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She had an inkling. She’d seen Alan’s face shift from delighted to dumbstruck. He was responsible for the segment and yep it sucked. No passionate declarations of love, no juicy details, no wait for the wedding sequel. After the first few minutes, channel-hoppers would’ve been annoyed enough exercise their fingers. Meanwhile she had a quick wardrobe change and a show to present.
An hour and a half later, Darcy was ready to leave the studio. She’d gone from Channel Five’s hottest new celebrity to blackboard special disappointment of the day. Liarne sulked. Alan demanded. He wanted a Will Parker exclusive interview. She owed it to the network, the program, herself and Parker. Alan wasn’t entertaining a no. She had six weeks to deliver it. The ‘or else’ part was that she’d find herself in a breach of contract for not performing her duties to the best of her abilities, and the network would tangle her up in a damages suit for a lot more than they’d paid her to date.
She wasn’t even sure they could legitimately do more than simply sack her. She had to talk to her lawyer. Her feet were sore, her head was ringing, and her phone was full of messages from journalists offering interviews the network had forbidden her to take. Not that they’d needed to do that. More attention was the last thing she wanted. What she needed was to be alone. What she got was a security escort to her car to avoid the media who’d set up camp to wait for her outside the studios.
She almost walked past Bo because she had her head down, and thought he was another journalist. She almost walked past him when she realised he wasn’t. Will Parker had cost her enough for one day, maybe for a lifetime.
39. Home
“It is not the failure of others to appreciate your abilities that should trouble you, but rather your failure to appreciate theirs.” — Confucius
In Will’s suite at the Sheraton, Ted Barstow poured two Scotches. Not Will’s beloved Lagavulin, but he was beyond caring. He needed a drink before he watched Darcy rightfully dismember him on the national nightly news.
He didn’t know if she’d worked out he’d lied about not remembering her, or if she thought remembering her was the cause of his apparent meltdown. That paled into insignificance beside the fact he’d embarrassed her professionally in front of pretty much her entire industry. If she didn’t try to take him out by painting him all sorts of wrong on her show, he’d be oddly disappointed.
God he wanted to talk to her.
There was still a posse of reporters and cameras staking out the hotel. He was stuck, and sneaking out was out of the question anyway because he’d endured an hour of righteous indignation and incoherent yelling on the phone with Pete, and promised to stay put, and to leave Darcy alone. It seemed the fairest thing to do for both of them.
Pete he could handle. Pete got over his outrage at being duped and outmanoeuvred because Will delivered Parker its continued freedom. Of course not the way he’d expected, but a win is a win no matter how you fall over the line.
Ted Barstow agreed to enter into a joint venture with Parker instead of pushing the outright takeover. But he’d only done so after Will cracked up.
When Ted stepped in, stopped the impromptu press conference, and dragged Will back inside the hotel, he’d only gotten as far as the lounge setting in front of the reception desk and had to sit.
In his head there was red fire and hot blood, black smoke and gunmetal. He smelled sulphur. He’d put his hand up to his shoulder, feeling again the searing pain of the bullet tearing into his skin.
Ted was there. “Will, son, are you okay there?”
There was pain in his ribs and he couldn’t breathe. His ears were ringing.
Ted said, “Someone get him water.”
She was screaming and screaming, torn from his grip. He tried to protect himself, too many of them, they wanted to kill him like Norman did. He went down and couldn’t get up, too much blood.
“Give him some air.”
There was a hand on his back, he flinched, shrugged it off. He put his head down and sweat dripped off his chin onto the fancy floor. There was a glass in his hand, he gulped the water down.
Ted asked if he wanted a doctor.
He shook his head, “No,” looked up into Ted Barstow’s big flushed face. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine, son.”
He’d sat back in the seat, still straining to breathe. Ted passed him a handkerchief and he wiped his face. “I’m fine now.”
“What the fuck, Will? Are you sick?”
“No, no. I just...there was a reason I shouldn’t have checked myself out of hospital. I was back in the jail, back in the riot. I’d blocked all that out. I knew it happened, but I stopped myself thinking about it. Figured it’d be better not to go there. But being ambushed like that, the questions, seeing Darcy, I wasn’t ready.”
Ted’s hand on his shoulder. “We never are, son. You had me going there for a minute. Looked like you were going to pass out. That would’ve been a new one for that mob. They make us captains of industry squirm, but we don’t generally pass out.”
“It would’ve added to my list of failures. It must be un-Australian for a business leader to faint.”
Ted had laughed. “You’ve guts, son. Coming here, fighting for your business, after what you went through. I like that. My old man was a mean cuss, whopped me around some. Always said it was for my own good. Gave me nightmares for years.”
That was when Will knew the tide in their discussions had turned. At the very moment he was showing almost every weakness he owned, his arch rival was seeing something in Will he respected. The ability to get knocked down, and to get up again and fight.
