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You really choose your moments, Rose.She ignored the ironic voice in her head, her soft jawline firming as she pushed her hands deep in the pockets of her oversized jacket and, taking a deep breath, she dug her metaphorical heels in. Her teeth clenched. It had clearly never crossed his mind that she would not simply jump when he said jump—no please involved—or at least trot a few respectful feet behind him.
‘Wait?’
He paused, turned and stepped back; sleek, exclusive and tall, he immediately dominated the room with his presence and his restless energy. Rose watched a flicker of impatience flash across his lean features but clung stubbornly to her calm defiance... Well, maybe not calm, she conceded as her heart flung itself against her ribcage. Despite her heart’s contortions she felt strangely excited to be stepping outside her compliant role—about time, some, including Rose herself, might have said. His off-the-scale arrogance was the catalyst she had needed for this rebellion and how ironic was that!
‘For you to pack,’ he explained, glancing at his watch. ‘You can meet the nanny. It will leave time for a handover this evening—she has agreed to stay that long.’ Though it had taken the inducement of a chauffeur-driven limo to the airport and a first-class ticket to get this concession. ‘Then we can leave in the morning. Arthur will go ahead.’
Her eyes had opened to their fullest extent by the time he had completed outlining this itinerary. She didn’t know who Arthur was and didn’t really care. It was less the arrangements and more the timescale that shocked her.
‘Tomorrow? Now?B-but I assumed that this would be happening...’ She made a fluttering gesture with her hands to indicate some vague point in the future, or at least next week.
One thick dark brow slanted. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘N-no.’ She stopped—what was she saying? ‘Actually yes, this is...too fast for me...it’s happening very...very...’ Hard to describe a sensation that felt like sand slipping through her fingers. She bit her lip and achieved something approaching calm as she said, ‘I couldn’t possibly be ready that soon.’
‘We have already established you have no dependent relative. Is it a boyfriend who can’t bear to let you go?’ His expression made this possibility seem insultingly unlikely. ‘A cat...?’
Oh, my, he had really pushed it too far. Her eyes narrowed into slits. ‘I like cats but no, it isn’t, and actually my personal life is none of your business.’
She fought off a laugh. He could not have looked more startled if a stray cat had turned around and told him to push off. Her amusement fizzled out fast, because the personal life she was guarding was pretty much a blank sheet, but that was a depressing thought for another time.
‘Look, I appreciate that this is sudden,’ he admitted, looking as if the concession hurt.
Big of you, she thought, panic colliding with resentment in her head, which ached with the sheer volume of emotions swirling inside... Hard to remember that when she had woken just this morning the only problem on her horizon had been that she’d mistakenly bought decaf coffee and that her overdraft would be nudging towards the danger red zone once she’d paid her electric bill. The bonus he’d offered, even halved, would solve all her problems.
‘But the situation is urgent,’ he said sombrely.
The reminder made the truculent heat fade from Rose’s eyes and she felt ashamed for forgetting the reason for her trip to Greece. This was about an orphan baby, not her being forced to be decisive for once in her life.
Her internal struggle was written on her face, and she didn’t have a clue she was being manipulated without any effort, which strangely left an unpleasant aftertaste in Zac’s mouth. The faint scratch of guilt he felt was irrational. He hadn’t lied, though in reality his situation would have warranted the odd white lie. If Rose backed out at this stage the childcare issue would be problematic. He ought to have made alternative childcare arrangements, but he rarely factored in failure, and he hadn’t failed, he’d just pressed the button marked empathy plus a cash incentive—it always helped—and the rest had followed on as night followed day.
‘I need time to think...’
Considering his promise to Marco, the last thing that Zac wanted was her thinking. He was impatient to fulfil his promise and get on with his life—his new life with the new responsibilities.
He had many responsibilities, the livelihoods, the future prosperity of many people rested on the decisions he made and he had never lost a night’s sleep over the pressure, had never doubted his ability to come through, but this was different.
To keep a new life safe, to mould and guide it, Kairos made it look easy, but he was not his stepfather.
He was not his father either, his father who had not taken to the concept of parenthood. On discovering his very much younger girlfriend was carrying his child, giving her money for an abortion had been the sum of his paternal involvement, oralmost. Because when he’d discovered the money intended for her abortion had been hidden away, he had tried to cause the same effect with his fists and feet.
His mother was a survivor and, despite what had happened to her when she was a teenager, an optimist.
‘About what do you need to think?’
For the first time she was conscious of an accented undertone in his deep vibrant voice.
Did he make love in Greek?
The question came from nowhere and she felt her cheeks heat.
She could feel the impatience rolling off him in waves, but it wasn’t a need to placate him that made her blurt out, ‘Fine!’ She wanted to prove to herself that shecouldstep out of her comfort zone—if not now, when?
He accepted her compliance, deciding not to notice the reluctance involved, with a sharp tip of his dark head. He took a moment to say goodbye to Jac and stepped to one side for Rose to precede him through the door while she hugged her friend and said she’d see her very soon.
The touch of courtesy vanished as they stepped into the corridor—his long loping stride took no account of the difference in their inside leg measurements. Rose had to trot intermittently to keep up with him as they left the crèche and stepped into a lift that went down into the underground car park, entering an area that was reserved for people who drove shiny upper-end cars.
The one whose lights flashed as they approached was the higher end of upper, a low-slung thing as sleek as its owner. He opened the passenger door and left her to it as he walked around to the driver’s side. As he did so her head turned when the corner of her eye caught two men standing by a car. One she recognised as the accountant—Call me Andy—who had ghosted her the previous week after the disastrous date.
