Page 58 of The Rebel

Later.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Daisy

Iwait until I disembark in Melbourne before switching off airplane mode on my phone to call Hart.

I have it all planned out. We’ll meet at a public café in the heart of the city, far away from the temptation of hotel rooms and anything remotely resembling intimacy. I’ll say our meeting is business, but use it as a way to suss out how he’s feeling.

Since Kevin mentioned that Hart believes everyone ultimately leaves him, all I can think about is how an amazing, infuriating man has such low expectations of other people.

Considering my track record, he probably thinks I’ll leave too. If I walked out on an engagement, what’s tethering me to him? I need to confront Hart and make him understand that I don’t quit on the things that really matter.

I wait until I’m clear of the crowds before I hit the call button. It rings but the oddest thing happens. Rather than hearing the ringtone through my phone, I hear Hart’s signature tone, a honking horn, nearby.

It has to be a coincidental because a billion people would have that same ringtone, but as I turn to seek the source of the sound, I lock eyes with Hart.

He’s staring at me with wide-eyed horror and I laugh. He’s definitely not happy to see me.

‘Leaving Melbourne already?’ I glance up at the board that shows the flight I’ve disembarked is leaving for Sydney in another hour. ‘Let me guess, you heard I was coming.’

‘Not everything revolves around you,’ he mutters, grouchy as ever, but I see the fear in his eyes.

What is he afraid of? That I might actually make sense if he hears me out? That we could actually be happy beyond a fling? That I’ll jump him in a public place?

‘In case you were wondering, I flew to Melbourne to talk to you face to face.’

When he doesn’t speak, I point to my bag. ‘The new campaign can’t go live until you sign off on it.’

‘You could’ve emailed me.’

‘Yes, but I also need a physical signature. Company policy. Alf’s stipulation, not mine. Which is stupid in this day and age, considering almost everybody accepts digital signatures.’

As expected, he’s not going to make this easy for me. ‘Besides, where’s the fun in that?’

He shakes his head, his lips compressed. ‘I don’t understand why you’re here. I was a rude asshole to you and I left without apologising. You should be furious.’

‘I am. I’m imagining strangling you with my bare hands right now.’

‘So why are you really here?’

‘Already told you, I need your signature for final approval.’ I gesture at a row of nearby seats that is vacant. ‘Can we sit and get this over with?’

Because the sooner I take care of business, the sooner I can tell him the truth. That I’m crazy about him and not willing to end things between us. Not like this.

I slip my laptop out of its case and flip open the lid. We don’t speak as it fires up and it’s an awkward silence filled with too much unsaid. But I’m aware of him with every cell of my body. We’re not touching but his thigh is close enough to mine that I want to reach out and stroke it. His strong forearms are resting on his thighs, and those capable hands…

I swallow to ease the dryness in my throat. The memory of what he can do with those hands…heat creeps into my cheeks.

I can smell him too, that signature citrus aftershave, so crisp, so fresh, I want to bury my face in his neck and guzzle until I’ve had my fill.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, fine,’ I mutter, the heat in my cheeks worsening. ‘You know me. Must be a bit of residual motion sickness from the flight.’

His eyebrows rise in blatant scepticism. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t buy my lame-ass excuse either.

Thankfully the screen flares to life and I swipe my thumb across the mouse pad to bring up the firm’s retainer agreement.

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