Breaking the Bro Code (3 page)

‘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.

THREE

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 one of her teachers and took on more lessons herself. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than letting the business fail even more than it already had.

Sitting behind the small desk in the waiting room of the studio, she watched the mothers chatter amongst themselves while the under-twelve class finished up. The girls bounded out of the studio, full of beans despite a gruelling technique class with Jasmine. She couldn’t let Jasmine go; they’d been best friends since they were six and had seen each other through many a dark day. She sighed, raking a hand through her loose hair.

‘See you next Thursday, girls. Don’t forget to stretch!’ Jasmine chirped and waved as her students left.

Elise envied Jasmine and her newfound life with her hunky AFL star fiancé. Their kind of happiness was rare, and her best friend deserved every second of it...but she couldn’t help wishing that she had a little bit of that luck too.

Swinging her sneakered feet onto the desk, she adjusted the portable fan so it blew in her direction. The studio’s air conditioning was broken again, but she was trying to figure out how to afford a service. No solution had presented itself, but there was a number of blisteringly hot days in next week’s forecast that meant she’d have to make a decision, and fast.

‘Have you heard from Col again?’ Jasmine stripped off her leg warmers and ballet shoes, before stuffing her stockinged feet into a pair of flats.

She’d neglected to tell Jasmine they’d gone for a drink last night. She wouldn’t approve and Elise couldn’t deal with a lecture at this point. She’d hardly slept. Between the old memories resurfacing and the stress of trying to decide which teacher to fire, relaxation and slumber were impossible concepts. There had also been a tiny twinge of guilt over bailing on Col when he’d opened up for her, but she soothed that guilt with a healthy dose of anger. He was the one who left her originally, and not just for a night...for five long years.

‘Hey.’ Jasmine’s face appeared in front of hers, a hand landing on her shoulder. ‘I’m worried about you.’

‘I’m fine.’ She forced a perky smile. ‘You know what my apartment is like. It gets so hot in the summer. I could barely catch a wink of sleep last night.’

‘Right. Well, you let me know if you want to talk.’ Jasmine removed her hand and gave her a pointed look that said:
I’m your best friend, don’t BS me.

‘As if you could stop me talking.’ She sat up, shaking off her exhaustion, and kept her smile firmly in place.

As Jasmine was about to leave, the door to the studio swung open. Col’s frame filled the doorway almost completely, his broad shoulders looking even wider with the fading light outlining him. He wore an intense expression, none of his usual cockiness present in the deep stare he gave her.

‘Hi, Ellie.’

‘Col.’

Jasmine looked from Elise to Col and back again. She moved closer to the desk, hovering by Elise, looking as if she were about to strike.

‘It’s all right, Mama Bear,’ Elise said with a nod. ‘I can take him.’

She frowned. ‘I’ll stay if you need moral support.’

‘It’s fine, go.’ Elise gave her friend a gentle shove with one sneaker-covered foot.

Jasmine picked up her bag and walked past Col, setting a hard glare at him before she left without a word. Elise stifled a smile, Jasmine was nothing if not fiercely loyal.

‘Not a fan, I see.’ Col came forward, crossing the small room in only a few strides.

‘Makes two of us,’ she said, trying to keep her teasing light though it sounded loaded as a drawn weapon. ‘Maybe I should start a Facebook group.’

He wore a pair of fitted jeans, which were beginning to fray at both knees, a white T-shirt that looked so good it should have been illegal and a pair of black Chucks. His dark hair was unstyled, curling at the edges where normally it would be tamed into place with hair product. A thick, leather cuff on his right wrist offset tanned skin. He’d been outside; she could see the sunshine on him. He was too delicious for words and she hated her body for every traitorous reaction it was having.

‘No need to be hostile.’

‘What do you want, Col?’

‘I want you to reconsider.’

He leant against the desk, his scent making her heady. Faded aftershave mixed with sun-drenched skin, a hint of cinnamon and something else...something entirely male.

‘Have you forgotten our chat last night?’ She forced her eyes away from his chest. ‘I gave you my answer already. Twice now, if memory serves me correctly.’

‘So you’ll let this studio fail to spite me?’ He leant forward, brows crinkled. ‘We can help each other.’

‘I don’t want your help.’

‘That might be true, but you do
need
my help.’

Without the buttoned shirt, the dress trousers and the expensive shoes he looked...normal. Just like the boy she remembered from the night she lost her heart, the night she came undone so badly she’d never been able to piece herself back together. A night of muffled cries, sweat-drenched skin and a passion so intense she’d never been able to replicate it. In fact the last few attempts had fallen so far short she’d about given up.

He stared down at her, his eyes making her skin flame. ‘You
could
get rid of one of your teachers,’ he went on. ‘Which one? I know you won’t get rid of Jasmine—she’s too good a friend. What about the redhead, Missy? You’ve known her forever too. Could you really put
her
out of a job? Or there’s that other girl—’

‘Stop it!’ The cry sprang from her with such fury that Col stopped midsentence.

He closed his mouth, quietly assessing her. Her heart pounded a staccato-like beat, the throbbing in her head matching its pace. She felt as if she were about to explode from the stress, the sleeplessness, the frustration. A confused knot of emotion swelled within her, threatening to burst forth with the slightest provocation.

‘You can’t come back here and manipulate me into helping you,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘You don’t get to do that to me.
You
were the one who left.’

You were the one who ruined everything.

Col’s eyes clouded over, his mouth pulling into a thin line. He pushed up from the desk and turned so he was facing her dead on. His hands landed on the desk’s surface with a hard thud, his face inches from hers. She could see the rolling storm cloud of emotion in his eyes; the passionate anger, the five-year stockpile of guilt, the desire to fight.

‘I did you a favour in leaving, Elise. I did us
both
a favour.’

‘Bull.’ She dragged her eyes away, wishing for a moment that he would give up on her.

‘I promise if you help me I’ll make sure your ballet studio never suffers again. I’ll make sure
you
never suffer again, and I will stay well out of your life.’

* * *

For a moment he wondered if she might hold her ground. He knew she must hate him for leaving—hell, he hated himself for leaving—but that didn’t change the fact that it was the best thing for them both. Her family had taken him in and he’d promised her brother that he’d never lay a hand on her...except he did. In fact he’d laid both hands, his mouth and everything else he possessed on her. It had been the best night of his life...but boy had he paid. He’d lost his best friend and thrown the kindness the Johnson family had shown him back in their faces.

Since then he kept things casual,
always
casual. One-night stands were the preference, though occasionally he let it stretch on to a second or third night. But never longer than that. No one would ever compare to her, so what was the point in trying?

But there was no way he could let history repeat itself. He wasn’t hanging around and he didn’t want to hurt her. That kind of mistake wouldn’t happen twice.

‘Strictly business,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you trying anything funny.’

‘You have my word.’ The tension melted out of his muscles, his shoulders dropping down to their normal position.

She sighed. ‘I still don’t think I’m the right person to help you with this.’

‘You are.’ He nodded. ‘I’m sure of it.’

‘Fine, let’s meet tomorrow to go over the details and then you can tell me what it is you think I can do.’ She waved a hand as if to dismiss him. ‘I’ve got to get home.’

‘Tomorrow it is. We could meet for breakfast?’ He knew she had a weakness for bacon and eggs. Perhaps her favourite food might help her ease into the idea of working with him.

‘The old place we used to go on Saturdays.’ A glimmer of a smile crossed her lips.

‘The one with the green eggs.’

She nodded.

* * *

He got to the café early, though he told himself it was nothing to do with securing the private little booth down the back. He was a morning person, so it made sense to arrive early.
Totally rational behaviour.

He put in a call to his office, spoke with his executive assistant and his second in charge. Everything seemed to be running smoothly without him, which was exactly what he demanded when he left. The details for his keynote speech had been locked down; his communications person had already started working on the research to back up his presentation. Everything was swimming along.

Now all he had to do was deal with the not so little problem of his public-speaking phobia. Baby steps—the first thing he needed to do was get Elise to give him some insights into her performance preparation. Then he could figure out which tactics would work for him, and figure out how to practise them in a close-to-real-life scenario. It was how he tackled all of his problems: find someone who was good at what he wanted to do, learn as much as he could, practise over and over, execute.

He was one of those businessmen who believed firmly in surrounding himself with the very best people his money could buy. Elise was no exception.

‘Morning.’ Elise’s voice pulled him into the present.

She slid into the booth across from him, looking about as stunning as one could so early in the morning. Her golden hair was in disarray, the wispy strands fanning out around her shoulders, kinked in places from sleep. She wore denim shorts and a boldly printed top with straps so thin they looked as though they would break with the slightest tug. A long gold chain hung down past her breasts, weighted by a small gold fan, and he knew without even looking that she’d have that delicate anklet around one slender ankle. Against his will, his heart kicked up a notch.

‘You’re looking very spritely,’ he replied, taking a sip of his macchiato and forcing himself not to admire the smooth expanse of skin the summery outfit offered up like a gift from the heavens.

‘And if by spritely you mean I rolled out of bed and happened to land on these clothes...then, yes,’ she drawled, smiling up at the waiter as he came to take their order.

The café was small with their booth offering additional privacy against the other breakfast-goers. They’d spent many a Saturday morning here when Col had first got his licence. He was living with Elise and her family then, and he tried to repay his debts by helping out as much as possible. One of the ways he did that was by ferrying Elise to her ballet lessons on the weekend; they would always come early so she could carb load for a long day of training.

Those breakfasts with her were the highlight of his week. She’d been oblivious to how he felt about her back then, too busy being a bun-head with her sights firmly set on ballet-world domination. How things had changed...

‘So, let’s get down to business,’ she said, pulling a notebook and pen from her bag. She’d come prepared, clearly with the goal of ensuring he stayed true to his word about it being a business-only engagement. ‘What is it you think you want from me?’

‘I told you, I need help preparing for a speech.’

‘How about some details, Col? Because from here I feel like you’re barking up the wrong tree.’

He drew a breath. ‘I need some insights into your preparation for going out on stage, what you do for nerves, how you relax and that kind of stuff.’

She looked at him strangely. ‘I’m usually stretching up against a wall before going on stage, not doing breathing exercises.’

He knew exactly what she looked like when she stretched; he’d spent many a night growing up trying to ignore the insane flexibility she had. He’d mastered the art of peripheral vision so as not to alert her brother or parents to the fact that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. It was not an image he needed in his mind right now. Thinking about that would only lead him to feeling like a horny teenager again.

He shoved the thought aside and ignored the clenching in his stomach. ‘I’m talking about the mental preparation. Breathing exercises, meditation, feng shui...whatever.’

‘I don’t know, I kind of slip straight into it...’ She shook her head.

‘Come on, Elise. You know damn well there’s more to it than that, I saw you practising all the time when we were growing up. You
can
help me.’

His voice had an edge of desperation that irritated him beyond belief. God, how he hated not having the upper hand. But he knew that going in aggressive was
not
the way to convince Elise to do something; the second she thought someone was backing her into a corner she’d come out fighting like a kung-fu ninja. He’d borne the wounds of that particular mistake before.

‘Fine,’ she said, throwing her hands up. ‘What else?’

‘I want you to help me prepare for the presentation
and
I want you to be there when I deliver it.’