Page 57 of The CEO

“I guess you have some questions—”

“Who are you?” She hated the uncertainty, the accusation in her voice. She shouldn’t have pried, should’ve shoved the photos back where they belonged, but now she’d seen them she needed answers.

Running a hand through his mussed hair, he padded over to join her. “I own this shipping company.”

“Youownit?”

He nodded, managing to appear proud and bashful and ashamed all at the same time. “I’m the new CEO of Madigan Shipping. My uncle used to run the company, but he recently handed over the reins to me, though we haven’t formally announced it yet.”

She didn’t get this. Why would a CEO be working on a ship he ran?

“So what’s the PR stint all about? Trying to keep a tight leash on your employees?”

“Nothing like that.”

He took a robe hanging off a wardrobe hook and offered it to her, and mustering as much dignity as an indignant naked woman could, she shrugged into it like a queen into royal robes, grateful when he slipped his shirt and trousers back on. She could do without the distraction while they had this cozy chat, though by the sense of foreboding clawing its way to consciousness, she knew they’d never be cozy again once they finished talking.

Indicating she take a seat, he perched on the edge of the bed. “The company’s being fleeced, losing big bucks to someone in a high position feeding our trade secrets to the opposition. We’re being undercut all over the place and I need to find the culprit and plug the leak.”

He paused, suitably chastened. “To collect the evidence I need, I had to go undercover. This ship is new to the fleet, no one knows who I am other than as the PR manager. As far as they know, James Madigan is still the CEO, a distant figurehead they’d never connect with me.”

She couldn’t fault him for being dedicated to his job, to want to protect the company he owned. She of all people understood what it was like to be driven to be the best in their field.

But if he didn’t work on ships any more, if he was now stuck behind that great big desk she’d glimpsed in the photos…

“Where are you based?”

The instant he looked away, she knew.

He wasn’t married to his precious job aboard ships.

He wasn’t so enamored of the sea he’d never leave it for her.

He wasn’t interested in her, period.

At least, not enough to have a real relationship beyond this fling or whatever it was they’d had.

“Where are you based, Zac?” Her voice had risen and his gaze locked on hers, regret mingling with an apology in those endless blue depths.

“Sydney.”

“Right.”

“Look, Lana, I was going to tell you—”

“Save it.”

Turning her back on him, she slipped off his robe and yanked on her old clothes lying in a sad heap on the floor. A bit like her pathetic dreams of happily ever-after.

She stalked to the door without a backward glance, had her hand on the handle before he crossed the small space and slammed his palm on the door.

“You need to hear me out.”

Holding her breath, determined not to breathe in and let his heady scent, his proximity, undermine her resolve to walk out of here with what little dignity she had left, she turned to face him. “Actually, I don’t.”

He didn’t budge. “I didn’t tell you because I’m not based in Sydney over the next year.”

She wouldn’t ask him where he was going, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing a small part of her was curious, that a small part of her still cared.

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