“Hmm. Guess I’ll have to watch my mouth then.”
“Or put something in it?” She snorts and crosses her arms, tilting her head.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not telling me the whole truth about who you are, mister.”
I roll off the deck-bed, frowning, and crick my neck around to walk away from wherever she’s trying to go with this line of questioning. She’s damn right I’m not. And I’m not the only one either. She’s hiding a past as much as I am. I can see it in everything she does. I’ve spent years analysing people, making them do what I want them to without them knowing I’m pushing them there. It’s not just numbers and calculation, never has been.
I frown at my own thoughts and walk past the desk on the way to the bedroom, partly infuriated with my own past. It’s all been coercion and intimidation. Underhanded threats and quiet manoeuvring. The latent visions of that life make me glance towards my open laptop and snarl, annoyed with its presence in this holiday. A fucking life of immoral obligations and dishonest technicalities is what I’ve led. Let alone the damn seedy side of debt repayment that came with it. Why is my laptop open?
I stare at it, trying to remember using it this morning. I haven’t, or I don’t think I have. Not that it’s on, no one could get through my security, but Jesus this relaxing must really be screwing with my brain if I can’t remember booting up.
“Nate?” I carry on for the bedroom, pulling my cream slacks from the drawers. She walks in and lingers behind me, a sigh of her own thickening the air around us. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head and start getting changed, unwilling to discuss anything that’s addling my nerves. It’s not relevant to Gabby, not part of whatever this is between us.
Holiday. Calculated fucking.
“You could talk about it…if you wanted?” she says, her voice nearly a whisper. I sigh and drop the shirt I was picking up, wondering if talking about it would help me see a little more clearly. I hate to admit it, but I fucking miss him. Miss the business and the order of things. I feel like I’ve been cut in half, part enjoying the freedom and part ready to concede and walk straight back to it.
I twist to her, watching her fiddle with her sarong. She looks a little lost, uncomfortable with what she’s asking for. I’m not surprised; she’s as jittery as me when it comes to reality. I’ve not asked anything of her other than simplistic daily chatter and fucking, but I can still see that sorrow she’s drowning each night with drinks.
I turn back and pick the shirt up again, shaking my head.
“It’s not relevant. Come on, you’re right.” I shrug into the linen and rub my hands through my hair. “We should go out. Explore.”
“Okay.” She looks me over until I smile at her and reach for my phone.
“I’m just gonna check on some things first.” For some reason I can’t fathom.
“I’ll just go get my bag then. Five minutes.”
She walks away, probably as happy that the conversation’s finished as I am. This can’t be anything more than it is, and either of us dipping into that territory is stupidity. Whether I like it or not, I’ve got a life to get back to after this. Fuck knows how, or under what rules, but it’s coming regardless. I can’t just walk away from Cane life like I should. It’s in my DNA, built in, irrespective of Quinn’s actions.
I scroll through the endless emails as I wait for her, bypassing everything that’s immaterial, and concentrate on anything of vague importance. Quinn’s answering most of those at least, sorting through the garbage and keeping on top of it. It annoys me more than I’d like to admit, his tone violating all my usual intricacies. If there’s one thing my brother isn’t, it’s smooth.
Brash fucker.
Still, it works well enough for him, and infers he’s managing without me, but that last message he sent worries me. My fingers flick through the screen, straight back to the words he sent yesterday—the only ones I’m remotely interested in.
- I’m sorry. Come home.
Since when is Quinn sorry about anything? I can’t remember him ever being sorry about one damn thing in his life. And although he fucking should be, it’s the last thing I expected him to say to me. I expected intimidation, fury or even manipulation to get me back there. Not this nicety.
Although, he did beat the crap out of me. Perhaps he is sorry. Maybe he needs me for something. I frown, confused about that damn loyalty again, and glance back to my laptop. Maybe I should check the accounts, work out what’s going on. I walk over and slam the lid closed as it should be, then tuck it into the safe behind the desk, snorting as I walk away.
Not my problem.
“You ready?” she calls, head poking around the hall door and one leg creeping around the corner, as if teasing me into fucking again.
I pocket the phone and abandon my feelings on Quinn with the same move, choosing to look at something that makes me feel happy for once in my life instead.
She does.
Everything about her. Smile, legs, attitude. She’s a breath of fresh air in a world that’s been filled with nothing but tension my whole life. I chuckle and look down at the strappy high heeled sandal, gold bracelets around her ankle dangling gracefully.
“This isn’t the way to get me out of the door, Gabby.” Her leg stretches, toe pointed as the ankle swirls around.
“Ah, but bananas?”
