The Heartbroker (8 page)

“Great work,” Jocelyn says as she helps me unclip my headset outside the conference room. “You gave it heaps tonight. Good on ya, love.”

I’m still on a high, a kind of post-speech euphoria I’d like to bottle and crack open whenever I’m in need of a boost. “Thanks so much.”

“Yeah, you were awesome,” I hear Logan’s voice say behind me as I hand Jocelyn my headset. “At least, I
think
that’s what you just said, Jocelyn.”

I turn to him and smile. Despite my decision to keep him at arm’s length, I’m glad he was there to witness my presentation, which seemed to have been well received by the Queenstown attendees.

“Sure did, Mr McManus. She’s a real corker,” Jocelyn gushes, winking at me. Winking? Again? I flush with pride.

A mother’s approval—even if Jocelyn’s just a surrogate version I acquired in adulthood—is always wonderful.

“I think a ‘corker’ is a good thing, right? Nothing to do with a bad bottle of wine or anything?” he asks, looking between the two of us.

“Too right,” Jocelyn replies with a grin.

“Well then, I have to agree with you, Jocelyn: Brooke
is
a real corker, and she did a wonderful job tonight.”

I flush at the compliment as my heart squeezes in my chest.

“We use some different terminology from you and there are some subtle differences in our approaches, but in essence I’d say our philosophies are pretty well aligned. I can see what a great fit we would be.”

He gazes directly into my eyes, and I’m aware he’s talking about more than the ‘fit’ between our respective companies.

“Fantastic!” My voice is a full octave higher than my usual pitch.

“Are you heading up to the suite?” he asks.

We always book a suite for the
Live It
staff to eat and relax in during a seminar. It means everyone gets a break away from the attendees to recharge. There’s a buffet, tea and coffee, and people come and go as they need. As I’m not required again tonight, I had planned on heading there now.

“Sure am,” I reply in a slightly manic tone of voice, knowing we’re likely to be the first ones there. Which means we’ll be alone.

In a hotel suite.

With a bed.

Lord, give me strength.

“Great. I’ll walk with you.”

“Are you coming, Jocelyn?” I ask, hoping she’ll agree to act as a buffer between Logan and me. There’s safety in numbers, as they say.

“Oh, you two go on ahead. I’m needed here,” she replies, smiling sweetly at me.

I shoot her a look of suspicion, not sure what she could need to do now that she hasn’t done already. Jocelyn is efficient with a capital ‘E’. She has everything organized down to the smallest detail before a seminar. I wonder what she’s up to?

As I walk out of the conference room, a fresh wave of nervousness hits me. Having been in Logan’s presence without melting to butter so far today—okay, there’s been some melting going on, but come on, I’m not made of wood—I have some confidence I can resist his charms.

But if, for some unforeseen reason, there’s a repeat of our amazing kiss yesterday, I know for certain I’m a dead woman.

“Do you follow the same format for all your seminars?” he asks as we exit the lift together.

“As you know, we’ve got a variety of courses people can choose from, starting with the beginner’s and going right through to advanced, as well as our corporate offerings, which we tailor for each company we work with.”

I open the door to the suite. I give the room a quick once over. We are, in fact, alone.

I continue to ramble. “We tend to start with a scene-setting introduction for all of them. The advanced courses are smaller, with people who’ve attended a number of our other courses. A more intimate atmosphere develops fast. Which is great, of course.”

I’m powerless to stop myself.

“One introductory course we ran a few months ago in Auckland had nearly one-hundred-and-twenty people. Which was amazing, but kind of unwieldy, you know?”

I pause to take a breath and Logan uses the momentary silence to take a step closer to me. I’m acutely aware of his close proximity, as my breathing becomes fast and shallow.

His face creases into a smile, causing a zing of pleasure through my body.

As he looks down at me, I can’t help but gaze up into the deep pools of his brown eyes. My body responds to him, reminding me with a jolt how much I want him, the determination I had literally moments ago slipping all too easily off the cliff and splashing into the deep waters below.

“Brooke, I—” he begins. He reaches across to me, looking deeply into my eyes, only to stop before his hand reaches me, pausing mid air, before he returns it to his side with a heavy sigh.

“No,” he utters in his deep, rumbling voice, seemingly changing his mind. He looks away and shakes his head, breaking the tantalising spell.

He turns abruptly away from me and walks to the other side of the room. I notice his hands are clenched into tight fists at his sides, hinting at the feelings he’s holding deep inside.

Confused, I watch him leave, my chest sinking. I know we agreed to stay away from one another—hell, it was my idea—but my heart clenches as I think of what may have been.

I’m rooted to the spot, unable to speak or move as I watch him stare out the window at the twinkling lights surrounding the pitch-black lake.

I want to scream at him, force him to come back to me, feel his body next to mine. I know he’s wrestling with his obligation to follow my wishes, and his desire for me, and all I want is to give myself to him.

Before I have the chance to utter a word, I hear a knock at the door and a moment later a key card inserted outside the suite. The door swings open.

It’s Jocelyn.

“I thought it best to knock, love, in case I was interrupting anything.” Do I detect a hopeful look in her eye?

She stands in the doorway, holding the door ajar, taking in the scene: the tormented look on my face and Logan’s tight back and clenched fists. “Everything all right here, love?” she asks, a look of disquiet flashes across her eyes.

Through some sort of miraculous intervention, I find the ability to speak. “It’s fine. Really. Everything’s fine.”

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief.

“And you’re not interrupting at all. Is she, Logan?” I say, forcing him to turn around.

When he does, I catch a fleeting look of thunder on his handsome face before his mouth creases into a smile, directed at Jocelyn. “No. We’re all about the work, aren’t we Brooke?”

I look at him uncertainly. Is there a hint of bitterness in his voice?

“Righto,” Jocelyn replies. “Anyone for a cuppa?” She breezes in the room, closing the door behind her, and heads to the catering.

I say a silent prayer for Jocelyn. If it wasn’t for her, who knows what I would have done? Watching Logan wrestling with his emotions like that stirred something deep inside me, something I haven’t felt for a long, long time.

And it scares the living daylights out of me.

DESPITE TOSSING AND TURNING all night, I rise early the next morning. I have a job to do, and it needs to take precedence over anything else this weekend.

If I’m honest, there’s nothing much else I can do now as Michael is leading all the full group sessions and the smaller breakout groups are all up and running. Nevertheless,
Live It
is my baby, and I’d be a bad mother indeed if I didn’t at least keep an eye on it.

It’s yet another striking Queenstown day—this could get boring—and as I run along the shoreline my mind inevitably turns back to Logan. The look on his face haunts me and I know what we feel for one another is more than lust.

I don’t know whether I’m thankful Jocelyn interrupted us or not. Her arrival in the room meant I didn’t act on my instinct to go to him, to comfort him. To give myself to him.

It also gave us the opportunity to keep things on a professional level, to ignore any inappropriate, messy feelings we may have for one another, and focus instead on brokering our deal.

I can almost feel the angel sitting on my right shoulder dancing with glee at Jocelyn’s timely arrival, almost as though she had willed her into the room herself. The devil on my left? Well, I think she’s a bit miffed - she had other things in mind, things I force myself to push from my head as I quicken my pace, trying to outrun my feelings.

Back in my room I shower and dress, and style my hair to within an inch of its life. Checking my image in the mirror prior to leaving the room, I notice how tired I look: not my usual energetic self.

That’s what men do to you.

It’s best to not get involved with one. Life is so much easier without them.

I dab some concealer under my eyes in an attempt to disguise last night’s lack of sleep.

After a quick debrief with Michael and a few moments to ensure the conference and breakout rooms are readied, I walk with a sense of trepidation to the staff suite, the scene of the almost-crime last night.

My body is shaking so much I feel as though I’m strapped to one of those old fashioned machines people thought would wobble your fat off-—if only—as I place my key card into the slot to open the door.

The room is deserted. I heave a sigh of relief.

Moments later I settle into a sofa, hot coffee steaming in my mug on the table, and check my phone for messages. I realise I’ve had my phone on silent since my presentation last night, and notice there are three missed calls from Grace but no message. Puzzled, I begin to type out a text to her, and fail to notice Logan sit down in the chair opposite me.

“Morning, Brooke” he says breezily. “How are you today?”

My heart begins to hammer in my chest as I peer into his smiling, handsome face, looking as though he doesn’t have a care in the world.

He smells freshly showered, a hint of aftershave hanging in the air around him. An image of a wet, naked, soapy Logan flashes into my mind and I dig my nails into one of my hands. No, I don’t want to think about him in the shower right now.

How can he look so calm, so happy, so
normal
after what happened last night, while I’m stuck sweating it out as I wrestle with my feelings for him?

Perhaps I read it all wrong?

“Hi Logan,” I manage to utter. “Did you ah, s-sleep well?” I stutter.

Which, on reflection, is not the best question to ask the guy you’re trying desperately hard not to think about: an image of him asleep, bare-chested, a sheet just covering his modesty, flashes into my mind. I’m forced to look down at my screen and re-read my text to Grace in order to steady it.

“Yes, thanks. Slept like a baby. You?”

“Oh, me too,” I lie. I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re very happy this morning.”

He shrugs. “I made a decision. It made me happy,” he replies mysteriously. “So, what are you up to today?”

“Me? Oh, I’m doing some work right now, catching up on a few things.”

“You’re not needed here for the seminar, are you?”

“Oh, umm, no. But I do like to be available, of course, just in case.”

“I’m sure you do.” He raises his eyebrows as his smile widens. “I was thinking of heading out, though, and wondered if you might be able to come with me?”

Memories of the last time we went out together blaze through my mind.

I shake my head. “No, I think I should stay here. But thanks. You go ahead. Queenstown’s a beautiful place.”

He nods, looking at me. I squirm under his gaze.

“It would help me if we could talk more about working together. I have a few questions.”

I narrow my eyes at him. Questions? What is he up to? The contrast between the Logan from last night, all brooding and angry, and the man in front of me today is stark.

I wonder what his decision was? It sure does seem to have put him in a good mood.

Come on, Brooke. He probably does need to talk to you about the deal. In which case you’d be a fool the size of Africa not to take him up on his offer.

“Sure.” I put my phone into my handbag. “I’m more than happy to discuss any aspect of our business with you. I can give you an hour?”

His lips curve into an easy smile. “Great. Grab your jacket, it’s cool out there.”

A few minutes later we walk through the lobby and out of the front door. I take a deep breath, enjoying the crisp, clear mountain air, hoping it will fortify me for whatever Logan has in mind for us today.

I can do this. Whatever it was that was going on with him last night seems to be completely gone today. I must have misread the situation. Logan wasn’t wrestling with his feelings for me at all.

Perhaps he’d eaten a dodgy prawn?

I say a silent prayer for Jocelyn: if she hadn’t walked in on us I would have totally embarrassed myself.

Logan pulls a key fob out of his pocket and I hear the ‘bip bip’ of a car as he unlocks it and opens a door, clearly meant for me.

I regard him quizzically. “You have a car?”

“Yeah. I hired it. For us.”

I balk at his confidence—he knew I’d say yes to coming out with him today—but am also secretly flattered. “And you want me to drive?” I ask.

“No, why?” he replies, confused.

“Because you’re holding the driver’s door open. The driver’s side is on the right here.”

“Oh. Damn.” He closes the driver’s door, scoots around the car, and opens the passenger’s door for me.

“Let me get this straight: you want me to get in the car so you can drive me to who-knows-where, and you’re not even sure which side the steering wheel is on?  You know we drive on the other side of the road too, right ?”

“Yes?” he replies, uncertainly, his lips quirking into a self-deprecating smile.

Despite the tension I’ve felt all morning, I laugh. “How about I drive and you just tell me where you want to go?”

“Sure!” he replies, holding the keys out to me.

I take the proffered keys, jump into the car, and buckle up. I smirk to myself as I realise quite how ambitious he had been in hiring this car: not only is it a right-hand drive, but it’s a manual as well, or ‘stick shift’, as he might say.

Whatever you want to call it, for someone used to driving on the other side of the road, it’s a double whammy.

“Where to?” I start the engine.

“Arrowton. I hear it’s real pretty.”

“It’s Arrow
town
,” I correct him. “And you’re right, it is pretty, and it’s also about a twenty-minute drive. We’ve only got an hour.”

“I was kinda hoping that was open to negotiation.”

I purse my lips. “Look, we’ll go, have a look around, then come straight back. Deal?”

“Deal,” he replies. “Now drive, woman.”

I let out a laugh despite myself and pull out from the curb.

We drive through the magnificent mountain scenery, out onto the long stretch of road next to the mirror-like Lake Hayes, and finally into the small township of Arrowtown, an enchanting village of charming old buildings, set on the River Arrow, nestled into the hills.

To keep conversation light during the trip, I’ve been telling Logan about places we’ve passed along the way, acting as his personal tour guide.

I park the car by the river. Once out, I turn to go up the small hill onto the main street, but Logan has other ideas.

“Let’s check the river out first. It’s so pretty here.”

The trees are in blossom, rendering the town with an otherworldly, fairy tale quality anyone may be tempted to regard as irresistibly romantic.

Thank goodness I’ve been listening to my shoulder angel.

“This place started out as a mining town?” he asks as we wander up the riverbank.

“A gold rush town. Prospectors came here in the Eighteen-Sixties, found gold, and the place took off.”

We walk through the Chinese Settlement, laughing as we crouch down to get in and out of the small buildings. I’m about average height for a woman, but Logan’s pretty tall, so he clunks his head more than once.

“Oh, you poor thing.” On instinct, I reach up and rub his forehead where he had clocked it on the doorjamb.

“I’ll survive,” he replies, looking deeply into my eyes, a half smile dancing on his face. “But you rubbing me sure does help.”

At the hint of what could be in his words, my Girly Bits remind me with a pulsating clasp they want Logan and me to be more than work colleagues.

It takes a moment for me to snap myself out of it, and I pull my hand away from his forehead, clearing my throat as I do.

“I know Arrowtown quite well,” I say in a brisk tone, trying desperately to ignore the buzz building low in my belly. “My family came here to ski every year. Two weeks in the winter school holidays, without fail.”

I turn to walk down the hill towards the township. Logan walks beside me.

“Really?” He turns to look at me. “What an incredible place to have on your doorstep. I bet you’re a great skier.”

I shrug modestly. “I’m okay.”

“I never learned to ski myself. My family was more into summer vacations. It’s weird as I grew up in San Diego, which is like being on a permanent beach vacation.”

“Oh, that must have been so hard for you,” I tease. “All that warm sun, the beaches? Sheer torture.”

“I know, I know. But I wanted to have what my cousins in Colorado had: seasons. I wanted to make snowmen in winter, to play in the leaves in fall.”

“Seasons are not all they’re cracked up to be.” I think of the crazy winds Wellington gets in spring, the freezing southerly storms that chill you to the bone in winter.

I smile to myself, thinking how easy conversation flows with him—and how nice and safe talking about the weather is. Much better than all that eye gazing malarkey that could get me into serious trouble.

“Well,” he begins as he stops walking and turns to me. “I guess you want what you don’t have. Or at least,
I
want what I don’t have.”

There goes the weather talk safety net. My senses go on alert. I’m aware of our proximity, how his eyes shine at me, how the butterflies in my stomach have decided to have a disco.

I swallow hard and turn away, doing my best to break the spell. “Let’s head to the main street,” I suggest, walking away from him, back down the rise.

“Sure,” he replies, trailing behind me.

It’s crazy, I know, but quickening my pace is like I’m out-walking my desire for him. Although to do that, I imagine I’d have to run a couple of marathons in record-breaking speed.

We reach the crowds on the main street and I heave a sigh of relief: there’s
got
to be safety in numbers here. Right?

We wander through the shops, looking at locally-produced woollen and possum fur clothing, tourist shops, wine shops, and finally into the most amazing old fashioned sweet shop—or ‘candy store’, as Logan puts it—I’ve been into.

We marvel at the array of glass jars full of any type of sweet you can imagine. Logan grabs a bag, piling in about ten different types. I abstain, confident in my commitment to my diet. I work hard at being fit and healthy, and know very well just one sweet can become a slippery slope.

People are impressed with my dedication, but for me it’s just part and parcel of the way I live my life: I do everything one hundred per cent. Go big or go home, that’s always been my philosophy. What’s the point in doing something half-assed?

“So you’re telling me you never eat candy?”

“No, I don’t. Well, very occasionally.”

“You don’t like it?” he asks in disbelief.

“Of course I
like
it. Who doesn’t? It’s just all that sugar is bad for you.”

He pushes his open paper bag towards me. “Come on. Have one. Make this one of those occasions.”

I look from his face to the bag, trying to decide whether I should stick to my guns or take one out of politeness towards the man who holds my future in his hands.

“You have to try one of these ones in the green wrapper. They’re delicious.” His mouth is full of sweets.