Page 2 of Daddy Down Under

I waved my hand dismissively, turning to look out the window so he wouldn’t see the doubt I feared was written all over my face. “We’ll see, Oliver. Let’s focus on the business at hand for now.”

“Okay.”

“I’m heading home to pack. Please call me when you have my travel details.”

As Oliver’s footsteps retreated, I let out a shaky breath. What the hell was I doing? But it was too late to back out now. Maybe this impulsive trip was exactly what I needed to shake myself out of this funk.

Or maybe I was running away from problems I couldn’t solve with money or power. Only time would tell.

My driver was waiting for me at the curb, so Oliver must’ve given him a heads-up I was heading out. “Good evening, Mr. Sullivan.”

“Good evening, Thomas. I’d like to go home, please.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Sullivan.”

My thoughts were all over the place on the short drive to my Manhattan penthouse. I’d bought it because it overlooked Central Park, which would be calming, the Realtor had assured me. The reality was that I barely spent time there, so the view didn’t matter all that much.

“Thank you, Thomas,” I said when he dropped me off in front of my building.

“Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Sullivan.”

I got out, ignoring the paparazzi hanging about, probably freezing their asses off in the cold in the hopes of getting a good picture. The building housed nothing but celebrities, and I was the least interesting of them all—though the paps loved shots of me in “compromising” positions with other men. Not sure what was compromising about kissing and fucking when I was single, but whatever floated their boat. I never paid attention to those kinds of tabloids anyway, my taste running more toward theWall Street Journal.

After greeting the concierge and the security guards, I took the private elevator to my floor. While sipping from a glass of a superb thirty-year-old Talisker, I started packing. Well, throwing things haphazardly into a suitcase, more accurately. I never packed for myself—that was one of the many things Oliver always did for me. But how hard could it be?

Suits, shirts, ties, socks. Underwear. I needed underwear. Fuck, they weren’t back from the dry cleaning service till tomorrow. I’d have to buy some new ones. In the meantime, I could use those godawful blue silk boxers. They were a classic example of expense not equaling taste. Or quality. As hideous as they were, they’d have to do for now.

My mind wandered as I moved about the room. When was the last time I’d done something spontaneous like this? When was the last time I’d done anything for myself without analyzing every potential business angle?

I paused, a silk tie dangling from my hand. The truth was, I couldn’t remember. Somewhere along the way, I’d built walls so high that even I couldn’t see over them. I’d convinced myself that loneliness was the price of success, that emotional connections were liabilities. But now the emptiness I’d been trying to ignore yawned wide open, threatening to swallow me whole.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the melancholy thoughts. This trip was about business, about expanding my empire. Nothing more. If I could also use it to stave off the boredom, that would be a bonus, but that was it.

But even as I tried to convince myself, I knew it wasn’t true. This spontaneous journey to Melbourne felt different, charged with a potential I couldn’t quite name.

My phone rang, and I put it on speaker. “I’ve made travel arrangements,” Oliver said, his voice crisp and efficient. “Unfortunately, your private jet was scheduled for maintenance since you weren’t supposed to be traveling, and I was unable to secure a private charter for that long of a distance. But I’ve booked you on a commercial flight out of JFK that leaves early tomorrow morning. First class, of course. You’ll have to switch planes in LA and then again in Sydney.”

Commercial? I pinched the bridge of my nose. The thought of dealing with crowds and security lines made my head throb. Jesus, I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d flown commercial. And yes, I was well aware of how fucking privileged that sounded. Still, this wasn’t Oliver’s fault. “Okay, thanks. And accommodation?”

“I’ve contacted the Queen Victoria Hotel in Melbourne’s Central Business District to secure their presidential suite for your stay.”

I was impressed, as always, by Oliver’s lightning-fast efficiency. “Good work, Oliver. What about transportation once I’m there?”

“I’ve arranged for a luxury car service to be at your disposal.”

As Oliver rattled off more details, a soft feeling hit me. His dedication was unwavering, even when I was being an ass. I felt guilty, knowing I’d brushed off his genuine concern earlier. “Thank you, Oliver,” I said softly, interrupting his rundown of my itinerary. “I appreciate your thoroughness. And your concern.”

“Of course. Are you sure you’re okay with your flight? I could try to reschedule for later this week when your jet will be available again.”

“No,” I said quickly, perhaps too quickly. “No, it’s fine. I need to be in Melbourne. A commercial flight won’t kill me.”

Oliver’s sigh was barely audible. “What if…? What if I came with you? You’ll need someone to take care of you, and it will be near impossible for me to do a proper job if I’m in New York, what with the time difference and all.”

For a brief, tempting moment, I let myself imagine it: wandering the streets of Melbourne with Oliver, his infectious laugh brightening my days. But then reality came crashing back. Oliver, with his perfect ass and those lips I’d caught myself staring at more times than I cared to admit. Oliver, who was not only my employee but one of the few people I truly trusted.

“That’s kind of you,” I managed, my throat suddenly dry. “But I think it’s best if I handle this one solo.”

I didn’t dare say more, afraid he’d hear the truth in my voice: that having him so close, in a foreign city, with no work buffer between us and both of us single… It would be far too tempting. I’d end up crossing a line I couldn’t uncross, jeopardizing our working relationship and the friendship I valued more than I cared to admit. Somehow, he’d become my only friend, and I wasn’t willing to lose him.

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