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“I met someone last night,” I say slowly. “He’s the CEO of a computer technology business.”
“Was that his car?”
“Yes. I was cleaning his office on Tuesday night, and I dropped something… a poem I’d written. His secretary called me and asked me if I’d come in during my lunch hour yesterday to meet him. He was really nice and handed me back the poem. We got on really well, and he asked me to go with him to a party last night. This morning, we had breakfast, and I told him that you were sick, and we were trying to raise the money. The next thing I knew, Dan was ringing to say the GoFundMe total had been met.”
Dad stares at me, studying my face as if trying to see which bits are true.
“What’s his name?” Mum asks.
“Dr. Mack Hart. He’s twenty-eight. He’s got a doctorate in computer science engineering. He’s very smart, and he’s very rich, and he’s a bit of a philanthropist. On the way to the café this morning a woman nearly drove into his car, and she hit a lamppost and smashed hers up. He paid for a truck to come and collect the car, and he paid for the repairs. I don’t think he was born with money, and he knows how hard it is not to have it, and he likes to help.”
“Did you have to sleep with him to get it?” Dad asks.
My face burns. “No!” Well, it’s sort of true.
His bottom lip trembles. “I can’t bear to put you all under this kind of strain. I hate to think of what you had to do to get that money.”
I swallow hard. “Honestly, I didn’t have to do anything. It really was sheer luck. He’s just a lovely guy. He didn’t want anything in return.”
Well, apart from getting in my knickers. But it’s a small price to pay.
I wince a little as that thought goes through my head. But I push it away. I might have principles, but I’m not going to turn down the chance for one night with the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever met just because the thought of the money makes me feel a tad uncomfortable. He’s not paying me to sleep with him—I know he’d be horrified if I thought of it like that. Getting the treatment for Dad is all that matters, and if I get one night’s amazing sex out of it too, why on earth is that a bad thing?
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I get up and go over to give him a hug.
“All that matters is that you can have the treatment now,” I say fiercely. “You don’t have to worry about anything else.”
Chapter Ten
Mack
For the first time in, well, years, I’m having trouble concentrating at work.
It’s the twenty-second of December, and tomorrow we’ll close the offices for a few weeks so the general staff can have a well-earned break. Everyone else is winding down for Christmas, but the work never stops for me. I will be taking a couple of days off, but I’ll be back in here on Monday, and the other three of my team leaders will be back on Tuesday, because we’re close to making a breakthrough on the project we’ve been doing for Elizabeth’s company, and all of us are determined to keep going until it’s done.
I’m about to start writing a report on our findings, but it takes time to get my thoughts in order, which is why I’m currently sitting at my drawing board, doodling some ideas on a giant sheet of paper while my brain shuffles the information around. It’s the day of the office party, and I can hear the music from the main room in the background. Not surprisingly, because they’re top of the charts, it’s Paua of One. It reminds me of Sidnie, and the way she shimmied her shoulders, trying to get me to dance.
Gus is lying in the puddle of sunshine by the open doors, twitching as he chases rabbits in his dreams. The late-afternoon breeze that blows in brings with it the scent of the lemon trees in the garden.
It strikes me that I’m happy. The realization surprises me, and I sit back for a moment, turning to look out at the view. I very rarely stop to smell the flowers—or lemons. Normally I’m so busy that life becomes a series of urgent moments, like beads squeezed onto a necklace with no space in between them. I like it like that, especially at Christmas, which has never been my favorite time of year. But for once, it feels good to take a minute to reflect.
Then my phone rings. Lips twisting, I pick it up and see from the screen that it’s Elizabeth. I answer it and put it on speakerphone so I can continue to doodle.
“Mack Hart.”
“Hey, Mack. It’s Elizabeth.”
“Hey you. How’s it going?”
“Good. Just checking whether you’ve remembered it’s the Huxley’s Christmas lunch tomorrow.”
“I had forgotten, but Nadine would have reminded me. Where is it?”
“Well that’s it, they had to cancel at The Lobster Shed because there was some kind of problem with the ovens. Hux is looking for an alternative; he’ll call you tomorrow morning.”
“No worries.”
“How’s the work going?”
