Page 48 of The Rebel

That’s what my vacation project for foster kids is all about. Giving them the kind of awe-inspiring experience that I had the first time I set foot on this island.

I want them to feel welcome and valued and warm for one week in their lives, something to hold onto when times get tough, something to remember.

I ignore the pens and return my attention to the computer screen. I refuse to be the face of this campaign and I’m launching this programme, with Daisy’s help.

And once she’s done, our liaison will be over.

Simple.

At least, it should be. So why does the thought of never seeing her again make me want to smash something?

Chapter Twenty-Two

Daisy

I’m a wuss. A weakling. A weenie.

I never should’ve let Hart distract me in his office yesterday, but the moment he kissed me all my questions evaporated under the onslaught of his charisma.

If that’s what I’m calling scintillating sex these days.

It was so freaking hot doing it on his desk, our heightened emotions adding to the frantic edge.

I can’t let it happen again.

I allowed myself to be distracted once before, when the man I thought I loved captured my attention and ensured he controlled it, while I slowly but surely lost pieces of myself. Casper influenced my opinions, my likes, my goals, while making it sound like I wanted those things along the way. His subtle way of controlling me meant I lost sight of the important stuff, just like I lost sight of it yesterday thanks to Hart.

I hate making comparisons between the two men but Hart is also demanding and dismissed my opinions like they meant nothing. One minute I was smarting, the next he opened up about his past, and I was catapulted straight into a depth of feeling I’ve been avoiding ever since this fling started.

I wanted to confront him about it, to see if he’ll be honest about our deepening attraction, but he distracted me in the hottest of ways…

The sex might have been phenomenal, but it pulled my focus from where it had to be: seeing how far he was willing to go to admit we’ve moved beyond sex.

I don’t like that I allowed myself to slip back into old patterns of behaviour, to be distracted because of my feelings for a man. It doesn’t bode well for me and it makes me resent him for doing it.

We didn’t say much afterwards. I bolted, then had to take a call from Alf. While I was on that call, Hart texted, saying he had business to take care of for the rest of the day.

And he hasn’t contacted me since.

Not that I expect him to, but after the way he opened up to me I thought I might see him last night. In fact, I listened for a knock on my villa door for half the night before falling into a restless sleep.

The mature thing to do would be for me to contact him: a blasé text, a call, a drop-in at his office. Instead, I’ve buried myself in work all day, ensuring the adjustments Hart requested to the Gem Island campaign about to go live are the best they can be. I’m not exactly thrilled that I can’t feature him front and centre of his proposed vacation programme, but I’m pleased with how everything has turned out—my best work yet.

I was on the verge of emailing the changes to the mock-ups to Hart for final approval when Alf dumped a shitload of work on me. He’s punishing me for having Hart treat him like a subordinate. He has forwarded emails from five potential new clients, requesting quotes for their needs. This, on top of putting the finishing touches on Hart’s campaign.

I pulled up my resignation letter after his fourth email of the morning with its excessive demands. It’s ready to go, if and when I ever gather the courage to send it.

But every time I read it, I get a hollow feeling in my gut and I hear Dad’s voice: ‘Adlers don’t quit, honey.’

Dad will be disappointed, no matter how hard I try to explain I’m done with Alf treating me like an incompetent for little reward. He’s already shattered that I ended my engagement. While he didn’t use the Q word on me then, I know by the shared glances with Mum that they think I quit on my relationship rather than hanging on for the long haul.

That hurt, having my own parents not trust me enough to make a sound decision that affects my future. Wait until they hear I’m contemplating quitting my job too.

It’s demoralising when they don’t have faith in me, in my judgements as a grown woman. But not half as much as I hate not having complete confidence in myself.

Even after the stellar job I’ve done on this campaign and the positive feedback from Hart, I still doubt myself. Wondering if I’ll make it on my own. Reluctant to take the next step to professional independence.

I think some of that bitterness influenced the way I behaved with Hart yesterday, when he didn’t trust me enough to know what’s best for his island and his vacation programme.

---