CHAPTER SIX

One week later

‘H I , C HARLEY . I’ VE asked our photographer, Rapinda, to send you some shots from our Fourth of July event.’ Cassandra Broussard’s voice was warm and friendly on the other end of the transatlantic phone line. ‘The ones of you in your dress are terrific, definitely something to use on your social media channels.’

‘Wow, really? Thank you so much, Cassie.’ Charley beamed as she took in the view from the new space she was hoping to rent for Trouble Maker Designs, overlooking Shoreditch High Street. The elevated overground train line and the market stalls below gave the space a funky urban setting which was perfect for her brand. The bright, airy offices of an old printing warehouse also gave her the space she needed to hire some seamstresses. Working out of her front room wasn’t going to cut it any more. ‘I’ve had four commissions already from the connections I made at your party. I really can’t thank you enough.’

Her new best friend gave an easy laugh. ‘My pleasure, Charley. We don’t usually issue photos from the event to the media, but Luke agreed the shots of you and Cade Landry were too good to waste. You guys look fabulous together.’

‘Right. Thanks,’ Charley said, her excitement downgrading at the mention of the man she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for over a week. ‘It was fun,’ she added.

Too much fun, really. Because she hadn’t been able to stop second-guessing her decision to run out on Cade ever since.

If only she could start sleeping again, without dreaming about his hands, his lips, his tongue inciting her senses, the wry sensual smile curving his lips, or the tattoo on his chest tensing as he came with a throaty roar...

Heat exploded across her collarbone.

Yes, if only...

‘Okay, well, my work here is done,’ Cassie said, thankfully not asking any awkward questions about Cade.

As soon as the call ended, Charley checked her in-box and found a link to a file-sharing site. After pressing Download, ten photos flashed onto her phone.

As she examined each one, her heartbeat slowed, and heat burned her cheeks.

Rapinda Patel was clearly another of Cassie’s protégés, because her work was exquisite, the shots vibrant and yet so fresh and real, capturing her and Cade in sharp focus on the dance floor—amidst a blur of colour.

Her bronze silk minidress looked incredible—sultry and sophisticated, but also fun and flirty. It made a statement about the Trouble Maker brand which Charley couldn’t have replicated even if she’d paid a fortune for studio shots... But it was the two of them together—Cade’s striking handsomeness, the strength of his body, the rugged appreciation in his expression and the fierce joy on her face as he launched her into a twirl—which made the biggest impression, adding raw sex appeal and dreamy romance to the compositions.

She let out a slow breath. She had to use them.

Surely he wouldn’t care? It was a tiny bit dodgy to use his image without his consent. But contacting him was out of the question... He might think she hadn’t moved on the way he had, and hearing that low, sexy Southern accent again would not help with her sleep deprivation.

She swallowed down the foolish yearning making her chest ache...just a little.

You made the right choice, Charley. Time to concentrate on your business now, instead of a one-night stand that didn’t mean anything...

Decision made, she framed her three favourite shots, opened all the Trouble Maker accounts on the different apps she used, wrote a quick caption, and launched the stunning shots onto the internet before she could start the second-guessing game again.

Confidence and excitement—and a strange breathlessness—washed away the prickle of unease as likes started popping up seconds later.

Cassie Broussard had given her the shots to use. And what would be the point of going to the most exclusive event of the summer season in the US if she couldn’t take the best advantage of it?

Anyway, she needed the confidence boost, because she had to ring her brother Adam now...and beg him to release fifty thousand pounds from the trust fund her mother had left her that he still controlled. She’d made a point of never dipping into it before. Partly because she wanted to succeed on her own terms, but mostly because she had got the hump when she’d asked Adam for some start-up funding after graduating from fashion college and he had insisted she write a business plan. If that wasn’t code for ‘I don’t trust you to make smart, career-focussed decisions and not muck this up’, she did not know what was. She’d decided to use her own savings from her catwalk days to get started.

But she couldn’t possibly handle all the commissions she already had on her own. So she was going to have to suck up her pride and persuade Adam she was a good investment. Maybe she didn’t have a business plan which would impress him—she wasn’t the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, after all—but she knew what she wanted, she knew the fashion business, and she had verifiable proof now her designs were good enough to attract the clientele she needed to turn Trouble Maker into a success.

End of.

Even so, her palms were sweating as she switched off the whirlwind of notifications on her phone and dailed Adam’s private number. It was six in the morning Manhattan time, but Adam always woke up before dawn because he was a total workaholic—when he wasn’t being a One Date Wonder.

As expected, her brother picked up on the second ring—sounding alert and aloof and as if he had shaved and showered and probably taken a five-mile run already.

‘Charley, is there a problem?’ he said without a hello.

She sighed. ‘No! Why do you always assume there’s a problem that you need to fix when I call you?’

‘Because there usually is,’ he said far too patiently. ‘I distinctly recall getting a call at five a.m. when you had to be bailed out of a cell in Barcelona for swearing at a police officer.’

‘That was years ago. And I didn’t swear at him. It was a translation problem.’

‘Or the time you ran away from St Jude’s and wanted train fare to get to London.’

‘That is actually ancient history.’

‘The point is, Charley, you never phone me unless there’s a problem. I always phone you.’

‘Okay, fair point.’ She bit down on the urge to point out she had been the one to phone once, begging to come back home after their father had sent her off to boarding school. But Adam hadn’t been interested in talking about those messy things called emotions at the time. And now she was positive he only rang her out of a sense of duty and to check she wasn’t still making a mess of her life. But she had to ask him a favour, so buttoning her resentment was necessary.

All part of being a grown-up businesswoman and not a screwed-up wild child .

‘So why are you calling?’ he asked bluntly. Adam didn’t really do small talk any more than Cade Landry.

Then a thought occurred to her, a way of easing into the conversation about trust funds and business initiatives.

‘I thought you’d like to know I was at tech billionaire Luke Broussard’s Fourth of July bash in Marin County last weekend. The photos I just posted of me wearing one of my designs are already going viral, which is going to be invaluable publicity for Trouble Maker. Free publicity. Organic publicity. Plus, I picked up four new commissions while I was there. So I’ve decided to expand my operation...’

‘Let me take a look,’ he cut in, using the authoritative tone he always used when they spoke about her business—as if he was the only person in the world who knew how to run one efficiently.

‘I posted them on all the Trouble Maker accounts,’ she murmured, although the silence suggested he wasn’t listening while he loaded them onto his phone.

A prickle of unease worked its way up her neck and then slithered down her spine as she imagined her brother examining the shots of her and Cade Landry dancing together... Surely he wouldn’t be able to tell they’d done a lot more than just dance?

‘Is that Cade Landry?’ he asked, the interest in his tone surprising her. Adam never asked about her social life. Usually because it would mean talking about his own.

‘Yes, I... Do you know him?’ Heat scalded her cheeks.

‘We play squash occasionally,’ he murmured, obviously still examining the photos of them dancing in minute detail. ‘How do you know him?’

Terrific. Why hadn’t she guessed her brother would know the man she’d had a torrid one-night stand with? Of course he would. Her luck was just that good.

She was still struggling to come up with an answer—which didn’t sound like a lie—when Adam added, ‘Because you seem extremely...close.’

‘Stop looking at Cade and me and look at the dress!’ she replied, exasperated and desperate to deflect the conversation before she spontaneously combusted from embarrassment. ‘The point is those photos have already got a lot of views and...’

‘Damn it, Charley, please tell me you didn’t sleep with the guy.’ The frustrated comment came so out of left field—because she and Adam never talked about anything that personal—the knee-jerk response was out of her mouth before she could consider how much it revealed.

‘And that would be your business, why, exactly?’

He swore on the other end of the line. ‘He’s a player and a loner and is not good relationship material...’

‘I’m not that naive, Adam,’ she said, oddly intrigued by Adam’s insight into Cade Landry’s character. She’d guessed Cade was a loner at the party, but why did it suddenly seem significant?

‘He’s also in the market to acquire Helberg Holdings,’ Adam continued.

‘So what?’ She knew Adam was after Helberg because their father had sold their mother’s much-loved jewellery business, Montague’s, to Reed Helberg for a single dollar out of spite. Although she’d never quite figured out why Adam was so hung up about buying it back again. Their mother had died fourteen years ago. But then, Charley had never presumed to understand her brother’s motives for doing anything. She suspected it had something to do with the focussed and controlled and extremely dull person he’d become after their mother’s suicide. But then Adam had been much closer to their mother than Charley had, probably because he’d had a chance to know her before her mental health had been so fragile and she’d become disconnected from reality.

But what did any of that have to do with her and Cade?

‘So, I made a bet with him and Zane,’ he said, sounding almost hesitant—not like him at all. ‘Which you’re now mixed up in.’

‘What bet?’

The long-suffering sigh was new, too. When was the last time Adam had struggled to talk down to her, or explain in a patronising way what she needed to do next...?

‘It was thought to be a good way to decide who should have Helberg without driving up the share price.’

‘Adam, would you please get to the point. What bet did you make with Cade, and how could it possibly involve me?’ Because that made no sense whatsoever... Adam had no idea she and Cade had ever met before their night together a week ago.

‘We only date one woman for the duration of the summer, until Labor Day.’

What the...?

‘Are you serious?’ she murmured.

But before she could even acknowledge exactly how crass their bet was, between three grown men for goodness’ sake, Adam replied.

‘Unfortunately, yes, I wouldn’t joke about anything that involves Montague’s. I suspect he hit on you to provoke me.’

Her blood went cold, the humiliation she’d felt once before in connection with Cade Landry dowsing her like a bucket of ice water...

She hadn’t just slept with Cade. She’d had the best sex of her life with him. And she thought they’d connected on some emotional level. He’d made her feel seen, feel cherished, feel important—and all the time he’d only picked her to have a go at her brother? And to win a bet?

The bastard.

‘How did you get those photos?’ Adam asked. ‘The party was over a week ago.’

‘Why is that significant?’ she said, her chest still imploding with mortification.

‘He hasn’t been seen dating anyone yet in public. But now those pictures are going viral, he’s going to have to stick with you. Unless I’m overreacting and he didn’t intend for you to be the one woman.’

Adam’s reasoning didn’t make her feel any better. In fact, it made her feel much worse. Cade had slept with her and then decided, what ? That she wasn’t someone he wanted to date for the whole summer? No wonder he’d offered to usher her out of the building incognito the next morning.

The absolute bastard.

And she’d now messed with his plan by publishing those photos.

Well, good.

Now he wouldn’t be able to date anyone else for the rest of the summer. She hoped he died of sexual frustration. She let the anger in to fill up the empty space inside her—the empty space she remembered only too well.

Because it had always been there. Every time her mother looked right through her as a little girl. Or every time her father refused to be moved by her grief, or her unhappiness, or the reckless bad behaviour she’d resorted to as a teenager to get his attention. Or every time Adam had been condescending or patronising as a way not to engage with who she was as a person.

What a fool she’d been to think for a moment the night she and Cade had shared, the connection they’d made, had been real.

‘Fine, well,’ she said, feeling broken again, in a way she hadn’t in four years. ‘That makes me feel so much better. Not. ’

‘I’ll fix it,’ said Adam, as if this was somehow his problem, when she knew it was all hers.

‘No, I’ll fix it,’ she replied.

‘I’m sorry. I did not mean for you to get caught in the middle of all this,’ Adam began.

‘I need you to release fifty thousand pounds from my trust fund.’ She sliced neatly into his mea culpa, desperate to change the subject before the last of her confidence got flushed down the toilet. ‘I can send you the contract for the space I’m planning to rent and the projections for the equipment and staff I need to hire to get my new commissions out...’

Perhaps there could be an upside to how devastated and humiliated she felt right now? The grinding pain in her stomach a reminder never to trust rich, entitled men who danced like gods and knew how to make you beg.

‘That’s why I was actually calling you...’ she finished.

Not to have a debate about my recent dating history, which has made me feel like crap.

‘I’ll speak to the bank and have them release the funds,’ Adam said without an argument—which meant he had to be feeling really guilty.

Unfortunately, though, it wasn’t Adam she wanted to punch in the gut.

‘Send over your projections,’ he said, morphing into CEO mode, which was his default. ‘I’ll check them over and...’

‘Thanks Adam, will do,’ she said and disconnected the call. Before he could say more.

She needed to breathe, to ease the grinding pain in her stomach.

But as the pain twisted and tightened into hard, greasy knots, the idea of the new warehouse space she would now have the money to rent didn’t fill her with the joy it had twenty minutes ago.

Had Cade Landry soured that, too?

She hated that he’d got to her. That she had liked him. That it had been more to her than sex, even though she’d spent a week trying to convince herself otherwise.

She considered deleting the photos of them together on the internet, because they were horribly tarnished now, too. Not a bright, beautiful moment of romance and possibilities and raw vivid sexuality, but a testament to what a fool she’d been to believe, for even a second, he’d seen more in her than just an easy conquest.

But as the likes and reposts and notifications continued to mount during the day, she began to relish the opportunity to get the word out about her business. When she started getting calls from journalists, she fielded the ones about her ‘exciting new romance’ with Cade by neither confirming or denying they were an item, stoking the media storm deliberately.

Why should she have any qualms about using the so-called ‘Latest It Couple Romance’ between the One Date Wonder Billionaire and the Former British Wild Child Turned Fashion Sensation to publicise Trouble Maker—when he’d had no qualms about using her?

A text arrived a few hours later from a withheld number. It simply said,

Charlotte, we need to talk...

She blocked the number, then booked the three-week buying trip to Italy which she had been planning for months to source fabrics for her designs. She could work on the designs for her new commissions from a base in Lake Como—the heart of Italian silk manufacture—while also visiting factories she’d short-listed in Tuscany and Puglia for the best wool and cotton producers.

Completely coincidentally, it would keep her out of London until the celebrity gossip mill had run its course.

Of course, her absence would also make it impossible for Cade Landry to contact her, which was just as well, because she never intended to see or speak to that rat bastard ever again.