Page 37 of Forget

She didn’t look at him as she headed for the door. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

He should call her back. Apologise. Explain.

But he’d avoided confrontation his entire life. Witnessing it on a daily basis, living through it, had done that to him.

So he let her walk out of her home office and slam the door behind her.

Belatedly realising he hadn’t asked her to help him with the awards night.

18

Jayda strutted intothe trendy South Wharf bar and immediately spotted her dinner date.

Not that this was a date, per se, but when Ky Gaskin contacted her late last night, she’d immediately agreed to meet him. The fact Brock had spent an hour scouring the software for her business then bid her a brief, impersonal goodbye had absolutely nothing to do with it.

But it did have something to do with her wearing a fitted sheath in the deepest purple with a V neckline and capped sleeves that made her look and feel sensational. She’d blowdried her hair to sleek perfection and applied smoky eye makeup, with a lipstick to match her dress. She looked bold, confident, and at complete odds with how uncertain Brock made her feel.

She hated that he had the power to play into her softer side, the side she strove to hide under a confident veneer the last few years. Having him open up to her and reveal vulnerabilities about his upbringing made her want to cuddle him and not let go. He must’ve seen some of that urge to protect on her face because he’d pulled away so fast her head spun.

She’d called him out on the way he kept withdrawing from her every time she got a glimpse into what made him tick, in thevain hope he might open up further. As if. It had been incredibly infuriating, and rather than push him for answers, she’d walked away before she said something she’d regret. Like, ‘Shove your fling up your ass.’

She didn’t back down from confrontations, not anymore, but the intensity of her anger had surprised her. She’d wanted to throttle him for trusting her enough to open up one minute, then retreating into callous indifference the next.

So when Ky had texted her ten minutes after Brock left, saying he was in town for a few days and would like to catch up, she’d jumped at the chance. Not that his invitation was in the least romantic: he’d been dating the same woman in Sydney for the last three years. But she remembered Ky fondly as being one of the few kids of her parents’ friends that she actually liked.

In their teens, they’d do bombs in the pool together, sneak vodka from their parents’ extensive bars, and play nerdy boardgames. In a way, she’d been closer to Ky than any of her girlfriends at school because guys were less complicated than girls and didn’t bitch about who had the best horse, the most expensive designer jeans, or the biggest tennis court.

Or in her case, who had a skinnier ass than her.

Besides, she had an ulterior motive in agreeing to Ky’s dinner invitation. He had a sizeable fortune, and she’d need a few good donations to kickstart her charity. He’d always been generous to her parents’ foundation in the past and the way they’d stooged him along with many others stuck in her craw.

But she wouldn’t think about her parents now. She’d enjoy her evening and try to forget how damn used Brock had made her feel last night.

Though he was probably thinking the same about her. He’d barely walked in the door when she’d jumped him, desperate to obliterate how shitty her mother had made her feel.

Later, when she’d thought they were finally connecting after he’d revealed his family background before he’d shut her out, made her feel worthless, a horrible vulnerability she’d conquered but that still reared its ugly head on occasion.

Ky caught sight of her and waved, standing as she neared the table.

‘Hey, gorgeous. You look amazing.’ He enveloped her in a squishy hug that lasted a tad longer than usual. ‘Thanks for meeting me for dinner.’

‘Any time.’

He pulled out her chair and she sat, his manners as impeccable as always. Ky channelled the movie stars of old with his three-piece charcoal-grey suit, slicked-back hair, and dazzling smile. Classically handsome, he always appeared well put together and reeking of old money. He would’ve been the perfect partner if she’d been attracted to him, but, despite her folks’ best efforts to push them together, they’d never had anything beyond a playful flirtation.

Besides, guys as perfect as Ky only served to accentuate her old insecurities: would she be good enough for someone like him? The question didn’t come from a place of self-loathing—she knew she had her good points—but more an ability to see the kind of life she wanted and being some rich guy’s arm candy wasn’t it.

He sat opposite. ‘Hope you don’t mind, I’ve ordered the degustation menu with accompanying wines?’

‘That sounds lovely,’ she said, forcing a smile, hoping he couldn’t see that one of her pet hates was other people assuming they knew what was best for her. If she’d had her way, she would’ve chosen a small piece of grilled salmon and a salad, not an interminable six courses of artfully arranged exotic fare. ‘What brings you to Melbourne?’

‘The usual. Business.’ He gave a self-deprecating shrug. ‘And to see my favourite girl, of course.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t let Anya hear you say that.’

His expression blanked and his gaze darted away. ‘We broke up.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ She reached out to place a hand over his, where it rested on the table. ‘You two were a power couple.’

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