Her Enemy With Benefits: Her Deal with the Devil / My Boyfriend and Other Enemies / Blind Date Rivals. Nikki Logan
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next CEO of Seaborns.
Nothing—no one—could change that.
So why the relentless yearning now? The feeling that she’d missed out on something and regretted it?
It annoyed her, this uncertainty. Usually she knew what she wanted and made it happen. Yesterday.
She didn’t like doubting herself. Or him, for that matter. And she did. A small part of her wondered how the larrikin teen could morph into this determined businessman and pull off something this big.
Having an inkling he was in this position purely because he’d got the job handed on a silver platter from his folks and having her suspicions confirmed by asking him was mutually exclusive. She couldn’t ask without alienating him or emasculating his pride and potentially stuffing this collaboration up before they’d really begun.
But she had to voice some of her doubts, couched in business terms.
‘While I think something like this could cause a sensation at Fashion Week, and make the world sit up and take notice of our companies, do you think it’s too ambitious?’
He glanced up from his notepad and stared at her as if she’d suggested he don one of the dresses.
‘One thing I’ve learned in this biz is to dream big. Go all out. Make an impact.’
He knew. Knew she doubted him. She saw it in the slightly narrowed eyes, the disappointment pinching the corners of his mouth.
‘If you’re questioning my credentials, why did you come here in the first place?’
Yep, he was mad. She’d never heard his voice like this: hard, flat monotone with a hint of ice.
‘I’m not questioning—’
‘Yeah, you are.’
He flung the pen he’d been holding onto his desk and raked a hand through his hair, ruffling the too-long-to-con-form whorls.
‘Here’s a newsflash. Don’t believe everything you read in the press, because sometimes it’s what goes on behind the scenes that counts.’
Oo-kay, so that was cryptic. What did his social antics have to do with work?
‘Besides, you know me—always the risk-taker.’ He stabbed a finger at the scrawl-covered notepad. ‘Thinking big is what’s going to have every person in this city and beyond talking about Fourde Fashion, and that’s my number one goal. To go places.’ He eyeballed her with a steely determination she hadn’t known he had in him. ‘And if you’re smart you’ll be along for the ride.’
Sapphie didn’t know how smart it was being tied so closely to Patrick for the next month but she did know business, and every cell in her body was screaming that this deal was the opportunity of a lifetime.
‘The new me is in favour of risks.’ She held out her hand to shake on it. ‘Let’s make this happen.’
As Sapphire chatted with Ruby on the phone, outlining the basics and the timeframes involved to ensure their proposal hit the ground running, Patrick surreptitiously studied her.
What had she meant, ‘the new me’?
Apart from a shorter layered haircut and a few more blonde streaks she looked as if she hadn’t aged a day since he’d last seen her.
Though the curves were new. And that look in her eyes…
He couldn’t put his finger on it but, while she looked the same on the outside, he had a feeling she’d gone through some major stuff to put that bordering-on-haunted gleam in those big blue eyes.
Not that she’d tell him. She seemed determined to keep him in the same box she’d constructed for him back in high school. The one labelled ‘Lazy Lout Happy to Coast on his Family’s Fortune’.
He’d pretended it hadn’t bothered him back then, had gone out of his way to tease her for being the opposite—‘Little Miss Prissy Being Groomed to Follow in Mama’s Footsteps’.
But now? Yeah, it bothered him. He’d had a gutful of being labelled and misjudged by everyone from the paparazzi to his folks. Especially his folks.
Ironic that growing up he’d craved their attention, and yet when they’d finally given it, it had been for all the wrong reasons.
To have Sapphire echo their doubts felt as if someone had slugged him in the guts.
For some unfathomable reason her opinion mattered after all this time. It shouldn’t. They were now business colleagues.
The irrefutable, irrational urge to rip her clothes off and devour her didn’t come into it at all.
Sex without complications. That was what he wanted, and for one insane moment earlier, from the way she’d been looking at him, he’d almost say she wanted it too.
For Sapphire wouldn’t have room in her well-ordered life for complications. He respected that about her—her focus on her job. He’d met women like her around the world—high-fliers who took no prisoners, who didn’t have time for emotional entanglements, who were happy being independent and forceful and in control.
Not every female needed a wedding ring and kids to feel validated, and by Sapphire’s go-get-’em attitude, she’d chosen to marry her career instead.
She glanced at him and rolled her eyes, imitating Ruby’s garrulousness with her hand. He mimed hitting the disconnect button and she smiled—a genuine, dazzling display that left him slightly winded.
Sex without complications, remember?
Sleeping with Sapphire wasn’t wise. That was one giant complication just waiting to happen.
She had changed. The Sapphire he’d known would never have taken time out to do yoga, let alone be seen dead in leisure clothes. When she hadn’t been in school uniform she’d worn tailored pants and button-down shirts, appearing way older than her years but making it work regardless.
She hadn’t cared what other kids thought of her, and while their rich, indulged classmates at the exclusive school they’d attended had been boozing and partying their way through high school she’d been friendly yet aloof, happy in her own skin, proud of her choices.
He’d envied her that—her certainty in knowing what she was going to do with her life. He hadn’t had a clue, and had taken the Fourde internship by default, accepting it when a PR job at a Paris magazine had fallen through.
And look how that had turned out.
Maybe he would have been better staying well away from the family business but despite what had happened he didn’t regret the years he’d spent at Fourde.
He wouldn’t have discovered his talent for taking conceptual ideas and seeing them through to fruition. He wouldn’t have discovered his passion for brainstorming and elaborating and collaborating. And he wouldn’t have known he had the creative spark passed down in his genes if he hadn’t been surrounded by the passion of Fourde Fashion on a daily basis.
A huge part of him was grateful for the opportunities he’d been given, but another part wished he’d been brave enough to put his plans in motion earlier.
Seeing his folks in action had gone some way to soothing his resentment. If they’d been time-poor with him when he was growing up, they were frenetic now. They never stopped. Working eighteen hour days. Rarely taking time to eat. Grabbing coffee and croissants on their way between meetings.
Their dedication to Fourde explained why they’d missed his first footy game—missed the whole season—why they’d never shown up at his school presentations, why he’d thought eating dinner alone was the norm until one of his school buddies had invited him around to his place one night.
It had sucked at the time, fending for himself, and their neglect had fed his antipathy. But working alongside them in Paris had shown him it wasn’t personal.