Chapter Five
‘THE FIGURES JUST don’t stack up. Nothing you sent me changes that.’
Conall stared through the open French doors, only half seeing the dark blue of the harbour at the end of the lush private garden. Emerson, now head of the Perth office, was usually on the ball. His investment recommendations were generally sound, if not downright insightful.
‘Did you look at the projections in the attachments?’
‘Of course.’ Conall was always meticulous in his attention to detail. ‘I read the whole report.’
‘So you weren’t impressed with the new income stream starting next year? Or the expansion scheduled for December?’
Conall frowned. He didn’t recall that. ‘Where are those details?’
‘The final attachment. I thought I’d save the best news to last.’ His deputy gave a huff of laughter but didn’t sound amused.
Damn it! Conall wasn’t amused either. He scrolled through the document on the screen and realised he’d missed the last attachment. He swore.
This time Emerson’s laugh was genuine. ‘Found it now?’
Conall was already speed reading, torn between admiration that Emerson had identified this opportunity before any other investor snapped it up and annoyance at himself.
‘Sorry, mate. I couldn’t understand why you were so taken with the idea of investing in that company. I should have known better.’
He thrust his fingers through his hair, scraping his scalp as if that might get his laggardly brain cells working properly. What else had he missed today?
‘Hard week?’
‘Nothing I can’t handle. Distracting rather than hard.’
Liar.
‘If there’s anything we can do over here…’
Conall smiled. ‘What, you don’t have enough to do?’
‘More than enough. Those performance targets we agreed are a real stretch, but they’ve been good for the team. I’m seeing a bit more lateral thinking in the group. Some of those young hires are really stepping up.’
‘Excellent. I look forward to hearing about the lateral thinking next time we catch up. For now I’d better go and reread what you sent me.’
He ended the call, but instead of looking at the proposal, Conall scrubbed his hand over his face. It had been a hellish few days and it was affecting his work, something he’d believed impossible, until now.
He and Greer had tiptoed around each other with exaggerated caution.
Conall had tried to talk to her about that night, that kiss, but each time she froze him out. Normally that wouldn’t stop him, but the raw hurt in her eyes, so at odds with her mask of control, got to him every time and he’d refused to pressure her.
He’d feel better for sorting things out, but he wasn’t brutal enough to force her to talk before she was ready. Not after everything she’d been through.
Which left him frustrated and antsy.
Over the previous days he’d taken more meetings out of the office than usual, needing to escape her presence and his conscience. Today he’d decided to work from home, but now it looked like he’d have to double check everything he’d done.
Distracted didn’t begin to describe his mental state.
The fiasco was his fault. Greer had needed reassurance and comfort that night. But one touch and he’d needed more. He’d been unable to hold back until it was almost too late.
But the doctors had warned she needed time to recover fully.
Greer had wanted more from him and he’d been triumphant and eager to take what he craved, until he recalled she wasn’t herself. She struggled to adapt after her accident, and with the many things she couldn’t remember.
Despite the extremity of his need, Conall wouldn’t allow himself to be like his father, who took advantage of vulnerable women.
Oh, Conall intended to seduce Greer. But it would be a seduction of mind and body. He wanted, needed her to choose him, not feel pressured or unsure. There’d be no shortcuts, no tricks. No coercion.
Pain shot through his jaw as his molars ground. He almost welcomed the jab of discomfort. It was better than his regrets sitting low in his gut.
All he’d done in the end was hurt her. Instead of giving her comfort he’d distressed her.
The night he’d taken her home after the opera, the outside light had spilled over his shoulders from behind. He’d read her expression when he finally relinquished her.
Her brittle attempt at composure, and the anguish he read between the cracks, had wrenched his gut and fed his guilt. She was still hurting now, despite the air of efficient calm she wore like a defensive cloak in the office, acting like a polite stranger.
They couldn’t keep on like this.
Nor could they turn back the clock. That taste of her had unleashed something dark and hungry and he didn’t know what to do with it. Abstinence was no longer working and he couldn’t shut himself away from the office indefinitely.
A knock on the open study door made him turn. It was his housekeeper, Alice Robinson. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but you have a visitor.’ She paused. ‘Greer Munro.’
Conall stared, his mind racing.
Greer, here? After days having as little to do with him as possible, she’d come to his home. Why, when she could easily call or text?
His first, instantaneous thought was that she’d come to say she was resigning. What else could bring her here?
Bile rose in his throat. He’d never thought it would come to this. Already part of his brain was calculating his next step. Because losing her was impossible.
‘Show her in please.’
‘Would you like refreshments before I leave?’
Conall shook his head. ‘No, thanks. It’s time you left.’ Alice was spending a few days off with her sister in the Southern Highlands. ‘You go and enjoy your break.’
‘Thanks, I will.’ She paused, frowning. ‘Don’t forget I’ve left tonight’s meal ready in the kitchen. And I’ve been baking today so there’s plenty of food for while I’m away.’
Clearly Alice had taken his lack of appetite lately as a personal affront. But then he registered that it was concern not annoyance making her mouth purse and her brow furrow. She looked like a worried grandmother. Not that he’d ever had a grandmother, or anyone much to worry over him.
Except another housekeeper, long ago, who’d taken pity on a shell-shocked orphan, suddenly transplanted into his father’s grand, cold mansion. He hadn’t known her long. She’d lost her job when his father discovered she’d been coddling him with bedtime stories and warm milk.
Despite the tension gripping his internal organs in a vice, he smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Alice. I won’t forget to eat.’
With a nod she turned away and Conall shot to his feet.
Greer’s steps slowed as she walked down the corridor the housekeeper had indicated. Her decision to confront Conall made her nervous enough. But the afternoon had already been unsettling. Even setting aside the curious look his housekeeper had given her.
She halted and looked over her shoulder, watching the older woman walk away. It was hard to shake the feeling Mrs Robinson knew something she wasn’t sharing.
Maybe Conall’s annoyed enough to start looking for another PA. Perhaps he confided in his housekeeper.
Trepidation shivered down her spine like a trail of ice shards.
Then there was the fact Greer had braced herself to face him, going to the building where he’d had his penthouse, only to discover he no longer lived there.
That had rocked her confidence, after weeks telling herself she was doing fine, picking up the threads of projects at work and learning new faces, only to discover this was something else she didn’t know.
She’d been involved in the penthouse purchase, not only handling paperwork but actually finding suitable options that met Conall’s requirements.
It seemed that in the last five months his requirements had changed. Instead of a new penthouse near the heart of the city, he now lived in a grand waterfront mansion, surrounded by gardens and high walls. Its generous spaces and styling made her think of art deco mixed with Californian Spanish.
And he hadn’t told her. Or perhaps he had and it was one of the many things she’d forgotten. Either option made her feel…less. Less capable. Less trusted.
That was ridiculous. The man was allowed to move house and not tell her.
Except they’d had such long discussions about his preferences before the move to Sydney. He’d said afterwards how much he’d valued her input in buying the Sydney penthouse.
But clearly he didn’t like it after all, since he moved again so quickly.
Greer told herself it didn’t make sense to feel thrown off-centre by this news. But it was one more proof that the confidence she’d once had about her life was now only an illusion. Would she ever claw back what she’d lost?
She set her shoulders and straightened her spine.
One thing she did know. Feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t help.
She’d spent days wallowing in self-pity and it had to stop.
She was sick of herself. It shouldn’t surprise her that her boss was sick of her too, enough to find working in the office untenable.
She pressed her hand against her churning stomach. Things couldn’t go on this way. She had to fix this.
Head high, she walked to the room at the end of the corridor. She raised her hand to rap on the door jamb but didn’t complete the movement.
Conall was there, at the vast window, looking dark and enigmatic against the backdrop of green garden and navy blue water. His back was turned to her.
Her heart seemed to still, then just as she began to feel light-headed, jump back into action, pounding fast and hard.
Just the sight of him does that.
She should be used to him after all this time. Yet her gaze devoured him, from his rumpled hair to the dark khaki polo shirt outlining his shoulders and solid chest. To that lean waist and narrow hips, faded denim covering long, powerful legs and the tight curve of his backside.
Her mouth dried and her fingers flexed, imagining—
‘Greer.’
She blinked and found herself meeting that black, glittering stare.