Chapter 5 #2
EJ had a front-row seat to this over the next two hours as Eric Churchill displayed all his powers to full effect while the yacht completed a circuit of Sydney Harbour.
Part of her wanted to be the girl who oohed and aahed and took photos of the amazing views of the city skyscrapers illuminated in the night.
Another part—the part she was trying to listen to more these days—knew that if she displayed her small-town roots, she’d never get taken seriously.
So she adopted the same sophisticated persona as the others here, chatting about things she pretended to know about while nursing a glass of champagne she didn’t want to drink.
She needed a clear head to remember all the conversations, to make the most of the connections today.
To try and figure out the enigma that was Eric Churchill.
She lingered near the buffet cart, with its sliced exotic fruits and little plates of caviar-dusted croquettes.
She’d never liked caviar—it tasted like dirt to her—but had stuffed in a few at Gwen’s insistence.
But pretending to eat and drink allowed her to watch what was going on, which was fascinating.
Eric was the sun around which all the other party guests revolved.
Even tonight’s hosts—a cricketing sporting star and his influencer wife who were promoting a brand of gin—weren’t as popular.
Every so often, Eric would glance at her and she’d fight the temptation to glance away.
Nobody liked being busted for looking by the instant look-away.
That was weak. And while she wasn’t sure about the wisdom of studying a man who seemed far too sure of himself, she thought he was an interesting case.
She wondered what Eric would fill out in the Dream Match questionnaire.
What qualities he’d look for in a girlfriend.
He must be single, right? The Google hunting she’d done since Harriet’s call had indicated that he’d broken up with his latest girlfriend, a Brazilian model named Allessandra, who was as blonde and tanned and thin yet disproportionately curvy as EJ was not.
It was easy to see why Allessandra had attracted him, and all the women before.
Eric clearly had a type. One didn’t need to be a professional matchmaker to know that.
But still, people could change, and there had to be more to the man than what the headlines screeched, something she was determined to find out.
Studying relationships, why people were attracted to others, was what her business was about, after all.
She had completed a few psychology courses over the years, and the knowledge had proved really useful to help hone their questions, to help clarify the real things people wanted to know.
It was why she had agreed with Jordan’s suggestion that the app didn’t allow for people’s pictures to be revealed until people actually read their profiles and made the first move by indicating interest in wanting to chat.
He’d always said—and she agreed—that it was more important for people to get to know each other, not to be blinded by their looks.
And while others might argue and say there needed to be a spark of physical attraction for anything to ignite, time and a close study of relationships had shown that it was far more important for people to find those things in common that would last even after looks faded.
That was part of what made Dream Match different from the other dating apps out there.
That, plus Jordan’s insistence that it be focused on Christian singles.
And that women should have the right to swipe first. And their filtering system, which required that users had a professional social networking account like LinkedIn, to help prevent creepy dudes from clogging women’s attention.
“We don’t want women being harassed by red flag–type guys,” he’d said.
Her heart softened. Jordan had always been thoughtful and protective that way.
“Emma Bennett, right?”
Emma? While she normally didn’t appreciate someone forgetting half her name, she couldn’t afford to tick off anyone in this crowd. She turned to see another man whom Gwen had introduced her to last week. What was his name? Oh, now she remembered. “Neil Elton, right?” she gently teased.
He grinned, then introduced the handsome man he was with. Jason Willoughby wore a look of assurance not unlike Eric’s. Like he was used to being recognised and valued, simply for existing. “And what is it you do?” she asked him.
“I’m in investments.”
Hmm. She didn’t like to judge, but it seemed like Jordan’s red flags were flapping.
There was something about Jason she didn’t trust. He looked at her, but his gaze kept flicking away, like he was looking for someone more interesting.
Which so wasn’t good for a girl’s ego. She wondered what kind of investments he was involved with, then put that to him.
He shrugged. “A bit of this and a bit of that. And you?” he asked quickly, as if eager to change the subject.
“I—”
“Let me see if I can remember this correctly,” Neil interrupted, smiling at her like he thought she might appreciate being spoken over. “Emma is the owner of Dream Match, right?”
“Dream Match?” Jason asked.
“It’s a—”
“Dating app,” Neil supplied. “Very successful.”
Her teeth clenched in what she hoped passed as a smile. Super loved being talked over like this. “It’s been great to see people appreciating it.”
“Huh.” Jason nodded as a pretty woman passed by. “Hey, Lucinda.”
The woman paused, eyed them, then gave a round of air-kisses, trotting off before EJ could be introduced. Okay, then.
“So, uh, Emma.” Neil passed her a plate of caviar-crusted items, which she refused. “Where are you from?”
“I live in Sydney,” she said firmly. No way did she want anyone knowing about her roots.
“What part?” he asked, around a mouthful of expensive fish.
She pointed to the opposite shoreline, garnering their whistles, and pivoted slightly on her heel. It was nice to feel like she might be accepted a little, but it wasn’t exactly helping her any. Yet. “How about you, Neil?”
“I’m originally from a little town about halfway between Sydney and Canberra. It’s super tiny, called Wooten Vale.”
She blinked and swerved back to him. No way. “Really?”
“You’ve heard of it?”
She had to be careful how she answered. Neil was nice but not her cup of tea. And she didn’t want someone who clearly didn’t mind spilling the tea spilling her particular flavour. “I have an employee who hails from there.”
“Really? What’s her name? Or his name. Maybe I know them.”
“Harriet Smart.”
“Smart?” His head tilted, his forehead puckering. “I really don’t think—wait. Not the Smarts who live on the hill near Nicole and Keith?”
“Um, I couldn’t say.”
“Huh. Well, that’s cool. Small world, right?”
“Very small,” she agreed.
For some reason that earned her a bray of laughter, which drew Eric’s attention again. He sent that same, slightly mocking look, which she countered with an expression she hoped conveyed disinterest.
Then, just when Neil seemed determined to hold court for hours longer, Eric slipped free of his bevy of admirers, capturing her gaze again. Then he tilted his head.
Huh? She angled so she didn’t have to see him, and continued the small talk, trying to pretend she knew who these people were talking about.
She sipped her champagne, more because she wanted something to do than because she was thirsty, but it didn’t taste as nice as what she’d had at the Opera House, so she didn’t have any more.
“Do you not like champagne?”
She spun to face the owner of the voice, spilling some of her drink as she did so. Darn.
“Hi, Eric!” Neil was like an eager puppy dog, grateful for any crumb of attention Eric might fling his way. “Hey, have you two met? I don’t suppose you would have.”
“Actually—”
“Eric, this is Emma Bennett,” Neil continued, talking over the top of her as seemed to be his usual. “Emma, this is Eric Churchill.”
Eric nodded, but his laser focus was trained on EJ, sending a ripple down her spine.
“Does that mean you didn’t enjoy the champagne the other weekend?” Eric asked.
Maybe she needed some more, because right now her mouth was dry and she was struggling to think. Telling him she had enjoyed it felt fraught with potential problems.
“Champagne?” Neil’s head swivelled between them. “So you have met?”
“Yes.” A hint of a smile played around Eric’s mouth as his eyebrow arched, and suddenly she could understand what all the fuss was about.
She’d heard of animal magnetism, had even researched it as part of her psychological studies, but had never met anyone with the sheer power to draw someone in just by looking at them.
Maybe it was an inherited quality, seeing as so many people seemed willing to trust his father with millions of dollars.
Or maybe it was due to his smooth-as-silk low voice, like he’d been trained by a professional so that every word seemed to hold significance.
He probably had, she decided. A professional elocutionist. Or a newsreader.
“So, EJ—”
“Actually, it’s Emma—”
“EJ to her friends, was what I was told.”
Oh great. She couldn’t look at Neil’s crestfallen face. Why was Eric speaking like this? It wasn’t kind. But still, something inside her refused to walk away.
“So, about that champagne …” Eric invited.
Why was he harping on about this? Anyone could see she wasn’t the normal kind of woman he spoke to, precisely because she was so …
normal. Would admitting she loved the champagne he’d bought put her in his debt like Jordan had suggested?
She bit the inside of her bottom lip, wondering what to do.
Then placed her half-full glass on the tray of a passing waiter.
“I tend to prefer things not so complex. It makes it hard to get the true flavour.”
“I see.”
She doubted it. She was starting to hate that smirk, but at the same time, she found it dangerously intriguing.
He angled his body, shielding her from some of the stares. “So, EJ, I couldn’t help but notice you seemed to be watching me earlier.”
“I think people are fascinating.”
“You find me fascinating, do you?”
She ignored the hue of arrogance his comment implied, grateful for the inroad into finally talking about her passion project.
Imagine if someone like Eric Churchill invested in her app!
“How people interact with each other is interesting, what likes and dislikes they have. It’s partly why I started Dream Match, my dating app. ”
“I’m finding myself increasingly curious about what likes and dislikes you have, EJ.”
Oh. So this fish wasn’t going to bite on the bait she’d thrown about Dream Match. Oh well. But then, the significance of what he’d just said hit her. He was curious to know about her? “Why?”
“Because you’re not like the others here. I could tell that a mile off.”
Her breath hitched. Was he going to say she didn’t belong? That her clothes were wrong? That he was voting her off the island, before she’d even had a chance to properly pitch her app?
He watched her, as if aware of her inner turmoil.
She snatched at another waiter’s tray, stuffing the morsel inside to buy her time. Whether it was the movement of the boat or the shifts in conversation, she felt unsteady. Maybe food would help. Except—ugh. Gross. She coughed. Caviar did not help.
“Not a fan?” Eric offered her his glass.
She shook her head. No way was she accepting anything more from this man.
She shifted back to the table, grateful for Neil who offered her a bottle of water.
She chugged that. It was probably way past time to find Gwen and end this very strange night.
Thank goodness the yacht had returned to the dock.
She caught Gwen’s eye and pointed to an imaginary watch and mouthed, Sorry.
Gwen nodded before her attention was stolen by the man she was talking with.
EJ turned, only to jump when she realised Eric had drawn close. “I didn’t see you there.”
“First time that’s been said to me tonight.”
Again that sense of him drawing her in closed around her. She swallowed more water, hoping it would spark sense to her brain. She felt itchy, on display, as people watched their conversation. Gratefulness filled her as Gwen escaped her conversation and drew close.
“I hope you don’t mind if I say that I hope to see you again, EJ Bennett.”
Oh my gosh, oh my gosh! Was he serious?
“You’ll find it easier if you have her phone number,” Gwen whispered loudly.
He pulled out his phone, tapped in it, and then held it out to her expectantly.
What was she supposed to do? Ignore it, as he’d ignored her offer to shake hands earlier?
That felt petty. Or was that simply wise?
Her fingers, her insides, everything felt shaky as she glanced at the phone then at him.
No, something cried out within. Don’t do it.
What would Jesus do? Jordan’s advice seemed absurd. How would Jesus handle this situation? Well, she couldn’t quite figure out exactly what Jesus would do, but she knew what Jordan would do. She smiled, stepped back, and shook her head.
“I’m afraid I don’t give out my phone number to strangers.”
“But we’re not strangers,” he murmured.
“Mm, you’re not someone I know well enough to make that claim.”
“Which is exactly why I want your number, so we can get to know each other better.”
Oh, he was smooth. Had he practiced these lines on other women?
She bet he had. A thousand times. Still, she had a greater grip on what she should do, and that involved leaving.
She smiled, glanced at Gwen. “I’m sorry, but I have an early start tomorrow.
” She’d arranged to meet with Jordan for breakfast, which would likely also involve either jogging or reading her Bible, or maybe even both.
After tonight it felt like she needed both.
“I need to be going soon too.” Gwen kissed Eric’s cheeks. “Good to see you again.”
“As ever.”
What kind of response was that? But there was no time for internal snark as Eric turned those deep brown eyes onto her, holding her prisoner again as he stretched out his hand. “Miss Bennett.”
She clasped his hand, and electricity ripped up her arm, startling her. But no. She wouldn’t be attracted to him. She didn’t even know if he was a Christian! She bet that’d be one of the first questions Jordan would ask.
She tugged her hand away. “Goodbye.”
“Au revoir,” he amended.
Hmm. She turned, made her farewells to the others, and followed Gwen off the yacht, as Eric Churchill’s farewell followed her. Au revoir? No. She didn’t want to meet the man again.
Except a tiny part of her also kind of did.