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“That would be lovely,” I reply, meaning it.
“Cool. I’ll pick you up at the same place as this morning at six, okay?”
“Yes, fine. Um, where do you live?”
“I’ve got a house in Island Bay. It’s right near the beach. Views over Taputeranga Island. It’s small and quiet. I hope you’ll like it.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Why does he want me to like it? It doesn’t matter if it’s small—he owns his own home near the beach. It’s a million times more than what I’d ever be able to achieve.
He parks outside the office, and we get out and go into the building.
“Morning,” he says cheerfully to Sasha behind reception.
“Morning, Mr. Chevalier!” She smiles at me. “Morning, Ms. O’Clery!”
“Good morning.” My face flushes as we walk past her, and I glance up at him as he pushes open the swinging doors. “Does everyone know… about me… and you…”
“I doubt it,” he says, amused. “Although I expect your condition is a subject of gossip.”
“Are you going to tell everyone?”
“I wasn’t.” He catches my arm, holding me back as someone comes through a door pushing a trolley carrying computer equipment.
His hand is warm on my skin, and as he pulls me back against him, I turn my head and catch the scent of his aftershave. His jaw is only six inches away, close enough that I could lift up onto my tiptoes and kiss it if I wanted to. My gaze skims down his short beard to the swell of his Adam’s apple. He’s wearing a tie, so I can’t see the hollow at the base of his throat.
He looks at me, and for a moment, I’m transported back to the evening at the hotel, when he touched my freckles and asked if they were all over my body, then when I nodded, demandedShow me.
He doesn’t smile, but his brown eyes warm. “Watch where you’re going,” he scolds, releasing my arm, and I follow him along the corridor.
My pulse speeds up as we approach the offices, and I hear voices and laughter emanating from the secretary’s room. Saxon strides in, but I hesitate in the doorway. Kip’s there, talking to another guy who’s obviously their brother. He’s just as handsome as the twins, his hair a shade darker, with designer stubble rather than a beard, and a cocky insouciance that suggests he’s a year or two younger. Marion’s also there, making coffee at the table. She looks up and smiles, and the guys turn and look at me.
“Hey,” Saxon says to his brother, and they clasp their right hands, then shoulder bump. “How was Christchurch?”
“Yeah, good.” Damon answers, but he’s looking at me. “This must be Catie. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I walk into the office, self-conscious as his gaze slides down me. “I bet,” I say wryly, and his lips curve up. “Pleased to meet you.” I offer him my hand, and he shakes it.
I wait for Saxon to reveal the details of the scan, but instead he turns to Marion as she says, “Saxon?” and walks to the desk. She picks up a small Jiffy bag and passes it to him. “This came by courier ten minutes ago.”
“Oh, yeah.” He tears open the top as I walk around the desk and sit in the chair. I pull the keyboard toward me, watching as he opens the bag and tips an object onto his palm. It’s a velvet box, about six inches by four. He opens it, studies the contents, then closes it again.
Finally, he looks up at me. Lips curving up, he hands it out to me. “Happy birthday,” he says softly.
“Oh, is it your birthday?” Marion looks delighted. “I’ll get a cake for morning tea.”
Saxon smiles at her, then looks back at me. I stare at the box.
“You can open it,” he clarifies, waggling his hand.
I take it from him slowly. Conscious of them all watching, I lever the lid open.
On a black velvet cushion sits a silver pendant on a chain. It’s in the shape of my name, Catie, and the dot above the ‘i’ is a tiny heart, embellished with a sparkling jewel.
Holy fuck. It’s not a diamond, surely? No, of course it’s not. It must be one of those cubic zirconia gems. The engagement ring that Josh bought Louise had one, and it looked just like a diamond.
Not that I care. Nobody has ever bought me a present like this before. I don’t mind what it’s made of.
Around me, I can see them exchanging glances out of the corner of my eye, but I’ve lost the power of speech. All I can do is stare at it.
