She stiffened. ‘Who you sleep with is up to you.’
‘Well, it was a mistake in any case.’ He shrugged as though it bothered him less than it did.
‘What about you? Are you seeing anyone?’
She pondered his question for a moment. ‘No. I don’t have time for messing around at the moment.’
‘I thought you told me all work and no play made for a dull existence.’
She wrinkled her pert, upturned nose and changed the topic. ‘So tell me, what is it that you think I can help you with?’
‘That’s it? After five years you give me a two-minute catch-up?’
‘It was hardly two minutes.’ She shrugged, unflinching. ‘But it’s more than you deserve.’
Col drew a long breath; he’d known this moment would come. The one where he’d need to open himself up and admit something that had plagued him since childhood. For someone who’d worked with the toughest investors in the world, the sharpest minds in the technology industry and the most vulture-like journalists, he shouldn’t have any fears left. But he did. This one was buried so deep that it had rooted itself into the core of who he was. It was unshakable, unsurpassable. And he needed to confess it to Elise, the one person left in the world that he still admired.
‘I have a very important event coming up, a conference.’ He cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink. ‘I’ve been invited to be the keynote speaker and I need to give a presentation on the way technology is shaping the fitness industry.’
She shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know why you think I can help you out with that.’
‘I need someone to help me prepare for the speech, not in terms of the speech itself but in terms of getting up on stage in front of all those people.’ Even saying the words sent a trickle of ice-cold fear down his spine. ‘You’ve performed your whole life. You know how to deal with the nerves, the stage fright...’
‘Are you seriously telling me you’re frightened of public speaking? You, Col Hillam, CEO, New York lady-killer, technological wunderkind, are afraid of an audience?’ She rolled her eyes.
Heat crawled up his neck. It was hard enough to admit that he was afraid of something, especially when she stared at him open-mouthed like that. Anger prickled the back of his neck, making his fingers curl around his glass.
‘We’re all afraid of something, Elise.’
‘Yes, but you’re...’ She threw her hands up in the air, grappling for words. ‘Don’t you broker deals all the time? Don’t you spend your life networking and selling your business?’
If only. He was known as something of a recluse in the industry. He could handle meetings, of course, but he avoided networking whenever he could...especially the personal kind. In fact, this was the first time he’d sat in a bar with a woman in... He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been on a date. Not that this is a date, he corrected himself, shoved the thought aside.
‘It’s different.’ He squeezed the glass so hard he thought it might shatter. Forcing out a breath, he put the glass down and placed both hands on his knees, a technique he often used when he was feeling out of his depth. Perhaps he should have ordered something stronger than soda water after all.
‘How is it different?’ She seemed...suspicious. Did she think this was a ploy so he could get close to her?
‘Being in a boardroom with ten people is fine, I can handle that. I know what I’m doing. I go hard, I’m aggressive and I win. But being up there with all those eyes watching while they wait for you to make a mistake...’ His chest clenched, his breath came faster.
* * *
Wow, Col Hillam was actually scared of something. His chest rose and fell, the muscles pressing against the thin cotton of his lightweight blue shirt. His neck corded with each inhalation, lips pressed tight together, jaw clenched.
At first she’d wondered if this was his way of forcing her to spend time with him. Perhaps it was some made-up scenario that allowed him to get close to her without committing to anything. It seemed likely, since fleeing the country was his MO. But the light beading of sweat along his hairline and the white-knuckled grip he had on the rustic wooden table in front of them told a different story.
‘I’m sure you could afford someone who specialised in public-speaking phobias to help you—’
‘No.’
He barked the word out, drawing curious stares from the couples around them. Elise tilted her head, watching as his eyes narrowed. He was even more striking since he’d lost the youthful fullness in his face. The slopes and curves had been replaced by hard angles and sharp edges. A faint smattering of dark hair peeked out of the open collar of his shirt, the pushed-up sleeves revealing strong arms. Even his eyes looked harder; their faded blue—like worn denim—was hiding something.
‘You’re doing yourself a disservice, Col. Get some professional help. I’m just a ballerina.’
‘You’re the only one who can help me.’
He reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it, his thumb tracing the ridges of her knuckles. Her breath stuck in her throat as she looked at him. The furrowed brow, the serious eyes, the grim slash of a mouth were all too familiar.
‘You’re the only one who knows me well enough to help me get around this problem.’
Memories flooded her; she’d managed to shut them out for so long but they came roaring back when he touched her. Ten-year-old Col on her doorstep, arms black and blue with bruises, face set into a hard mask of fury. No tears; there were never any tears. He’d asked if he could stay the night and she’d let him in without a word. He’d stunk of the alcohol his father had splashed on him. She’d held him until they both fell asleep, till her father found them lying in front of the fireplace the next morning. She was the only one allowed to comfort him, the only one he’d allow within touching distance. Even Elise’s brother, Rich, who’d been Col’s best friend since kindergarten, wasn’t allowed that close.
‘I can’t help you.’ The memories swirled, unsteadying her.
He gritted his teeth. ‘Please, Ellie.’
She couldn’t fix people that were broken; she’d learnt that the hard way. She tried and tried and tried, but eventually they either left or retreated so far into themselves that she might as well have been alone. The last time she’d tried to help Col she’d failed, and then he’d left. She was now trying in vain to drag her mother down from the brink of oblivion on a daily basis. She wouldn’t put herself in that position again.
‘I’m sorry, you’ll need to find someone else. I’m not the right person to help you.’ She shoved aside the empty cocktail glass and grabbed her bag from the table.
Weaving through the crowd, she dodged the waitress with a tray full of drinks and the other patrons until she found the staircase that led up to the bridge. When the night air hit her burning cheeks she sighed with relief. Distance, that was what she needed. If she could avoid Col while he was in Australia then everything would be fine.
How was she going to make it work? It was the less scary of the two questions Elise had been asking herself, the other being: how had she let it get to this point in the first place? She knew the answer to that: she was weak. She was too weak to say no to her mother, too weak to tell her brother to come home and face his responsibilities. She was supposed to be the stable one in the family, the reliable one. She was the one who had to keep them all afloat.
Elise crunched the numbers again, tapping at her calculator and hoping for a different result. The only way the numbers would balance was if she let go