Off Limits

I nod. It makes sense that he’d want to give Lucy’s sister the courtesy of a heads-up.

‘Fucking paparazzi scum!’ he says loudly, and he makes me jump when he slams his hand against the chair nearest to him. ‘I wish they’d fuck off!’

‘You’re kind of famous,’ I point out gently, and despite the palpable stress in the room my lips twist into an awkward smile.

But he’s not in a joking mood. I sober.

‘I guess my parents’ thing...’

‘I shouldn’t have bloody come.’

The intensity of his reaction surprises me. I understand that he’s upset; I am, too. This is invasive and unwelcome. And the timing couldn’t be worse—just as we’re finally morphing into something else, something perfect, we’ve been put in a position of needing to define what we are. But still...

‘Jack.’ I command his attention with a clear voice. ‘This isn’t the end of the world, is it?’

He stares at me, and I don’t know if he’s trying to work out why I don’t get it or trying to calm himself down. But he doesn’t speak.

I cannot make sense of this without caffeine—that much is certain. I move to the kitchen and fish a pod out of the canister, slip it in place. The whir of the coffee machine is the only noise in the cavernous apartment. I let it run through and then sip it, strangely pleased when it scalds my tongue.

‘Jack?’ I say again.

He’s looking at me like he doesn’t recognise me. A month ago this would have cowered me, but not now. Not after what we’ve shared.

‘Damn it, Jack. You’re freaking out for no reason. This is just a stupid gossip story. We can ignore it.’

‘No reason?’ he repeats, the words quiet but infused with angry disbelief. ‘No reason?’

‘Yes—no reason. So what? So what if you and I are seeing one another? Who cares? What’s the big deal?’

‘Jesus...’ He spins away, his back to me, rigid as hell.

‘I mean it.’

I take another sip of coffee, but when he continues to stare out of the window I slam the cup onto the marble benchtop, cross to him and grab his arm. I yank on it, drawing him around to face me. He’s holding on—being CEO, cold, professional, unfeeling. But he’s feeling everything. I know that now.

‘We’ve been sleeping together for over a month. We had sex in Clint-bloody-Sheridan’s home office. Did it never occur to you that some time, somehow, it would come out?’

‘I never thought about it,’ he dismisses. ‘Or I sure as hell would have been more careful.’

I change tack, folding his admission into a part of my brain that will later want to analyse all that is being said and done.

‘Why is this a big deal?’

My eyes stare into his even as he looks away. I see every flicker of emotion on his face, and it’s a little like watching a ship sink all the way from shore. I can’t reach him. He’s being devoured by an ocean that I cannot cross.

‘Apart from the gross invasion of my privacy?’

I dismiss that immediately. ‘You’re a big boy and you’re used to that. What else?’

‘It’s too much.’ He shakes his head with weariness, running a hand over his stubbled jaw. ‘Gemma, look... I have a thing this morning. I’m already running late.’

His sentence sits between us like a little row of tiny bombs. I can’t help the look of disgust that crosses my face. ‘A thing?’ I ask, scorn deep in my tone.

‘Yes, a thing. A breakfast.’

‘You’re kidding me?’

I lift a hand to his chest. He stands there for a moment, a tight smile stretched on his face, and then he steps back, dislodging my touch, breaking our contact.