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IT DOESN’T TAKE a rocket scientist to realise I hit a big fucking nerve. I watch as she eats a piece of sushi, noticing the small details. The way her newly cut bangs come across her brow, hiding her eyes when she dips her head so I find my fingers itching to reach across and pin it out of her way. The sweep of her lower lip as she pauses and thinks—no doubt about the argument we just had. This is all new territory for me. With the exception of Emily, I’ve never been with a woman long enough to argue with her.
I’ve never got close to having any kind of conversation that would even lead to an argument.
Hadn’t I predicted that something like this could happen? When I was talking to Dimitrios I foreshadowed that it wasn’t as straightforward as a usual business proposition, and this is why. Except with Jessica, nothing would ever be as straightforward as a normal business transaction because she’s singularly uninterested in financial gain.
I frown, reaching for a piece of sashimi, dipping it heavily in soy and wasabi before eating it, my eyes still resting on her face. She lifts her gaze to me and something throbs low in my gut. I smile, and it’s a smile laced with a question. She returns it, her lips a little tight, her expression hard to read.
I swallow, wishing we hadn’t argued. Wishing I hadn’t offered to buy her fucking business. Wishing I’d just kept in my lane.
But isn’t her business my lane? Not her business, per se, but business in general. I’m the opposite of Jessica. I do what I do because I’m good at it. Dimitrios and I inherited our father’s media empire, but we didn’t rest on our laurels. We took what was already a successful global enterprise and turned it into the major player in all forms of media. We invested heavily in online news distribution, buying up any trending website particularly as pertained to news and opinion blogs, we invested in infrastructure early, recognising that fast and reliable Internet access only bolstered our business model. We did all this because we like to win. I like to win. I see a problem and have to work out the solution; I see an opportunity and am always compelled to act on it.
Jessica Johnson’s business model is a massive opportunity.
But she doesn’t want to make the most of that. I lift another piece of sushi, dipping it in soy sauce then placing it over my plate.
‘Jessica?’
She looks at me again and all I can see is her eyes as they’d been when we made love earlier, tears in them, recrimination, hurt. Jesus. My stomach feels as though it’s filled with rocks. She’s not the only one afraid of hurting someone she cares about. When I was seventeen, on one of our trips back to Sydney, I walked into Mum’s room to find her crying. She was looking at a photo of us in a frame she kept beside the bed—both of us smiling on the deck of Dad’s yacht. She’d dashed the tears away and smiled weakly, but it had left a hole in my heart because finally I’d seen for myself the grief she’d been living with for so many years, a grief that our absence had caused. A grief our father had forced on her with his selfish, thoughtless actions. I am not the kind of man who puts women through that. I won’t hurt Jessica; and yet I have. Fear kicks me in the gut.
‘Mmm?’ Her voice is normal, but I see beyond what she’s projecting. I see the effort she’s making to look like always, even when she’s still making sense of what happened between us. But she’s here. She didn’t bolt. She didn’t storm out and tell me she never wanted to see me again. That’s something.
‘The night we met, you said something I found really interesting.’
‘I should hope so.’
I smile—it’s a hint of normality, of the way we always interact, sparking off one another quickly and easily. I could take the easy way out and roll with it, turn the conversation to something non-controversial and easy, but I don’t.
‘You said that She-Shakes wasn’t intended to be a money-making venture.’
She brist
les slightly, and I feel her uncertainty. To discuss her app is to revisit everything that’s just happened. But Jessica Johnson is brave; she’s someone who faces things head-on, rather than shirking from anything unpleasant. She nods, sipping her glass of wine before responding.
‘Yes. I said that.’
‘I didn’t think much about it at the time. But I’ve wondered about it since. It was almost like you were annoyed at the acclaim you’ve received.’
‘The success of She-Shakes is the only reason I’m able to help so many women,’ she contradicts carefully.
‘Mmm, and that makes sense. I definitely felt there was a level of irritation though.’
She eats a piece of avocado sushi, then reclines back in her chair a little, her gaze locking to mine. ‘You’re right.’
I knew I was, but having her admit it does something strange to my chest. Puffs it up and weighs it down. ‘Why?’
Her smile is sardonic, laced with self-mockery. ‘That’s hard to explain.’
I wait, my eyes holding hers, challenging her to try.
After a moment, she nods once, then lifts her foot to the seat, bending her leg so her knee is beneath her chin.
‘I’m gratified by its success. How can I not be, right?’
I nod, waiting for her to continue.
She sighs after a moment, then reaches for another piece of sushi. Silence stretches between us and I begin to wonder if she’s not going to give me any more information. Impatience zips through me.
Finally, she speaks. ‘When I was a kid, I freaking idolised my dad. I grew up thinking he was just the greatest. Everything he did I wanted to do, but better, so he’d be proud of me. He used to bring me to his office, let me sit in on board meetings. I’m talking when I was young, like six or seven. And I’d sit there and take notes, and ask him questions on the drive home—God knows what his colleagues and staff thought.’ She laughs, a sweet sound that adds to the weight on my chest.
