Becoming The Boss. Zuri Day
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nines in a slinky red number, appeared from nowhere and motioned to the bathroom door. Finn stifled his irritation at her giving him the once-over and zeroed in on Serena as she clammed up, took a step back, and dipped her head until that glorious fall of hair veiled her face.
Unsure why it could be, but loathing the way she threw out distress signals, he curled his fingers around her upper arm and tugged her further along the hall to where the dim light imparted privacy.
Except every muscle in her arm tensed beneath his fingers and her gaze bounced off every surface until even he half expected someone to pounce.
‘Hey, are you okay?’
‘Peachy.’
She wrenched free and wrapped both arms across her chest. It was like watching someone erect guard rails.
Okay, so she didn’t want to be alone with him. Yet she’d been fine last night in his bedroom. What had she asked him for? Lights.
‘You don’t like the dark?’ For some reason it made him think back to that odd ramble of Tom’s—‘Protect her for me…she’s been through enough…’—and his fists tightened into hard balls of menace.
She bristled with an adorable blend of embarrassment and pique.
‘Hey, so you don’t like the dark? So what? Neither do I. When I was a kid I used to crawl into bed with my mum during power cuts, for Pete’s sake. Some hard-ass Spider-Man I was.’
She blinked over and over, until the fine lines creasing her brow smoothed. ‘Spider-Man, huh? Did you have the blue and red outfit too?’
‘Sure I did. And the cool web-maker.’
Her small smile lit the corners of the hall. Finn wanted it stronger, brighter.
‘Did you have a tutu or a Snow White dress? My baby sister had all that crap.’
She snorted. ‘I doubt Snow White wielded a wrench, and I don’t expect engine oil would wash out of a tutu very well.’
His every thought slammed to a halt.
Reared by men in a man’s world. No mother—he knew from Michael Scott that Serena’s mum had died giving birth to her. No sisters.
‘Have there been any women in your life?’
She gave a blithe shrug but he didn’t miss the scowl that pinched her mouth. ‘Only my dad’s playthings.’
‘Ah. I get it.’ The narcissistic variety. Or maybe weak, fawning versions Serena would have recoiled from. So naturally she’d kept with the boys, until, ‘You feel uncomfortable around women.’
‘No!’ She kicked her chin up defensively.
Finn cocked one brow and a long sigh poured from her lips.
‘I don’t know what to say to them, that’s all, okay? We have nothing in common.’
‘You’ve never had any girlfriends at all?’ The notion was so bizarre he couldn’t wrap his head around it.
‘Not really, no. Tom and I had long-distance schooling, and it was pretty rare to see girls hanging around the circuit.’
Finn kept his expression neutral, conscious that empathy wouldn’t sit well with her. Yet all he could think of was his sister, surrounded by girlfriends, and she’d had their mother through her formative years. He dreaded to think what Serena’s adolescence had been like. No shopping trips or coming-of-age chats, nor any of that female pampering stuff he’d used to roll his eyes at but which had made Eva fizz with excitement.
He was astonished that Serena had managed without a woman in her life. Had she been allowed to be a girl at all? And why exactly did that make anger contort his guts? They were nothing to one another; only hate coloured her world when she looked at him.
‘So you have a sister?’ she asked quietly, almost longingly, and his chest cramped with guilt. It didn’t seem fair, somehow, that he still had Eva and Serena had no one.
‘Yes, I do. Eva.’
Eva—who had suffered greatly from the demise of Libby St George. And what had he done? Turned his back on her, on both of them, and walked away to chase his dreams, his big break. Knowing what they’d go through because he’d seen it all before. He’d left Eva to cope, to watch their beautiful mother slowly fade away.
Finn had let them down. Badly. And, what was worse, he hadn’t been the only one. His father, the great Nicky St George, eighties pop-star legend, had left to find solace in many a warm bed. Looking back, Finn still found it hard to believe he’d watched a good man—his childhood hero—break so irrevocably under the weight of heartache. And, while he felt bitterly angry towards his father to this day, he could hardly hate the man when he’d felt the same pain. When he’d let them down too.
Yet still his baby sister loved him. She was all goodness while he was inherently selfish.
Eva. His mind raced around its mental track. Eva would be perfect for Serena. A great introduction to the best kind of women…
Finn stomped on the brakes of his runaway thoughts.
It would be dangerous to take Serena to Eva. Eva might get the wrong idea. Serena might get the wrong idea. He might get the wrong idea. He was supposed to be getting rid of her, not fixing her and finding ways to keep her around! What was wrong with him?
‘Through here.’ He beckoned her towards another door. One he pushed wide and held as she warily followed him into one of the small lounges where the private games of the high-flyers were often held.
‘Why do I half expect the Monte Carlo Symphony Orchestra to strike up any second?’
‘It’s the grandeur of the place. It’s pretty spectacular.’ Oppressive at times, but spectacular nonetheless.
‘If you like that kind of thing,’ she muttered, with a slick manoeuvre that brought her back flush against another wall.
Musing on why she’d cornered herself again, Finn lounged against the arm of an emerald antique sofa a few feet away and faced her. ‘So, what do you fancy for dinner?’
She sniffed, the action wrinkling her little nose. ‘I’d rather starve.’
‘You’ve changed your tune pretty quick. Is it a habit of yours? It was only this afternoon you said, “I wouldn’t be seen dead” in reference to this very establishment. What changed your mind?’
Pouting those luscious lips, she weighed him up from top to toe, her gaze burning holes in his ten-thousand-pound tux. He felt all but cauterised.
‘First off, why don’t you tell me why you’re avoiding me?’
Because I can’t tell you what you want to hear.
‘Because every time I look at you I want to make love to that beautiful mouth of yours. It’s addictive.’ She was like a drug—the prime source of some very intense highs. ‘But you don’t want that, do you, Seraphina?’ he asked, rich and smooth, with a sinful tone he couldn’t quell even if he tried.
Up came her stubborn chin. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Then I would advise you to stay away. Because sooner or later we’ll have another repeat of last night.’
It was only a matter of time. Whether she wanted to believe it or not.
From the way her pulse throbbed wildly at the base of her throat and a soft flush feathered her skin he knew she was thinking about their kiss. Was she still tasting him as he could her?
‘I don’t intend to make the same mistake twice. I know a car crash when I see one,’ she said tartly. Then gave herself away by licking her raspberry pout.
She could taste him, all right. He’d also bet she wanted more and loathed herself for it.