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I can’t tell if he’s joking—he looks a little annoyed, his jaw thrust forward, lips pressed together. But he can’t be serious. His gambling last night, the large tips, shouting the entire casino a drink...that was one thing. But losing money?
‘Why would anyone want to lose money they’d worked hard for?’ I could understand my brother’s casual attitude to the company’s turnover, having stepped into our father’s ready-to-wear shoes, but not even he would willingly risk his affluent lifestyle. I wince at my spiteful thoughts. It’s not my brother’s fault our father has old-fashioned values that make no sense and are completely disloyal.
‘They wouldn’t,’ says Cam. ‘Not real hard work—blood, sweat and tears.’ He’s still borderline hostile at this turn of the conversation.
I should steer clear of anything personal. Clearly my mention of money is some sort of issue for him, perhaps explaining why he didn’t seem to care about his losses at the casino last night.
‘What’s the difference between real hard work, as you put it, and what I do?’ His comments skate too close to my own touchy subject. No one works harder than me. ‘Everyone wants to be successful, and putting in the hours is how it happens. Isn’t that how you made your money?’
His beautiful mouth twists in earnest now, a sneer of disgust. ‘Of course, there’s nothing wrong with that—I apologise if I offended your work ethic earlier. I’ve always worked hard, too, until recently. I...’ He swallows, seeming to battle with something momentous, but then he recovers just as quickly.
I hold my own breath, waiting.
‘Six months ago I came into an obscene inheritance—more money than anyone needs, to be honest.’ He pulls into a parking spot, flashes me his live-for-the-moment smile and kills the engine as if closing down the line of conversation.
Intrigue sharpens my vision. Easygoing Cam has hidden depths. Demons. He hides them well behind that carefree persona. For some reason, he seems to be doing his best to offload the money he inherited, even lose it. It seems preposterous to someone in my field.
But this new information certainly explains the chip he seems to have on his shoulder, explains his casual attitude to gambling and extreme acts of generosity—the drinks, the car, replacing my outfit with the best money can buy.
‘I’m sensing you don’t want to talk about this any more than I want to drink shots off someone’s stomach aboard this yacht, but is it a problem for you...the inheritance?’ Prying lies outside the terms of my proposition, but I can’t help myself. Perhaps I can help him with some investment advice. Of course, he hasn’t said yes, so the point may be moot. I might never see him again.
He ignores my question, jumps out of the car and swings open my door. Reaching for my hand, he guides me from the low seat.
I ignore the sinking feeling in my chest and press on. ‘Most people would embrace such a life-changing gift.’ But I’m quickly coming to understand Cam isn’t like most people, in many respects—his two-fingered gestures at convention, the way he sprang from his seat last night to assist a stranger in need, the fact he’s even entertaining my proposition; most—no, all the men I know are way too rigid and full of their own importance to contemplate what I’m proposing. But with Cam it’s as if normal rules don’t apply, or perhaps it’s just the age difference, or perhaps he’s just exactly what he seems, killing time and enjoying his bender.
‘Let’s just say it’s more the origin of the gift that’s a problem, that and the terms...’ He locks the car and heads towards the marina, reaching back to take my hand.
I try to conceal my flinch, because despite our kiss back at the hotel, despite what we shared last night, my hand in his feels alien in its intimacy.
Alien, but thrilling every nerve in my body.
I swallow the surge of lust and longing. ‘Well, I’d be happy to advise you on how to manage your wealth beyond gambling it all away and buying impractical fast cars, if that’s of any interest to you—I have been known to make a savvy investment or two over the years.’ I’m over-talking to cover my reaction to the hand-holding.
His head snaps in my direction, his smile almost maliciously bright. ‘You think I’m frivolous.’
‘No... I didn’t mean—’
He comes to a halt. ‘Why would you want anything to do with a man who wastes money—is the sex that great?’ He delivers this with a smile, but there’s pain in the tension around his mouth.
I look down at my feet, stung but also ashamed that he’s spot-on—I have judged him, thinking only of what he can do for me, how he makes me feel, rather than what he might be hiding from, because years of swimming in the corporate shark tank have honed my instincts, so I know it’s something.
He didn’t get those calloused hands tapping computer keys. He’s hinted that we work in very different worlds. He has an inheritance he doesn’t seem to want. But he’s more than the clichéd playboy I pegged him for on first impressions, just as, despite my age and my hard-won success, there’s a little girl inside me still seeking her daddy’s approval.
Who is the real Cam? And who left him an obscene amount of money he doesn’t seem to care about?
I look up, regret that I can’t see into his beautiful eyes, which are hidden behind sunglasses, stealing my breath. ‘I’m sorry—making money is what I do. Pretty much all I’ve done my entire adult life—first for my father’s firm, and the
n for my own. It’s a hard habit to break. I didn’t mean to judge, but you’re right. I don’t know anything about you beyond the fact that, yes, the sex is pretty sensational. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to know more, so why don’t we rectify that? What’s your surname, Cam?’
He lifts his sunglasses. ‘North. Cameron North.’ He smiles then, a belter of a smile. I release a shudder, appalled at how absurdly we’ve behaved—sharing a night of incredible sex without even knowing each other’s surnames.
I smile too.
‘And you are?’ he asks, his hand outstretched in my direction for the formality of a handshake.
‘Orla Hendricks. Nice to meet you.’ We grip each other’s hand, the fresh start unspoken but welcome.
‘So, Orla Hendricks,’ he says, guiding me towards a waiting speedboat, which will take us out to the yacht. ‘Let’s go have ourselves some fun, and then we’ll talk about this proposition of yours.’ He jumps ahead of me into the speedboat and then swings me after him, his hands gripping my waist. I want to kiss him again, but now I’m unsure of where we stand, the easy pleasure-seeking vibe we shared last night long gone.
