‘There you go, Valentine, all’s well.’ I dust off my hands as I walk to my desk and sit back down. ‘This weekend we do football, and next weekend we do supercars.’
I look to my computer screen as I move the mouse to wake it up.
‘Hang on, Olivia, I haven’t agreed to—’
‘Tit for tat, Valentine. You want me there this weekend, you’ll be with me next weekend.’ I flick him a look. ‘Then you can consider us even on the diary front.’
‘Do you really think testing out supercars gives the right image so soon after your accident?’
I shake my head. ‘Get over yourself, Valentine. It’s a racetrack. It’s safe and fun. And something tells me you’re in dire need of the latter.’
‘This isn’t about me; it’s about you. You need to change the narrative, Olivia. You need to show people you’re as stable as you ever were and that all this—all this adrenaline-seeking craziness is over.’
My entire body stills, my stare as chilled as I feel. ‘For your information, the car accident was just that, an accident. I aquaplaned and it could have happened to anyone, in any car. You can’t control how the media interprets something.’
‘No, but you can control the ingredients that make up the story and reduce the collateral damage.’
I study him for a long, intense second, his words merging with my sister Fee’s. But I have no interest in changing how I choose to live my life now that it’s my own. Not for anyone—or anything—else.
‘Are we done here?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says gravely. ‘Are you taking on board what I’m saying?’
‘Are you saying I need to live the life of a saint, regardless of what makes me happy?’
‘I’m saying you just need to tone it down, at least until we have the charity front sorted. Take a back seat from the media. Don’t give them cause to speculate about your mental health.’
I laugh now. Abrupt. Harsh.
‘My mental health?’
He doesn’t even flinch. Instead his eyes soften, a line forming between his brows, and I want to look away from the concern shining so clear in the pools of blue, do anything but drown in them. ‘I’m serious, Olivia, you need to take better care of yourself.’
A weird pressure builds in my throat, closing it up, my eyes sting. I blink. I swallow. But it just keeps coming.
‘There are people close to you who are concerned for your wellbeing. The press aside, it’s time you started to listen to them.’
I scoff and push away from my desk, stalk to the window and stare out. Anything to stop him witnessing the way his words strike through the very heart of me.
‘Consider your point made. Are we done here?’
He’s quiet. Too quiet.
I spin to face him, arms folded, back straight.
‘I repeat.’ Louder. Stronger. ‘Are we done here?’
He shakes his head, his shoulders ever so slightly falling. ‘For now.’
He rises out of his seat, bending to take up his laptop bag from the floor.
‘I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty for dinner, Thursday. Wear something...’ His eyes trail over me as he straightens, their sudden heat making my skin prickle. Christ, even my nipples harden against the boning of my bra, eager for more than a look from him when not two seconds ago I was chilled to the core and eager for him to leave. ‘Wear something conservative.’
‘Conservative?’ A laugh erupts, my mood shifting so quickly that I’m dizzy on it.
‘It’s just a standard request. Dress to suit the occasion.’
‘Oh, right. A standard request. You say the same to all your clients, do you?’
He clears his throat.
‘I tell you what,’ I say. ‘How about I send some pictures through of various possibilities? That way you can choose my entire outfit...all the way from the base layer up.’
He looks ready to choke over the suggestion. ‘I don’t think you need to go that far.’
I bite my lip, fighting back laughter. ‘I don’t know. I think it could be kind of fun.’
He shakes his head and strides for the door.
‘Running away again, just as things were starting to get interesting?’
He reaches for the door handle and looks back at me over his shoulder. ‘I’ll see you Thursday.’
‘You will.’
He pulls open the door.
‘Oh, and, Valentine?’
He turns to me once more and I give him a smile so full of satisfaction his eyes are already narrowing before I even speak.
‘Don’t forget to send me your driving licence details...a scanned copy would be just splendid.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Valentine
IT’S THURSDAY. Seven in the evening. And I’m early.
But as I stand before her garden gate, the idea of returning to the car and doing a few circuits of the block doesn’t appeal. I want to know she’s ready, or at least close. I want to know we have this in the bag, that tonight she will be the woman I’ve respected from afar for years, the woman who had it all under control and a firm handle on life.
Now I’m here I have time to hurry her along.
Now I’m here I can reassure myself we’ll get to dinner as planned.
Now I’m here I can acclimatise to her appeal before I have to perform normally in front of others.
And there’s the real reason I’m here. To get used to her.
Doesn’t matter that I’ve seen her plenty over the last few days. That I should be used to dealing with her and keeping a lid on the chaos she inspires within.
She’s a wild card and no amount of knowing it helps me when I’m in her presence. Her ability to say or do something that I least expect. To drag my thoughts into the gutter when I should be focusing on business. She’s impossible to predict, impossible to prepare for, and by getting here early I get to adjust to her long before we meet with the people who could be pivotal in the future success of her charity.
I push open her garden gate and stride forward. Remind myself of why I’m here, and who
