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“Not really. Sorry about that.”
“So, what, you’re going to browbeat me into having sex with you?”
He gives me an impatient look. “I won’t be doing anything to you that you don’t want done. I’m going to seduce you until you beg me to make love to you.”
“Beg you? Ha! I’ve been turning you down since I was twenty. I think I’ll be able to resist you.”
“You think that was seduction? Girl, you have no idea. You are going to be the full focus of my attention from now on. I’m going to use all my manly wiles on you.”
Despite my frustration, that makes me laugh. “Your what?”
“It’s the opposite of womanly wiles, except I get to wrestle a bear afterward.”
He always manages to disarm me with humor. I lean forward and rest my forehead on his chest, and he presses his lips to the top of my head. “Coconut,” he murmurs. “You make me think of Bounty bars. Sweet and somehow exotic at the same time.”
I inhale the scent of his aftershave, huff a sigh, then straighten. He smiles.
“Are you still coming to Joanna’s birthday party on Saturday?” he asks.
“Yeah, of course.”
“You’ve got four days to think about it, then. I’ll expect your answer on Saturday.”
“I’ve given you my answer.”
“Thirty percent,” he says, ignoring me. “Plus orgasms.” He opens the door and gestures for me to precede him out.
I leave the room, scowling as I walk back to the elevator. The man’s insufferable. There’s no way I’m going to agree to sleep with him.
Even if now, I can’t think about anything else.
Chapter Four
Elizabeth
On Saturday, I arrive at Huxley’s parents’ place around 3:30 p.m. They live in a huge house on Shore Road with a gorgeous view across Hobson Bay. I have to wait for the white double gates to slowly swing open before I ease my Mazda MX5 convertible down the drive.
Several cars are parked out the front, including my own parents’ Ford Ranger, as they’re good friends with Huxley’s parents. Huxley’s beloved obsidian Mercedes AMG GT is also already here, snoozing like a panther in the afternoon sunshine. I slide the Mazda into the space next to it and turn off the engine. After unclipping Nymph’s safety harness from the seatbelt, I get out, and she leaps across my seat, out the door, and sprints around the side of the house toward the back garden.
Smiling, I retrieve the wrapped present from the boot and follow the poodle.
Huxley’s mum, Helene, is an artist, a very good one, and sells her paintings at a local gallery. I doubt she makes a fortune, though, and most of their fortune has come through his father. Peter is in banking and, like his son, has a flair for mathematics and economics, and an astute business sense that I’m pretty sure can’t be taught. Thirty years of clever investment in stocks and shares have obviously resulted in a very generous bank balance, and even the fact that they’ve had six kids hasn’t noticeably drained it.
“Elizabeth!” Helene has come around the side of the house to meet me, and she holds out her arms as I walk toward her. “Thank you so much for coming!”
“Hey.” I give her a big hug. She’s taller than me, not that that means much because most people are, with shoulder-length blonde hair that’s still not showing any gray. Her figure reflects the fact that she’s had six children, but she always dresses beautifully, and I love that she clearly doesn’t care. “How’s the birthday girl?” I ask.
“In her element.” She links arms with me as we head for the garden. “I’d forgotten what it was like to have a dozen children in the house. Girls are so much easier than boys, though. I remember Oliver’s thirteenth birthday party. It poured down, and it was absolute chaos with them playing rugby indoors. Oliver fell down the stairs and gave himself a bump on his forehead the size of a walnut, Mack broke a lamp, and Victoria ate too much birthday cake and vomited all over my favorite Persian rug.”
I laugh and give her an affectionate squeeze. Victoria is a transgender woman and went to the same boys’ school as Mack and Huxley when she was young. Both my and Huxley’s parents have been extremely supportive of her over the years, which we’ve all appreciated.
“Was Huxley as cute as a boy as he is now?” I ask.
“He was adorable. His hair was a lot curlier and blonder then.”
“He was blond?” I laugh.
“He looked like an angel. I always said I should have called him Gabriel.”
