Promoted to Wife? (4 page)

It was a quality that fascinated as much as it attracted.

As the doors slid open, Zac surged forward, long strides devouring the corridor. Yet as they made their way toward the exit, he gradually began to ease up. First, his rigid back and tense shoulders loosened an inch. Then, that furious march turned into his familiar rolling gait. When he nodded goodbye to the front desk, his jaw had relaxed. Finally, as the doors swooshed open and they stepped out onto sun-filled Berry Street, whatever lingering traces that remained had fallen away.

“We're meeting with the Point One team in an hour,” she reminded him.

“Good.” He glanced at his watch, then at his mobile as it started to ring. He pocketed it. “Let's get going.”

“Zac! Wait up.”

They both turned as Cal emerged from the glass doors, breaking into a jog to catch up. “I need to talk to you.”

Emily glanced at Zac. He gave her a quick nod, his expression stiffly cautious. “I won't be a minute.”

Zac waited until Emily had reached their car parked a few spaces down before he turned back to Cal. “I thought I made myself clear upstairs.”

Cal pocketed his hands and shifted his weight. “Very. And I don't blame you.” His surprise must've shown, because Cal let out a small laugh. “You don't think I know how Victor operates? Do you have any idea of the crap he's been dealing out these past few months?”

“Yeah, thanks for including me.”

“Don't be a smartarse. Whatever Victor's faults—and we know he has many—he's had a rough time. He—”

“I don't want to know, Cal. I left all this behind, in case you've forgotten.”

“Yes, you did.”

Irritation flared at Cal's subtle jab. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You left—not once but twice. The first time I get—you were eighteen, you'd scored a place at that university in Sweden. You needed to do stuff for yourself, to stand on your own feet. But the second time, after you'd graduated, you were home one week, gone the next. No calls, no e-mails. What the hell do you think
I'd
think?”

Zac scowled. “Would it have changed anything? You were on Victor's side, you always were—”

Cal's foul curse snapped Zac's brow up. “You're my brother, Zac. You owed me an explanation.”

“Victor thought I owed him, too, and look how that turned out.” Cloying memories wound their way around his chest, choking his lungs. “And hey, if we're laying the blame here, why didn't you pick up the bloody phone before now and call
me?
” He snapped his head back to the car, refusing to feel guilty about the fleeting remorse twisting Cal's face. “I've got to go.”

“Zac…”

He turned and marched off toward the car, toward Emily, and away from the gut-wrenching emotions of his past.

S
even. That's how many times Zac checked his phone, then ignored the call. Throughout their two-hour meeting with the Point One Sydney team in the hotel's private meeting room, Zac's attention had been distracted by that phone, which was so unlike him.

“Are you okay?” she asked casually when the meeting finally broke up and she began gathering up the files.

“Huh? Yeah. Fine.” He firmly stuck his phone back in his pocket. “Do you have any questions so far?”

“Not yet. Thanks,” she added when Zac relieved her of the document bag, hefting the long strap onto his shoulder. “We have our site inspection at four—shall I order lunch up?”

He nodded absently, his mind a thousand miles away, and Emily wondered if his thoughts were on the business at hand or still stuck back at VP Tech.

When she returned to her suite, his mood had rubbed off, dimming the enjoyment of room service, distracting her thoughts as she went over the paperwork again.

Finally, at three o'clock, she gave up. As she leaned back in
the couch, pulled the band from her hair, then smoothly retied it, a sudden thought occurred.

The laptop glowed back at her.
I could just…

No. She slammed the computer closed and crossed her arms. Zac had never discussed his family, which meant that part of his life was off-limits. She wasn't about to violate that trust now by trawling through the Internet in search of salacious—and probably highly inaccurate—details.

Yet thanks to this morning, her curiosity had begun to grow.

She'd never seen Zac so wound up, barely able to keep a lid on his simmering anger, which meant something major had happened. Something big enough to make him walk away from his family.

She rose, suddenly restless, and stalked over to the huge sliding doors that led onto the balcony. The tinted glass warmed her palms, a familiar sensation that brought to mind another time, another place. Another kind of heat.

With her forehead resting on the smooth window, she allowed herself a brief moment of indulgence, a moment to recall Zac's mouth, his scent. His ability to make her forget everything in her past and just be. With him.

Finally, she straightened, dragging a long breath in.
Enough.
She'd been appalled at the thought of Zac digging around in
her
life. Getting involved in his family problems was unprofessional. It had nothing to do with her.

Nothing.

 

When they reconvened in the foyer at three-thirty, she was relieved to see Zac back to his normal self. Yet even as they talked work during the entire drive to Potts Point, Emily still found herself thinking increasingly unprofessional thoughts during the lulls.

She was worried about him. This thing with the Prescotts had gotten under his skin, affecting him in a way she'd never seen before. The most difficult of clients hadn't elicited even half the reaction he'd given this.

“We're here.”

As Zac pulled up into a space, Emily's gaze automatically went to the window.

Building plastic and chipboard covered the ground floor. Leaning forward, her gaze went up…and up, and up. From what she'd read, the complex was twenty-five stories high, twenty levels of private apartments, a fourth-level gym and indoor pool, a laundry level, three more for businesses, and a ground floor restaurant, coffee shop and café.

And Zac had put his faith in her to launch this to the Sydney public.

“Coming?” Zac was on the sidewalk, peering steadily in at her.

“It'll be full-on getting it all ready by December.” She scrambled out, barely faltering as he rounded the car to take her bag.

“Yep.”

“Long hours, late nights…” She smoothed her jacket then retrieved her bag from him.

He nodded. “For a while, yes.”

Irritation threaded her blood, her partly demolished wall teetering as one brick reappeared with a solid thunk. “I've drafted a preliminary list of requirements—staff, budget…”

“Sure. E-mail me when it's finalized.” He swept one arm toward the service entrance. “They're meeting us in the penthouse suite.”

Emily straightened her shoulders and nodded. She'd said yes to this job, had given her word. It wouldn't be forever. Even if she couldn't get into Queensland University by second term, she'd still end up repaying Zac by then.

You can do this. You've honed
professional
to a fine art. You're an expert at focusing on work.

And she would
not
stress about Zac Prescott.

 

As the Sydney team made their way through the freshly painted top-floor penthouse apartment, Emily studied them again, filing away their names and positions for future reference. The
structural engineer, the acoustic consultant, the fit-out specialist. But it was Sattler Design, Sydney's leading brother-and-sister interior design duo, that captured her attention. Steve and Trish Sattler were walking, talking ex-cover models—Steve with rangy good looks and artfully messy hair that only added to his urban sophistication. He was a perfect foil for Trish, with her long, glossy mahogany mane and big brown eyes that frequently focused on Zac with entirely too much interest.

Zac, to his credit, didn't pick up on that, instead conducting himself as professionally as always. She had to give him points for that, if not for the way he didn't entirely discourage Trish's overly friendly body language.

Her boss was unlike any man she'd met: trustworthy, honorable, loyal. She actually liked him, which was saying something. He couldn't help it if all those attributes oozed a “come here” aura that attracted women of all ages.

She glanced up from the schematics just in time to catch Trish's look. She was studying Zac's profile with almost lustful relish, a small smile hovering on her lips. When she caught Emily looking, she merely raised one eyebrow, giving her a woman-to-woman smile. Without acknowledging it, Emily returned to the plans.

Point proven right there. Another ex-girlfriend-in-training. She fielded a handful of those calls each week.

From the twenty-fifth floor they went systematically down, addressing outstanding issues until they ended up in the plastic-covered foyer of a soon-to-be authentic Balinese restaurant.

Meeting over, Emily shook everyone's hand with a smile and a nod. From the corner of her vision she watched Trish approach Zac.

“I just wanted to thank you for this wonderful opportunity, Mr. Prescott,” she began, a wide smile on her perfectly made-up mouth.

“Zac, please.”

“Zac.” She practically purred out his name. Emily narrowed her eyes as she checked her phone messages.

“Sattler Design's reputation precedes you, Miss Sattler.”

“Trish, please.”

Trish, please,
Emily mentally mimicked, scrolling through her calls with single-minded intent.

“Are you free for dinner? Steve has another client, but I thought you and I could discuss the finer points of our brief, to get a firm handle on what you really need.”

Oh, please.
Emily nearly rolled her eyes at the double entendre but noted that Zac had pulled out his phone again.

“No, I think everything's looking pretty good at this stage. Emily?”

“Sorry?” Emily blinked innocently as both sets of eyes fell on her.

“Do you have any issues you need to raise with Trish?”

Yes. You're only one in a long line.
She smiled and shook her head. “Not right now. But I'm sure we'll be talking later.”

She watched Zac shake hands, thanking them for coming. The look on Trish's face didn't crack, but Emily knew the woman was reconnoitering, already working out another way to achieve her goal. It was a familiar dance, one that had begun as an amusing weekly anecdote she related to her sister. But now it had slipped from amusing to tiresome. Especially since…

She pulled herself up short with a frown.

Especially since you kissed him?

Yes.

He was talking to her and she was nodding, giving the outward appearance of actually listening. But inside her heart pounded, her blood racing at breakneck speed while her brain buzzed annoyingly.

Okay. So this is just a physical thing. You've been celibate for close to two years. Of course you're reacting to the first man who's shown any interest in you since…Jimmy.

Ooh. Bad comparison.

“Emily? You okay?”

A hand on her shoulder stopped her thoughts. She blinked up at Zac, at the concern in his eyes. Expressive olive eyes designed to make short work of a woman's will.

A pulse of irritation spread through her belly and she quickly
jerked her jacket back into place. The stiff collar suddenly chafed.

“Just thinking about Point One. It's…different from your usual.”

“There are only so many mansions you can build before you need a bigger challenge,” he answered with a smile, pulling open the glass doors for her.

“True. A challenge is good.”

He slid in the car after her, clipping on his seatbelt. “You up for it, Emily?”

His eyes mesmerized her, part amusement, part determination. Suddenly the air in the car got way too warm.

“Yes.” Her voice came out way too breathy. Her cheeks heated as his lips spread into a grin, and she quickly coughed, warmth swamping her limbs. “Yes,” she added more firmly. “I am.”

“Great.” With that devilish smile still in place, he shoved on his sunglasses and started the car.

“D
inner at six downstairs.” The note had been pushed under her door, signed with a large “Z” at the bottom.

She'd planned on eating alone in her room, going over the files and refining her action plan, not sharing an intimate meal with Zac.
No, not intimate.
A working dinner. They'd talk business like they had a hundred times before. There'd be schedule discussions, costings, launch ideas. There would be no hand-holding, no seductive looks, no footsie under the table.

Just work.

Ignoring that tiny swoop of disappointment, she walked firmly into the dining room at two minutes to six, shoulders back, eyes straight ahead.

The Harbour Kitchen & Bar was prime waterfront dining, with floor-to-ceiling folding glass doors and an open-plan kitchen so the diners could watch their meals being prepared by the chef. Its clean lines and quiet elegance sent a shot of confidence and calm into her bones.

But when Zac spotted her from the window table he'd secured and smiled, her body tensed up.

He pulled out her chair, seated her with effortless aplomb. She murmured her thanks as her heart thumped, making her skin twitch uncomfortably under her suit.

“Still in your work clothes?” He asked, reseating himself. “Yes.”
I'd rather be out of them. With you.
She swallowed quickly, glancing from his broad, jacketless shoulders to the spectacular harbor view outside. That one brief summary was enough for her to note his loosened collar with tie still in place.

“Great view,” she murmured as the sun's low golden beams spread wide across the sparkling water, dousing the Opera House's white sails in a similar glow.

“Always is.” From the corner of her eye she saw his gaze barely leave her before he picked up the menu.

Discomforted, Emily did the same, noting over the stiff gilt-paper the way his shirt cuffs skimmed perfectly tanned hands, hands that bore the scars of hard labor yet still looked clean and touchable.

She'd always liked a pair of strong hands.

Aaaaand…she was staring. Great.

She hauled her gaze up to his face before quickly glancing away. Well,
that
was such a tempting distraction she refused to look any more than absolutely necessary.

“I never knew you'd been married.”

That dragged her attention back. “It's not something I talk about.”

“So what
do
you talk about?” He casually unfolded his menu as she frowned. “Come on, Emily. You know practically everything about me, especially after today.”

“That's not true.”

“Well, what do you want to know?”

Oh, do not go there.
“I know enough.” She tipped her menu up, but Zac was having none of it. With one finger he gently lowered the barrier, forcing her to look at him.

“You organize me, feed me, ensure I have what I need, when I need it. You're also privy to the inner workings of my private life and now, my family. You're my work wife.”

“Your what?”

He grinned at her alarm. “My work wife—a work-based partnership between a man and a woman. You haven't heard that expression before?” She shook her head and fixated on restraightening her perfectly straight cutlery as he continued. “I'd thought that, after working together for so long, I was a friend of sorts. Someone you can trust.”

Her head snapped up. “Someone who took charge of my life and paid off my debts without asking?”

Was that a flash of hurt flickering behind his eyes? Contrite, she bit the inside of her bottom lip, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “I'm sorry. That was rude.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up. “I guess I deserved it. For not asking you first.”

Zac watched her war with that, the struggle from his apology showing in those dark blue eyes, in her luscious mouth now thin and firm.

Man, it was like getting blood from a stone! He tried a different tack. “I overstepped, and I apologize.”

“Okay.”

He studied her, trying to get a handle on that closed expression. “Friends?”

As he watched, her lashes began to blink out a rapid beat. “Okay,” she repeated, her voice soft and low, before she quickly took a sip of water.

Zac rested his arms on the table, locking his fingers thoughtfully as the waiter approached.

After they'd ordered, he watched her straighten the cutlery—again—then reposition her water glass.

He'd seen her glide through countless business meals, unruffled and professional. But now…things had changed. He'd changed them by violating her privacy, crossing the line by, oh, about a thousand miles.

Yet the inexplicable urge to dig deeper, to find out who Emily Reynolds really was beneath that unflappable facade, urged him on.

“It must've been tough being married to someone like—”

“Zac.” She breathed out his name, almost as if it pained her. “Please don't.”

“Don't what? Express sympathy? Regret that your ex hurt you? Sometimes,” he added slowly, “the ones closest to us can do the most damage.”

He fully expected her to shut down then and there, but instead her eyes filled with something…
almost vulnerable.
Then she glanced away. “Yeah.”

Interesting.

She flipped her glass over. “I think I'll have that wine now.”

Zac poured the golden liquid as she switched the topic to the Point One project. He knew she was doing it to gain control, to lead their conversation into nonpersonal waters. So he let her, until they'd finished their main meals and the wine was all gone. Then the dessert arrived.

“Thank you.” She beamed up at the waiter as he placed a berry-topped baked cheesecake in front of her. When she picked up her fork, her lips curving in delight, Zac's heart rate began to pick up.

“You like cheesecake?”

“Love it. That little French patisserie across the street from Valhalla does an amazing one.” She rolled her eyes. “Chocolate fudge. To die for.”

Then she slid a small forkful of cake between her lips and his brain shorted.

“How…” It took all his willpower not to groan. “How did you meet him?”

“Who?” she mumbled past her mouthful.

“Your ex.”

Her fork clinked down on the plate. She spent a few seconds swallowing before clearing her throat.

Zac sighed. “Look, I don't want you to think my money came with conditions. But I'd like to know. If you want to tell me. Apart from your sister, I'm guessing you don't confide in a lot of people.”

The look on her face told him her internal war went beyond
the standard issues. When she finally replied, her words were deliberately measured. Cautious.

“My story isn't that interesting. I was twenty-three, young and stupid and in love, or so I thought. Jimmy turned out to be a liar and a cheat and then he died.”

“I can't imagine you ever being stupid.”

Her short laugh surprised him. “Oh, you'd be surprised.”

They both sat in silence, eyes locked, until the seconds lengthened. And in those seconds, he sensed a tiny chink in her armor—nothing groundbreaking or defining, but something definitely positive, however small.

It sparked a glimmer of quiet confidence.

She finally broke eye contact to stare at her plate. “He drowned. For a surfer that's kind of ironic, don't you think?”

“I'm sorry.”

Her expression hardened as she reached for her water. “Don't be. I just wish he was alive so I could kick his sorry, freeloading ass.”

Zac waited as she downed the dregs of her glass.

“You really want to know,” she finally said, her eyes glinting in challenge.

“Yes.”

Her brow rose. “Fine. I met Jimmy three years ago at a Brisbane nightclub where he was singing in a band. He fancied himself a rock god—he got heaps of mileage off that cool ‘struggling musician' chestnut. The kicker was, he was pretty good. But he lacked discipline and motivation, and the band finally dumped him out after one too many no-shows.”

Zac just nodded, unwilling to break the moment.

“The last time I heard from him was when he signed the divorce papers, over a year ago. Now I know why. He was too busy working out ways to steal my money.” She paused at the look on Zac's face. “What?”

“I was just thinking—” He hesitated, then went on tactfully. “I don't see it—you the nightclub type, marrying a musician.”

Her eyes turned stormy. “Because I'm so organized and straitlaced?”

“You like order,” he clarified. “But yeah, it does seem out of character.”

Emily's heart twisted a little. Her curt confession hadn't satisfied his curiosity as she'd hoped. Her chin went up. “Maybe that was my little rebellion,” she added, staring at her wine glass. “Emily the rebel, that's me. Or maybe I just—”
Wanted to be loved.
She bit off that last bit, mortified. She'd thought herself in love with Jimmy. No, that was wrong. She'd hoped. Desperately wished. Just like with all the others.

“What?” Zac asked.

“Nothing.”

“Maybe…you just wanted to let your hair down for a change.”

She scowled, a nerve well and truly touched. “You don't—”

“—know you?” His expression remained inscrutable. “I know you can't leave for the night until your desk is completely clear.”

She waved that away. “You've seen my desk a thousand times a day.”

“You deny yourself hot chips for a ham-and-salad sandwich.”

“That's—”

“You love pink and blue but you wear black all the time. You're no-frills—you don't care for a lot of makeup or jewelry. Your hair is naturally blond, but you get highlights every two months.” His gaze swept over her head, then across her face before coming to rest on her mouth. “You smell like ginger and a warm summer weekend.” His voice became rough. “You taste like—”

“Stop!” She blinked. “How do you know what…” She paused blankly until her brain finally caught up. “You remember.”

His smile curled with male knowledge. “So do you.”

“But you—”

“I was being gentlemanly, waiting for you to say something. When you didn't, I thought it was one of those things that Must Not Be Mentioned Again.”

She opened her mouth but her words jumbled together. With a swallow she tried again. “I didn't mean to…”

“I know.”

“It was just…”

“I know.”

“It won't—”

“Emily,” he barked, a little too sharply. She clamped her mouth shut. “Enough with the apology.”

The look on her face was so appealing, all flushed embarrassment, that Zac suddenly wondered what she'd do if he leaned in and kissed her.

“It wasn't even a kiss. More like a brief…” she glanced at his mouth, “brush of skin. A non-kiss.”

That soft sigh she ended on hit Zac in all the right places. It revved up his blood, quickening his heartbeat into a familiar thud of arousal.

He gritted his teeth, battling for control. Yet when he thought he'd finally regained it, she had to go and chew on that full bottom lip. It wasn't a big thing, just a couple of perfect white teeth worrying the curve of her mouth for a brief second before she dipped her head and picked up her dessert fork. Yet his body jolted, her tiny reaction forever imprinted in his brain.

“Go on a date with me.”

Her fork paused halfway up to her mouth. “What?”

What the hell are you doing?

He leaned in closer and unashamedly breathed in deep, drowning out that inner voice with her delicious scent. “Go. On. A. Date. With. Me.”

A look of sudden horrified surprise bloomed before she smoothed out her expression.

“Very funny.” She put her fork down and shoved the plate away.

“I'm not joking.”

“Sure.”

He frowned. “I'm not.”

“Stop it, Zac. It's not funny.”

“I'm not laughing.” Man, her denial was beginning to nettle him.

She stared at her plate again, concentrating on edging it further to the side. “I'm sure there are a thousand other suitable women who would—”

“I'm asking
you.
”

She glanced up, her brows dipping down behind those heavy-rimmed glasses, and he had the sudden urge to ease them off her face.

“Why me, when I'm…”

He smiled at her small self-directed gesture. “When you're trying so hard to hide behind bland suits and sensible shoes?”

When her face flushed pink and her gaze shot past his shoulder, he silently cursed.

“Because,” he continued more gently, “despite your best efforts, I find myself attracted to you.”

“Because of a non-kiss?”

And your sweet curvy a—You can't say that!
“Yep.”

Blinking quickly, she refused to meet his eyes as she removed her napkin from her lap. “We work together.” She began to fold the cloth efficiently on the table.

“So?”

“It's not professional.”

“Says who? I'm the boss.”

“Exactly. People will talk.” She finally looked at him, her eyes unsettled.

“At the risk of repeating myself—so?”

“I owe you money.”

He leaned back in his chair and silently studied her as she went on.

“And you've just paid off my ex's gambling debts, given me a raise and—”

“How long have we worked together?”

“What kind of—”

“Close to two years, right?”

“Yes.”

“And in that entire time have I given you any reason to believe I'd blackmail you—or anyone—in that way?”

She paused, those lashes fluttering at his growing irritation. “I didn't mean to insult you.”

“Well, you have.”

“Look, Zac,” she took a breath and leaned forward. “This is coming out all wrong. I appreciate your offer, but—”