Chapter 10

Daisy

Isit at a table for six at the resort’s clifftop bar and wait for Hart. I avoid the cosier tables because I don’t want to bump knees with Hart considering we’ve already bumped uglies.

I’ve chosen this spot because I want to show him the preliminary shots the photographer has taken and how I’ve incorporated them into a snazzy slideshow to take the place of a header on the website.

I’ve also chosen it because I need fresh air. I’m sick of being stuck inside, doing my best to avoid Hart. Our daily meetings have been brief and impersonal. I should be rapt. He’s giving me plenty of leeway on the campaign, has approved all my ideas, and come up with some stellar contributions of his own. For someone who loathes social media he’s forward-thinking and innovative, and working with someone who’s so focussed on success is invigorating.

But all the fake smiling I’m doing is making my face ache and our brittle politeness is at breaking point. I can feel the tension simmering between us, like an invisible wire stretched taut, ready to snap.

It’s driving me nuts.

The six-two, ripped waiter deposits an iced coffee on the table. I smile my thanks and sign for it, including a generous tip. One thing this resort has going for it: extremely cute wait-staff. Must be a prerequisite, to have modelling experience. It gets a big tick from me.

I take a sip and savour the icy sweetness. I need the caffeine hit, considering I’ve slept poorly all week, no fault of the cloud-like mattress and perfect pillow. I see the cause of my insomnia striding towards me like he has places to be, long, confident strides I envy. Being short means I have to practically scamper when we’re walking alongside each other.

‘This is a surprising change of meeting venue,’ he says, taking a seat opposite.

‘It’s good to shake things up.’

‘I couldn’t agree more.’ He pins me with a direct stare that has me wondering if he’s talking about something other than where we meet.

Heat flushes my cheeks and I reach for my laptop in desperation, needing him to focus on anything but me. ‘I want you to check out this proposed update for the website.’

He reaches out, his fingertip grazing my top lip, and I let out an embarrassing yelp.

‘What are you doing?’

‘You had a bit of cream from the iced coffee.’ He holds up his finger, studies the minute glob of cream, before popping it into his mouth and sucking.

I inhale sharply and my thighs clench together. It’s the most blatantly erotic thing I’ve ever seen.

‘Mmm…good.’ He stares at my mouth again, like he’s coming back for seconds and I scuttle back in my chair.

‘What’s going on?’

‘We need to talk.’ He reaches over and closes my laptop, leaving me under no illusions it’s about work. Like I had any doubt after that cream incident.

‘Are you breaking up with me?’ I deadpan, increasingly confused by his changing moods.

One minute he’s all business and avoiding me, the next he’s staring at me like he wants to impersonate a caveman again.

‘I want you to hear me out.’

I nod my agreement but rather than his perpetual glower fading, his frown lines deepen.

‘This arrangement isn’t working for me.’

My heart plummets. I can’t lose this job. It means too much. The last cruel taunt that Casper flung in my face was that I’d never make it on my own, either in or out of the boardroom. He laughed at my dreams to open my own PR agency, one of the many reasons why I dumped him. He mocked me to the point I began to doubt myself.

Which is why I need to do a killer job on this campaign and hang my eponymous shingle ASAP to a prove a point, not just to the world but to the biggest doubter ever: me.

That’s what I hated most about Casper: he made me lose myself. I loved him blindly and threw myself wholeheartedly into our relationship, not realising until it was too late that he was sapping me mentally and emotionally. He liked to control everything, from where and when we ate to who we socialised with. He distanced me from my family, my friends, and I happily sacrificed so much because I thought he adored me as much as I did him.

It took me too long to figure out he wasn’t as emotionally invested as me and that I was yet another object in his perfectly timetabled life: it was time for him to marry and I was a convenient choice.

Though it wasn’t until he started belittling my choices and demonstrating an underlying cruelly dominant streak that he frightened me and I realised I had to escape.

Love doesn’t suit me. It made me give up too much. It made me lose confidence in myself and deep down I know that’s the real reason I won’t quit my job even though I yearn to.

Maybe I’m not as good as I think?

Casper sapped my confidence to the extent I doubt everything and it’s this residual lack of assurance that is keeping me tethered to Alf.

I want to move past it, which is why doing a stellar job on this campaign will go a long way to securing what I want most: to be a competent, admired, advertising professional ready to take on the world.

I hated the woman I became with Casper. A woman who’d never take charge of her sexuality, the way I did with Hart.

I felt so empowered after that kiss on the beach and later, screwing him in that cave. I like who I’m evolving into: stronger, bolder, in control.

Until this guy lays a finger on me and then I unravel.

‘Daisy, are you listening? I said this arrangement isn’t working for me.’

‘I thought you were happy with my work—’

‘It’s not that.’ The grooves bracketing his mouth deepen and I hear a muttered ‘fuck’ under his breath. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s distracting and affecting my work.’

Join the club, buddy.

I remain mute, curious as to where he’s going with this.

‘What do you think about a clearcut, short-term arrangement, where we indulge our passion?’

He sounds so formal, so old-fashioned, that I want to laugh. Some of my amusement must show on my too readable face because his mouth compresses into a thin line.

‘You find my proposal funny?’

‘Just the delivery. You sound like you’ve stepped out of the Austen era.’

The glower intensifies. He’s not amused. ‘Would you prefer if I said I want to fuck you every which way until you leave?’

Another wave of heat flushes my body. I’m too young for menopause but if this is what it’s like I’m not looking forward to it.

‘I prefer blunt,’ I manage to say, resisting the urge to fan my face.

‘Me too.’ He rests his elbows on the table and leans forward. ‘So what do you think? Is it doable?’

He’svery doable.

I can string this out, make him squirm, but it’s not my style. I’m tired of the push-pull game between us. I haven’t let it affect my work yet because I’m too damn determined to show Alf what I’m capable of. But the sleepless nights will eventually catch up with me; there’s only so much caffeine can do.

So I mimic his pose and inadvertently give him a glimpse of cleavage in the V of my top. His gaze rivets to it like an alarm laser homing in on an intruder. He has it bad. Good to know I’m not the only one.

I wave my hand in front of his face and his gaze instantly snaps up to mine.

‘Don’t make me beg,’ he growls, his deep voice sending a shiver of excitement through me.

‘It could be fun…’

I guffaw as his jaw clenches, like he’s using every ounce of willpower not to vault the table and be on me in a second.

‘What’s it to be, Daisy? You in?’

He rests his forearms on the table, and his pinkie grazes the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist.

I let out a gasp, knowing I don’t have to respond, he has his answer right there.

But I nod anyway. ‘I’m in.’