annoyed her, so what had changed now? He was still brash and cocky and charming, and had waltzed into this new Fourde Fashion with the ease of a practised CEO.

As far as she could tell from her research he’d been a minion in Paris, so this position was a massive boost up the corporate ladder for him. From what she’d been able to find of his professional life, that was. There’d been a glut of social stuff and pics, and nada on his work. She’d found it odd but had been too depressed by the gorgeous glamazons on his arm in every photo to worry about it.

And that exacerbated her annoyance—the fact he’d probably been handed this job on a silver platter and would rock it because he had the backing of his family name.

The irony wasn’t lost on her: people would say the same about her and Seaborns. But there was a difference. She’d been groomed from a young age to take over, had acted in accordance because of it. Had made sacrifices, had never lost sight of the end goal, had strived to be the best leader this jewellery company had ever seen.

Could Patrick say the same? Doubtful.

For a guy who’d spent his final year doodling and folding origami figures with his study notes he’d come a long way.

And judging by this current show he was nailing it too.

Admiration tempered her annoyance at his glib, charmed life. The guy might have skived off during that final year at high school but he was putting in the hard yards now.

And she admired hard work. She understood it. What she didn’t understand was her undeniable, clamouring attraction to him.

She felt good around him, in a way she hadn’t in a long time. Her skin tingled, her blood pounded and she felt alive.

Proving she could physically handle her role as Seaborns’ boss was one thing, but handling whatever Patrick dished out took her recovery to a whole other level.

Matching him sexually would push her out of her comfort zone, and it would take the edge off this insane lust she had for him.

Most importantly, it would prove to herself she was whole again.

That had been the worst part of her enforced rest at Ten-ang—the insidious self-doubts that would creep up on her at inopportune moments and make her wonder if she had what it took to continue leading Seaborns.

For someone who’d loved being the face of the company, who’d attended posh soirées and glamorous events and talked up Seaborn’s fabulous jewellery every chance she got, during her recovery she’d wondered if she’d ever find that kind of energy again.

Sure, she’d improved, but every time she yawned or had a twinge in her muscles or a minor headache from spending too long at the computer, she experienced a fleeting panic that she could suffer a relapse.

Being with Patrick, having him desire her, made her feel physically thriving, and that, more than anything, silenced her doubts in getting sexually involved with him.

Anything, or anyone, that could make her feel on this constant high, as if she was invincible, was worth pursuing.

She remembered the way he’d looked at her those times he’d pleasured her, the way he’d been turned on, the way he devoured her with his eyes every time he thought she wasn’t looking—and her body buzzed.

The endorphin release from Patrick’s touch was much better than any workout.

But craving him this much…how had she morphed from a successful, confident businesswoman to this muddle of need?

His fault for being so darn appealing. Which raised the question: if she did throw herself into a dirty little fling with him, would her sensibilities return or would this crazy, out of control feeling intensify?

She couldn’t afford the latter—needed to ensure Seaborns presented their best work at the Fashion Week show. A real quandary: indulge in a no-holds-barred fling with Patrick, feel utterly amazing and the best she had in ages. Or walk away from any further physical involvement and run the risk of going completely batty wanting him regardless.

She stuck her tongue out at her reflection. How had she ended up in this situation?

She didn’t lust after guys—especially ones who’d driven her nuts in high school. She worked hard and worked out. That was the extent of her life.

Maybe that was half the problem?

Probably. Which was why a decadent weekend of raunchy sex could be just what the doctor ordered.

She chuckled, wondering what the physicians at Tenang would think about that as a treatment for CFS.

Though could she do it? Shuck off her business suit and become a sex-starved goddess for a weekend with Patrick?

As she settled in front of her PC and waited for Patrick’s Skype call one thought reverberated through her head: first time for everything.

Patrick had worked his ass off the last three days. Pulled an all-nighter. Done the work of ten men. Supervised and brainstormed and delegated.

Usually this manic pace gave him a buzz. In the past it had come from partying; these days it was from ensuring Fourde Fashion stayed ahead of competing European designers.

This time working like a maniac hadn’t taken the edge off. Only one woman could do that and he couldn’t wait to see her—even if it was only via a screen.

He didn’t like how she’d got under his skin. Didn’t like the anticipation making his palms clammy. She was a distraction he could ill afford but somehow, despite working his butt off, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

At least Skype was safe. A visual without the temptation of touching. And he’d been doing a lot of that, fantasising about touching her…

He’d half expected Sapphire not to respond to his call, but in a few seconds she appeared, her eyes wide and luminous, her cheeks pink, her lips glossed, and his gut tightened.

‘Hey, gorgeous.’

‘Hey.’ A smile played around her lips but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘What did you want to discuss tonight?’

‘Business, of course.’

He had to stay focussed on business before he ignored his vow to stay away from her and drove like a maniac to her apartment.

Seeing her, even through a screen, wasn’t such a smart idea after all. He should have stuck to e-mails.

‘Good.’ She nodded, as if his answer had allayed her fears of getting too personal. ‘What did you think of those shots I e-mailed this morning?’

‘Ruby’s incredibly talented.’ He held up a sketch. ‘The embedded sapphire choker will look amazing with this evening gown. And the emerald dog collar will accentuate the showstopper perfectly.’

‘Great.’ Her shoulders relaxed a little but her studiously polite smile didn’t slip. ‘What about the yellow diamond set? Could it be used with the saffron sheath or the alabaster A-line?’

‘Think we’ll make that decision when the models wear the final pieces.’

‘Timelines still on track?’

He nodded. ‘Absolutely.’

‘Good, because we’ve been working like maniacs over here.’

‘Same here.’ He slipped a finger between his tie and collar. ‘I’m in danger of becoming a very dull boy.’

Her lips quirked into a coy smile. ‘I doubt that.’

‘I miss playing,’ he said, knowing he shouldn’t flirt but unable to stop.

‘I never have time to.’

He heard the wistful undertone, well aware that if she were anything like she’d been in high school Sapphire would never take time out to play.

‘Everyone should make time to play. It’s healthy.’

‘So I’ve been told,’ she said, glancing away from the screen, fiddling with the neckline of her dress.

In that moment he knew exactly how to make her come out to play.

He locked fingers, stretched and settled them behind his head. ‘Tell me what you’re wearing.’

A cute little crease appeared between her brows. ‘Pretty obvious, I would’ve thought. Ochre shift dress.’

‘I meant what you’re wearing beneath it.’

Her lips parted in a delightful O of surprise before she clamped them shut. ‘We are so not having Skype sex.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because.’ She darted a glance away from the screen. Prob-ably trying to find something to cover the inbuilt camera. ‘I don’t see the point.’

‘The point being it’s fun to play. And if you’re half as horny as me it might take the edge off.’ He unlocked his hands and leaned towards the camera. ‘Plus I love seeing you get off.’

A deep crimson flushed her cheeks.

‘Come on, give a guy a little something to tide him over while he’s working all-nighters.’

The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip before she said, ‘I—I—haven’t done this before. I’m not sure—’

‘It’s all about the fantasy, sweetheart.’ He lowered his voice, knowing he needed to say the right thing or he’d lose her. ‘There’s no right or wrong way. Just do what feels good.’

She paused, worrying her bottom lip for a few indecisive seconds, before her chin tilted and he knew he had her.

‘You tell anyone about this and you’re a dead man.’

Victorious, he leaned back in his chair. ‘Consider this a prelude to the real thing.’

She nodded, and a sweep of hair the colour of gold silk swished across one eye before she pushed it back impatiently.

‘Let’s try this again. Tell me what you’re wearing.’

She inhaled and blew out a breath. ‘Pale pink lace.’

‘Bra and panties?’

‘Thong,’ she corrected, and his hard-on twitched.

‘Sheer?’

‘Yep.’

He cursed.

‘Take off your thong.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Patrick—’

‘Do it,’ he said, his voice thick with lust. ‘And I want to see proof.’

‘I’m not doing that—’

‘Relax, just seeing the thong will do.’ He grinned. ‘For now.’

She huffed out a breath but he saw her wiggling, and in a few moments she waved the flimsiest excuse for underwear he’d ever seen in front of the camera.

‘Satisfied?’

‘Not by a long shot, babe, but we’re getting there.’

He wondered how far he could push her and decided to go all the way.

‘Now touch yourself.’ He throbbed, and shifted in his chair. ‘You’re turned on, wet, and as you touch yourself I want you to imagine it’s my tongue.’

She moaned, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard via electronic medium.

‘I’ll do it,’ she said, ‘but only if you do it too.’

Kudos to his sexy Sapphire. She was a quick learner.

‘Okay, but only because you asked so nicely.’

He unzipped and sprang free of his boxers, rigid and straining. As he wrapped his fingers around himself he closed his eyes, visualising the encounter he’d had with Sapphire in her bathroom. How her breasts had bounced as he’d thrust between her legs, how slick she’d been, how her face had looked as she came.

‘Can you feel my mouth on you?’ she said, and it was his turn to groan. ‘Because I’m taking you in all the way as I’m touching myself.’

He wanted to open his eyes, to watch her face, but he knew if he did this would be over all too quickly.

‘Tell me what you feel like,’ he said, moving his hand, wishing it were hers.

‘I’m so wet for you,’ she murmured, giving a little pant of surprise. ‘I think I’m going to come pretty soon.’

‘That’s good, because I was ready to blow the second I imagined your mouth around me.’

‘Let’s do this together, okay?’

He heard the vulnerability in her voice and his eyes snapped open. And, yeah, he immediately wished he’d kept them closed.

She had an incredibly rapt expression, filled with wonderment and excitement and awe, and it made him want to fling himself through the screen and cyberspace to sweep her into his arms.

Her wondrous gaze never left his. ‘Patrick, I’m so close…’

‘Come for me,’ he said, his hand quickening as his muscles tightened in pre-release.

‘Patrick…this feels…oooh…’

She came on a drawn-out keen and it was enough to push him over the edge.

His mind blanked as he blasted to outer space and back, despite the fact this had been a poor substitute for where he’d like to be.

‘Patrick?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I have a newfound respect for Skype.’

‘Good, because we’re having another business meeting tomorrow night.’

Patrick was a glutton for punishment.

It was the only explanation for why he’d agreed to personally drop off the fabric swatches to Ruby at Seaborns.

Though it wasn’t Ruby he was hoping to see and he knew it.

It had been two nights since his Skype session with Sap-phire and while he hadn’t contacted her since he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

She invaded his every waking moment, and most sleeping ones too.

His vow not to be distracted by her during preparations for this show was not working out so great.

He didn’t like feeling this…confused. Women always held some fascination, but in the past he’d been able to relegate them to his downtime without a problem. But Sap-phire? Whether he was working, or at the gym burning off his frustration, she was there, in his mind, the echo of her pleasure reverberating in his ears until he couldn’t think straight.

Turning up at Seaborns today was about proving to himself he wasn’t enthralled. That he had a grip on this thing between them. That he wasn’t such a schmuck he couldn’t control his libido.

Then Sapphire opened the door and his blasé self-talk faded into oblivion.

‘Thanks for dropping the swatches by,’ she said, holding open the door and beckoning him in. ‘Ruby’s dying to match them to the latest batch of gems.’

‘No worries,’ he said, taking great care not to brush her as he entered.

One touch and he’d take her up against the nearest glass display case.

‘Want a drink?’

He swallowed his first response, a resounding no, and nodded out of politeness. ‘Sure, coffee would be great.’

‘Through here.’

He followed her into a tiny kitchenette at the back of the showroom and immediately regretted his decision to stay, manners be damned. The room was no bigger than a box. A very tiny box that resulted in her light cinnamon peach perfume mingling with the coffee bean aroma and wrapping around him in a sweet, tempting blend.

While the percolator did its thing, she propped herself against the bench and he struggled not to stare at the teal silk wraparound dress that did incredible things to her body and highlighted the sparkle in her eyes.

‘Can I see the swatches?’

He wanted to fling the fabric samples at her and make a run for it while he still could. For he knew without a doubt that if she took a step towards him he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her.

‘Yeah.’

He fished them out of his pocket and held the swatches at arm’s length, earning an amused smile.

‘For someone who was mighty forward the other night, I find your sudden reticence intriguing.’

‘Just take the swatches,’ he said, gritting his teeth against the urge to say more.

Such as what he’d like to do to her right here, right now, up against the tiny kitchen bench.

‘You? Shy?’ She reached out and rubbed a piece of crimson satin between thumb and forefinger. ‘Rather cute.’

He watched her feel the satin, how the soft material slid between her fingers, and counted to ten. Slowly.

It didn’t work.

He snagged her fingers and hauled her towards him, their bodies slamming into one another with enough force to leave them winded.

He didn’t give her a chance to catch her breath, ravishing her mouth with the desperation of a man who’d been pushed to his limits.

This idea of his to keep his distance, to keep distractions to a minimum—so not working.

Her hands tangled in his hair, finding purchase, as he shoved her against the nearest wall and pressed into her.

She groaned and he deepened the kiss, yearning to be inside her with a hunger that left him reeling.

How could he be this out of control over a woman? One who could never be more than a fling, considering his long-term plans?

Crazy.

The percolator made a god-awful noise as it clicked off, the sound penetrating the sensual cocoon enveloping them.

Sapphire broke the kiss, her chest heaving, her eyes flashing. ‘One sugar or two?’

He laughed, easing the tension between them. ‘Two. With a double shot of brandy if you have it.’

‘Sorry, you’ll have to make do with sugar,’ she said, busying herself with organising the coffee but unable to hide the betraying tremble in her hands.

He knew the feeling—this relentless, all-consuming craving that had him off-kilter.

Maybe he was going about this all wrong? If an enforced absence wasn’t working, maybe he should try the opposite? Getting her out of his system?

It couldn’t be any worse than the agonising torture he was going through now.

‘Come away with me for the weekend.’

Her hand stilled, holding the kettle in mid-air as she poured boiling water into her mug.

‘I thought we were going to not see each other during the campaign—’

‘Screw it.’ He dragged his hand through his hair and took two steps, which constituted pacing in the tiny kitchenette. ‘We need to get this thing out of our systems, and staying apart isn’t helping, so let’s go for it.’

‘Well, when you put it like that, how can a girl refuse?’ She topped off her mug and placed the kettle on its stand.

He winced. ‘Sorry, that didn’t come out right.’

‘I get it.’ She handed him his coffee. ‘We’re going a little stir crazy. I guess a weekend away can’t hurt.’

‘Great. I’ll set it up—e-mail you the details.’

She nodded, cradling her mug, staring at him with wide eyes over the top of it.

He couldn’t read the expression in those rich blue depths, but if she was half as shell-shocked as him he couldn’t blame her.

Hopefully this impulsive weekend away would ease this clamouring attraction between them once and for all. And then he could concentrate on more important things—like putting his plans into action.

‘What’s got you in a tizz?’ Ruby held out an arm, effectively blocking Sapphie’s exit from her workshop.

‘Nothing,’ she said, wishing she hadn’t snapped at her sister. It was a sure-fire sign something was going on, considering she’d been nothing but the epitome of calm since Tenang.

Before Patrick showed up, that was.

Ruby pointed to a spare stool next to her workbench. ‘Sit. Spill.’

Sapphie shrugged, pretending she didn’t have a care in the world, when all she could think about was getting naked with Patrick face to face. Or other bits to other bits, more precisely.

‘I’m getting angsty about the show.’

Ruby frowned. ‘I thought you weren’t allowed to get ang-sty? Part of your new relaxation routine?’

‘There’s only so far yoga can take you, Rubes.’

Her sister’s astute gaze swept over her. ‘This isn’t about work, is it?’

‘’Course it is—’

‘Why don’t you just bonk him and get it out of your system, already? You’ll feel a lot better for it. Trust me.’

Sapphie screwed up her nose. ‘Euw! Please don’t elaborate on how you and Jax managed to brainstorm that auction.’

Her sister’s smug grin reeked of sin. Half her luck.

Ruby laid down her pliers, pushed her loupe out of the way and crossed her arms.

‘You’ve been working like a maniac this last week. Why don’t you take the weekend off? Call Patrick? Get together—’

‘He’s taking me away for the weekend,’ she blurted, unable to keep it a secret any longer.

She’d had no intention of telling Ruby anything, expecting to be teased, interrogated or both for the next millennium, but with her departure to destination unknown creeping ever closer Sapphie had to say something for no other reason than articulating made it real.

Ruby clapped. ‘Way to go, Saph.’ She wiggled her eyebrows. ‘Dirty weekend away, huh?’

Sapphie’s first instinct was to say It’s not like that, but after withholding the promise she’d made to their mum on her deathbed and the resultant fallout she’d vowed never to keep the truth from her sister again.

Which meant full disclosure. Within reason.

‘I haven’t been out with anyone in a while, he seems keen, so it’s a bit of harmless fun.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Ruby nodded, her sly grin particularly worrying. ‘So it’s just a fling, right? Nothing serious?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Then why are you so flustered?’

‘I’m not,’ Sapphie said, making a mockery of her declaration by edging backwards and tripping over a crate.

Ruby chuckled. ‘I’ve never seen you this worked up over a guy before. It’s cute.’

‘Cute is puppies and newborns. Cute is not the relationship I have with Patrick.’

‘Oh? Then what would you call it?’

Raunchy. Decadent. Naughty.

Very, very naughty.

Images of what they’d done in her bathroom and the boardroom and via Skype in her bedroom earlier this week flashed across her memory and heat touched her cheeks.

Ruby held up her hands. ‘Never mind. Spare me the details. I can see how good it is written all over your face.’ She slugged her on the arm. ‘Proud of you.’

At least that made one of them. Sapphie wasn’t entirely proud of using Patrick—for that was exactly what she was doing. He wasn’t her type, and she had no intention of continuing this dalliance once their work together on Fashion Week ended, so using him didn’t sit well.

The fact he seemed more than happy to use her back was a moot point.

‘Stop thinking so hard. You’ll get frown lines.’ Ruby swiped a finger between her brows. ‘There’s nothing to overanalyse here, sis. Mutual gratification. Fling. Whatever you want to call it—just enjoy.’

She fully intended to. As for what happened after? She’d cross that mannequin when she came to it.

‘Where are you taking her?’ Serge propped himself on the end of Patrick’s desk, the epitome of male chic in one of Fourde’s five-grand-a-pop suits.

‘What’s it to you?’ Patrick practically snarled, and instantly regretted it. It wasn’t Serge’s fault a week’s worth of cold showers and iceberg documentaries hadn’t taken the edge off. Throw in the lack of sleep from working all hours to distract himself, and he was a grouch.

‘Come on, mate, we’ve always discussed our women in the past.’

He’d deliberately shut the door on his past. And Sapphire was no ordinary woman.

He didn’t want to discuss her with Serge, didn’t want to hear the usual ribald jokes and innuendo. Sapphire deserved better than that, and the last thing he needed as Fashion Week crept closer was to lose his right-hand man because he’d punched him in the mouth.

Which led to the question: why did he feel so strongly about this? About her? He had a job to do in Melbourne: make Australia and the world sit up and take notice of Fourde Fash-ion’s latest branch before he moved on to bigger and better things. That was his primary goal.

Sapphire was great as a temporary distraction but that was all she could ever be. Temporary.

For he had monumental dreams. Ones that involved taking on his folks head-on back in Europe.

Yeah, he’d do well to keep the endgame in sight. Despite the extremely attractive distraction.

Serge slid off his desk and stalked towards a side table, pointing at the basketball-size globe. ‘Let me see.’ He spun the globe with a finger, jabbing at it to stop it when the map of Australia came around. ‘Well, look-ee here.’

Patrick didn’t like where this was going. He’d played Serge’s stupid flag game in the past, when bedding women had gone in conjunction with partying. Not that he’d ever kept tally of the nationalities of the women he’d slept with, so he could stab a pin into a country as some kind of warped bedpost-notch equivalent, but he’d laughed when Serge had presented him with his round-the-world dalliances.

Later, he’d kept the globe as proof of the life he’d left be-hind—a life deliberately shunned because it had left him feeling shallow and worthless. Two feelings he’d had a gutful of after his major screw-up.

It served as a visual reminder of how far he’d come and a place he’d never return.

Serge let out a low wolf-whistle. ‘Just as I suspected. No flag on Melbourne.’

He hated Serge’s sly smirk.

‘I’m guessing that’s about to change come Monday.’

‘I haven’t got time for childish games.’ Patrick lowered his voice with effort. ‘And neither do you. Showtime in two weeks and we’re nowhere near ready.’

‘Chillax. We’ll get there. We always do.’

Patrick wished he had half Serge’s confidence. He might be taking charge with Sapphire when it came to sex, but no amount of planning or executing could guarantee a faultless show.

So many variables could go wrong—from a broken stiletto to a thread unravelling, from a model’s hissy fit to a competitor sabotaging.

Patrick didn’t like the unknown. He intended on planning for every contingency and if that meant working night and day for the next fortnight so be it. After this weekend, that was.

This weekend was all his. And maybe, just maybe, sex with Sapphire would ease his stress levels and make concentrating on work easier.

‘If I can’t talk about your dirty weekend, can I ask if you’ve had any feedback from Hardy and Joyce on the Fashion Week presentation?’

Yeah, Patrick had heard from his folks. A vague, general go-ahead while they focussed on more important matters, like booking the Louvre for an innovative Fourde Fashion show or gearing up for Milan.

As if they’d deem the Aussie office worthy of more than a cursory glance.

Well, he had news for them. He’d make them sit up and take notice of Fourde in Melbourne. Then he’d confront them with his plans to take them on in Europe.

They’d probably ignore him again, as they had the first time he’d mentioned it. When they realised he was for real they wouldn’t like it. Worse, they’d probably laugh at him.

But he was sick of being patronised. It seemed nothing he did could make up for the mistakes of the past but this time he intended on making his mark. He’d make them—and the world—pay attention to Patrick Fourde for all the right reasons.

‘I don’t need their approval,’ he said, unclenching his fists beneath the desk.

‘Man, you better get laid this weekend because you’re wound tight.’ Serge shook his head. ‘I asked if you’d had feedback, not their approval.’

Sadly, Patrick had a feeling even sex with Sapphire wouldn’t alleviate his long-standing stress levels when it came to his folks.

‘They’re busy as usual. We’ll gain their attention soon enough.’

Serge nodded. ‘The old Hollywood glamour concept is brilliant. And the designs…’ He kissed his fingertips in a flamboyant European gesture. ‘Magnifique.’

Patrick had no doubt his idea would wow the fashion world. What he doubted was gaining the recognition from the two people who mattered the most.

‘So you’ll be ready for a preview showing first thing Mon-day morning?’

‘Yeah, we’ll be ready.’ Serge smirked and spun the globe with his finger, hovering over Melbourne again. ‘The question is, will you?’

‘I’ll be here.’ He stood, glanced at his watch, making a grand show of having somewhere else to be when in fact he needed to get rid of Serge so he could get on with his plans. ‘I’ve never mixed business with pleasure before and you know it.’

‘There’s always a first time for everything,’ Serge said, giving the globe a final spin before lumbering towards the door. ‘And come Monday there’ll be a pin there to prove it.’

Patrick frowned, not liking Serge’s immature ribbing, and liking the fact he was probably already mixing business with pleasure less.