Page 16 of The Rebel

It’s a shitty thing to say, the worst. She pales. I should be glad. I want her to think I’m a heartless prick that emotionally withdraws as soon as the deed is done.

But as I glimpse the hurt in her eyes, all I can think is, You’re the biggest dumbfuck ever.

Chapter Eight

Daisy

Alf arrived an hour ago and I’ve been holed up in a conference room giving him a rundown of what’s happened on the island so far. Though I haven’t told my boss everything for obvious reasons.

Like the fact I had hot cave sex with our client yesterday afternoon.

This job means everything to me. I need to start acting like it. Though as Alf drones on about profit margins I tune out, already envisioning my own logo with a cute daisy on it.

The campaign is progressing well, considering Hart initially baulked at the PR I’d outlined to use him as part of Rochester’s new brand. We got some great shots around the pool yesterday, B.C.

Before Cave.

After our sizzling interlude, we were stilted and awkward, and couldn’t get away from each other fast enough. I’d expected it but it still hurt.

Crazy, considering he was excellent sorbet. Fresh and fabulous, completely cleansing me of Casper. Exactly what I’d wanted.

So why do I feel so hollow?

‘Daisy, pay attention.’ Alf snaps his fingers in my face. ‘I’ve already met with the client and he’s happy, so I’ll be flying out in the morning and leaving this in your hands.’

I refrain from saying, ‘So what’s new?’ Alf does nothing but delegate. One of the perks of being the boss, which is exactly why I want to be one.

I’ve paid my dues long enough.

As Alf regularly implies, I wouldn’t have this job if it hadn’t been for my father. Dear old Dad was in Alf’s marketing classes at uni and used the friendship card to land me this job. I didn’t mind at the time because I was desperate to land my first job and eager for experience. Five years later, I know something else Dad gave me—the life lesson to never, ever quit—is wearing thin.

I’ve almost resigned many times over the last twelve months but each and every time I’d hear Dad’s voice in my ear: ‘Adlers never quit, sweetheart. We never give up. We see things through, no matter how difficult or challenging.’

He drilled me in the family motto from the time I could walk and I know it’s the only thing that has prevented me from handing in my resignation to Alf.

Besides, I quit my engagement twelve months ago and I don’t want to add my job to that less than illustrious list. I know in my gut I did the right thing leaving Casper, that I could never be the kind of woman a guy like him demands, but the fact remains I still left, ignoring my insistent voice of reason that maybe I should’ve tried harder, maybe I should’ve been more accommodating, maybe I should’ve been…more.

My family didn’t say much when I left Casper but I saw the disappointment in their eyes, labelling me a quitter. The stupid thing is, I can live with that. But it’s hard to admit, even to myself, that deep down I feel like I walked away too easily in my personal life so no way in hell I’ll do the same in my professional one.

I’m sticking with Alf until I nail this Gem Island job. Who knows, maybe he’ll give me a promotion and I won’t feel compelled to leave? And maybe the reef sharks circling the island will grow wings too.

As for my performance, I’m not surprised Mr Rochester is happy with it, considering I spread my legs for him yesterday.

I’m being harsh on myself, because I didn’t have sex with him to get ahead in my job, I screwed him because I’ve never been so attracted to a guy before and I wanted to see what it felt like to have sex without emotional entanglement.

Turns out I don’t do so well having sex like a man.

Silly, because Hart gave me exactly what I wanted. The problem is, I want it again. While I’d never done it on the sand or in a cave, I wonder what it will be like on the luxurious bed in my villa, where we can do it more than once.

I’m not a sex maniac. My year-long drought is testament to that. Even with Casper, it didn’t bother me if he was tired. We had a routine, Wednesdays and Saturdays, and it quickly became rote even though we hadn’t been dating all that long when we moved in together. Before him I’d had three boyfriends, each lasting a few months tops.

Sex is fun with the right guy, and until now, I thought I’d already had it. Turns out my previous boyfriends and one narcissistic fiancé weren’t so great in the sack after all.

Damn Hart Rochester for making me want more than sorbet. One scoop isn’t enough: I want the whole damn tub, with sprinkles on top.

‘Is there a problem, Daisy?’

Lost in my musings, I wonder how much I’ve missed of Alf’s ramblings. I occasionally tune out but not to this extent and I certainly don’t fantasise about guys during our work discussions.

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