Page 30 of Forget

How else was a woman supposed to get the lowdown on a guy?

Sure, he had a plethora of publicity, articles, and advertisements on his whiz-bang company, but she wanted to know the important stuff: like where he liked to vacation, what he liked to do in his downtime, and who he liked to do it with.

Annoyingly, information on his company provided a lot of the latter. Alot. At every big function he attended and at every award ceremony he had a stunning woman on his arm; a different one each time.

It bugged the crap out of her.

She felt like a fool doing this in the first place. At twenty-eight, she shouldn’t be doing online reconnaissance for a guy she wouldn’t see again after two weeks. And it sure as hell shouldn’t bug her that he had a penchant for beautiful women. He could date whomever he pleased.

‘Idiot,’ she muttered, shutting down the search engine with a stab of a button on the keyboard.

Her, not him. Brock was a genius, a multimillionaire, seriously hot, and a trillion other things that could feed intoevery one of her insecurities if she let them. Old doubts like,‘What’s someone like him see in a fatty like you? Why are you reading too much into his compliments? He’s only spending time with the cow for the free milk.’

Thankfully, spending last night with him had made her feel incredible. Special. Wanted. He had this knack for doing and saying the right things that made her feel the most cherished woman in the world and she loved the validation. He reinforced positive body image and then some. If she ever allowed those old uncertainties to creep in, sex with Brock would kick its ass.

She pushed back from her desk where she’d been setting up for Brock to make a start on her website. He would arrive within the hour and she wanted to ensure she presented a professional front for the hours they’d be working together. She’d donned a black pinstripe skirt suit with a pearl high-necked silk blouse beneath, and her requisite four-inch stilettos. She wanted to make a clear delineation between their business and their fling.

Which she’d believe if she hadn’t worn a sexy sheer black teddy beneath her professional ensemble on the off chance they wrapped up business faster than anticipated.

Her phone pinged with an incoming message and her heart-rate accelerated when she glimpsed Brock’s name on the screen.

Sorry. Can’t make it. Something came up. Will be in touch.

Jayda stared at the message for a long time, inevitably trying to read between the lines. She could accept that he’d cancelled, but her eyes were repeatedly drawn to his casual, ‘Will be in touch.’ It sounded so impersonal. As if he hadn’t been inside herlast night. As if he hadn’t worshipped her with his mouth. As if he didn’t give a crap.

The old insecure wimp she’d once been wouldn’t call him to reschedule, but the second she’d undressed for him last night, requiring more trust than she’d ever given anyone else, meant she wouldn’t hold back over something as simple as a phone call.

However, before she could call him, her phone pinged again with another incoming message.

I’m outside. Please let me in.

Her mother.

Jayda had specifically asked her parents to leave her alone and to not contact her while she gave them a month to right their wrongs. Until she realised launching her own charity would raise questions amongst her family’s moneyed circles and she needed to ensure her folks wouldn’t sabotage her new venture before it got off the ground.

She’d arranged to meet Peony in three hours, to ensure that when Brock arrived here to work they’d be forced to maintain a clear demarcation between business and pleasure. Two hours spent on her website before she politely announced her mother would be arriving any second, ensuring they stuck to business and she wouldn’t be tempted to drag him into her bedroom.

She should’ve known her mother wouldn’t stick with the programme. But at least Brock wouldn’t be around to witness what promised to be yet another awkward confrontation.

She flicked off the lights in her office, leaving a desk lamp on, and closed the door. Dragging in a few steadying breaths, she opened the front door, quashing the impulse to run into her mother’s arms, seeking comfort that never came: not when she’d been teased in primary school for being overweight, not when Sasha had died, not when she’d discovered her parents had beenfiltering hundreds of thousands of dollars from the charity fund she worked with for them.

‘What are you doing here, Mum? You’re three hours early—’

‘Please, Jayda. Can I come in?’

‘I’m busy—’

‘We’ve put things right and I want to show you proof.’

Tears filled her mother’s big blue eyes but Jayda knew from past experience that her mother was a consummate actress and could summon tears at will.

‘That was fast,’ Jayda said. ‘I guess the threat of being exposed worked.’

‘You have every right to be angry—’

‘I’m not only angry, Mum, I’m disgusted.’

A neighbour’s curtain twitched and Jayda sighed, knowing they couldn’t have this conversation within hearing distance of the ageing couple next door. She opened the door wider and stepped back, waiting until her mother entered before closing it.

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