Chapter 23 #2
‘I owe GB&A my allegiance,’ she said as she parked parallel to kilometres of creamy sand. ‘Gerard’s a bit of a rebel—started up his own firm and then took a risk on me, putting me on as a law clerk while I was still at uni.’
‘Sound business management,’ Hamish said. ‘Cultivating the staff he wants to keep.’
‘There are always plenty of law students to choose from.’
Hamish grinned. ‘Unexpectedly humble.’
‘I try,’ she lied. ‘But because Gerard’s kept GB&A small—or boutique, as he prefers to term it—I’ve had the opportunity to work my way up the ladder. Well, until now.’ She gave a rueful grin. ‘I might have just hit a snake.’
‘So maybe it’s time to roll the dice again?’ he said as he opened the car door.
She shook her head. ‘Adelaide is built on generational law firms. Unless you’re born into it—or a Saints boy—career opportunities are all about who you know, not what you know.’
‘Saints boy?’ he said.
‘St Peters college. I swear, half of the law fraternity originated there. But, although Gerard was never part of that culture, the industry in Adelaide is inbred. One bad word from him—or even the perception that I was jumping ship—could do for my career opportunities.’
‘So set up your own practice. Do it your way. That’d be where the real challenge lies.’ He was inside her head, uncomfortably poking the secret dream that lurked.
‘You have to be ballsy to branch out on your own in this town.’
‘And you’re not ballsy?’ His question held just the right amount of disbelief to unsettle her equilibrium.
‘Besides, why are you limiting yourself to Adelaide? With your qualifications, your ducks are well and truly in a row. Surely you can go anywhere?’
She set off along the raised promenade, trying to quell the voice of temptation in her head. His idea was ludicrous. She could have struck out on her own years ago, but had taken the safe route, the path that she knew would lead to success without risking the humiliation of failure.
As Hamish caught up, matching his pace to hers, he turned up the collar of his shirt and pushed his hands into his pocket.
‘Speaking of ducks,’ she said, relieved to change the intensity of their conversation, ‘Evie said she’s been waiting for Tara to come and pick some up.’
‘Some of her fancies? I didn’t think Tara was into poultry.’
Jemma nestled into the cashmere scarf she had looped around her neck, breathing damply as she tried to recall what it was about the conversation that had piqued her interest. ‘No, it was some ducklings Tara had picked up on the road.’
Hamish’s steps faltered. ‘Ducklings. That’s weird.’
‘Wouldn’t have thought it was that weird to you country types.’
‘No, not the ducklings themselves. It’s just … I feel like I’ve heard something about them before.’
‘Duckling déjà vu. Evie’s story was something about them being hit by a ute and Tara was supposed to be picking them up to take to … Charlee someone?’
‘Charlee Brennan. Yeah, that checks out, she does some wildlife rescue,’ Hamish said, though his tone was still puzzled.
They ordered coffee. Hamish reached for his wallet, but didn’t argue as she tapped the card reader with her phone. Takeaway cups in hand, they wandered back to the esplanade.
Hamish lifted his chin toward the frothy fringe separating beach and ocean. ‘Not getting our toes wet?’
‘The view across the gulf is better from up here. Plus, I hate sand in the bed.’
His smile was the only acknowledgement of her implication.
A subtle thrill coursed through her, like a low-voltage charge awakening dormant reactions.
She clutched her cup. Since when had any man made her feel this way?
In fact, when had a man made her feel anything at all?
She wanted to be irritated that Hamish argued with everything she said and hadn’t seized her implied invitation.
Instead, she was slightly desperate for any sign that he was interested in what she was offering.
They strolled in silence, warming their hands around the cups as the gulls swooped low, checking if they were carrying anything edible.
‘Starting up a law firm isn’t like opening a cafe, you know,’ she said abruptly, giving away the fact that she’d been stewing on his words.
His grin was slow, as always, as though the humour bubbled up inside him and he sought to contain it until the last second. ‘Got you thinking about how to ride that snake?’
She gave him a long, level look. Surely his innuendo was intentional? ‘Just pointing out that you’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Starting a legal firm is complex.’
‘Yet it seems Gerard did pretty much exactly that?’
Her heart beat a little faster, registering what almost seemed a dare. ‘You make it sound straightforward, but it isn’t. It can’t be.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because nothing is.’
Hamish stopped walking, held her gaze. ‘Perhaps some things should be.’
If he believed that to be true, he’d led a charmed life. ‘Not in the real world. There are always hurdles and roadblocks.’ Judgement and humiliation.
‘Neither of which make the decision to take action any less straightforward. They just mean that you need to plan. I would have thought that might hold some appeal.’
‘Next you’ll be trying to persuade me to set up a practice in the sticks.’ Her attempt to manipulate him into declaring an interest was cringeworthy, but Hamish’s blasé attitude and apparent indifference to her overtures were infuriating.
‘Like in any country town, there are always a few empty buildings in Settlers. And no lawyer since Stokesy moved on.’ He lifted one shoulder. ‘But I have another reason for needing you back there.’
Her lungs squeezed.
‘You’ve got to become pals with Tara, remember, so that I can work out what’s going on with her.’
Ignoring the disappointed plummet of her stomach, Jemma broke into a jog to catch up as the drizzle blew in across the ocean and Hamish lengthened his stride.
He took her cup and stacked it in his before putting them into a bin. ‘Looks like you need to sort your issues before you help out with mine, though. If your boss drops a bombshell tomorrow, do you have a game plan?’
‘No. And you’ve no idea how unsettling that is for me.’
‘Oh, I can imagine,’ Hamish said with a chuckle as they stopped alongside her car. ‘Tell me, your Honour, have you always been such a control freak?’
Instead of correcting him, she took a deep breath. ‘Life with Mum was … chaotic. So I guess I try and swing the other way.’
Hamish’s hand found hers.
‘She was unpredictable so, twenty years back, I promised myself I’d live my life according to a plan. My plan.’
‘Twenty years? You must have been a kid.’
She blinked rapidly. His soft words gentled her, a balm to the child who had never shared the truth of her pain. ‘So I don’t like curve balls, I don’t like to be surprised, everything has to play out the way I’ve planned.’
‘Your handbag was a deliberate choice, then?’
She’d glanced through the car window, into the footwell, before she realised that Hamish was talking about Kain. The man’s mind worked like quicksilver, seamless and fluid. ‘Fine-tuned. Why?’
‘Just trying to work out your selection criteria,’ Hamish said, releasing her hand and opening his door.
She raced around to the driver’s side and scrambled into the car. ‘What do you mean—’ she broke off, leaning forward to peer through the window. ‘Speak of the devil …’
‘Prada handbag?’
It took her a moment, but then she grinned, though she was still staring through the windscreen.
‘The Devil Wears Prada? Props on your somewhat outdated pop culture reference. But no, not Kain. That’s my colleague over there.
Rohan.’ She flicked a finger from the steering wheel toward a couple who had emerged from the kiosk and made their way along the esplanade, huddled beneath a clear umbrella.
Hamish made a surprised noise in the back of his throat. ‘The one who’s doing you wrong? What are the chances?’
‘High, I guess. It is Adelaide, after all. He mentioned something a while back about beachfront real estate.’ She tended to filter and dismiss anything frivolous or useless, so had only a vague recollection of the conversation. ‘I did think he was permanently single, though.’
Hamish leaned forward with her, pretending to be equally interested. ‘Having coffee means you’re in a relationship?’
Was that a throwaway line or was their dynamic shifting? ‘I’m sure it does in some cultures,’ she said, her voice light. ‘And now that I’ve made good on that promise, we’d better head back.’
‘Yep. I’ve got some jobs that need taking care of.’
She clenched her teeth. Again she’d imagined the innuendo in his words because she wanted it to be there.
‘I may be able to unearth some out-of-date pancake mix,’ she said, as they walked to the entry of the cafe twenty minutes later.
They’d managed to cover art, music and vintage cars on the drive back to the city, and one thing was clear: Hamish was far from the uneducated farmhand she’d judged him to be.
‘Hard to pass up, but I do have to make tracks,’ Hamish said. ‘Ethan’s not been answering my calls and I want to find out what was going on with Tara last night. You’re definitely okay here, now?’
The desire to become a damsel in distress almost overwhelmed her. Even stronger was the wave of jealousy at the fact that he was rushing back to Settlers Bridge because he was concerned about another woman.
She forced her standard confident, competent smile. ‘Absolutely.’
‘I’ll be off, then.’ Instead of moving toward his ute, Hamish stepped a little closer. ‘You’ve got my number if you need me, though?’
‘On speed dial,’ she managed to joke.
‘No worries. Bye, then.’ Yet he stepped even closer, so they were toe to toe.
As he met her deliberately unflinching gaze, a shiver ran down Jemma’s back.
Hamish was so very wrong … and yet so very right.
She held her breath as his fingertips brushed her cheek, as though removing a trace of sand.
His hand slid to the back of her neck, his palm firm and callused.
As his long fingers buried themselves in her hair, she leaned into his embrace, her chest pressed to his.
Their lips met, an explosion of salt, caffeine and above all, hunger.
Hamish’s mouth was urgent and demanding, as though kissing her was something he’d wanted to do for hours.
And Jemma realised that this was what she’d wanted for weeks.
But now she was lost.