The Ruby Riot Series: Box Set Part 114

I can't.

I grab Nate's hair and pull him away. "Nate. Please, let me talk to you."

He sneaks a hand down the front of my pyjamas, fingers skimming between my legs. "It can wait."

"No. It can't." With impressive self-control, I pull his fingers from the wet heat I'm seconds away from letting him explore. I could do this, forget about last night, about everything but pleasure.

He huffs a hot breath against my hair and moves away. "Fine. Tell me. Then show me your bedroom."

Our breathing matches in pace and heat, and the turned on, Nate-s.e.x craving part of me takes over. When I tell him that will be it. Over. At least once more with him.

The front door slams and I shove at Nate. "Get off me!"

"What?" Bewilderment fills his darkened eyes.

"Someone's coming."

"Who? A housemate?"

I eye the door, relieved we're dressed and not half-naked on the table.

"Here. Sit down." A flushed-faced Nate stares as I push my empty mug towards him.

I'm tying the robe I grabbed from a nearby chair and pulling the material high enough to cover my unb.u.t.toned pyjamas when the kitchen door pushes open.

"Hi, Mum," I say with a smile.

Her and Nate's expressions vie for the most stupefied. "Josh is putting his things in the bedroom," she says to me.

"This is Nate," I say.

"I know. h.e.l.lo." She casts a look at my mussed hair and I self-consciously smooth it. "Did he stay last night?"

Way to treat me like an eighteen year old. "No."

Nate continues to stare at my mum as if she broke into the house and is holding us hostage. "You live with your mum?"

"No," I say.

"Why's he here?" Mum asks without looking at Nate. "Really, Riley? After everything you've told me about him?"

"Mum..." I warn.

She shakes her head in the silent disappointment mothers perfect through years of parenting teens. But I'm not a teen.

"None of my business, I know." She drops her brown handbag on the table. "Oh. Flowers. Very nice. Do you want me to put them in a vase?"

"Please." Perspiration covers my back, palms slick as I rub them on my robe, waiting for Josh's footsteps. Every day he jumps downstairs two at time, and the noise never bothers me. Today, I'm terrified. I count the thumps. One, two, three...

Josh appears in the doorway, dressed in grey jogging bottoms and a short blue coat, cheeks pink.

"Hey, Joshy," I say with a smile.

Josh approaches and holds out a snowdrop. "I picked this for you. Nanna found these today in her garden."

"That's very thoughtful of you, sweetheart," I say and take the tiny white flower. "Maybe Nanna can put that in some water with the other flowers too."

I can't look at Nate, and the room spins but without the alcohol this time.

"Who are you?" Josh asks Nate as he clambers onto my lap.

"I was thinking the same thing," Nate replies and our eyes meet. The dark l.u.s.t is replaced by a familiar expression: the cold, closed-down Nate.

"Are you Mummy's boyfriend?"

s.h.i.+t. I rest my elbows on the table and put my head in my hands. The kitchen clock ticks seconds by as Nate doesn't respond. I peek through my fingers at the sound of a chair sc.r.a.ping back and Nate stands, resting his hands on the back of the chair.

"I have to get off now, Riley," he says in a quiet voice. "Things to do."

"Okay."

Because what else can I say?

Josh climbs down from my lap. "Can I have some juice, Nanna?"

Paralysed by the shock of the inevitable situation caused by my cowardice, I listen as the front door opens and closes.

"I'm going for a shower," I say to Mum before she can launch into twenty questions. I walk upstairs, arms and legs shaking. This is what happens when you avoid a situation. The beast created creeps up and ambushes when it can no longer be contained.

I grab a towel for the shower, not missing the irony that Nate trying to be the gentleman he isn't led to a screw-up out of my control. One that has guaranteed today will be the last I see of him.

30.

RILEY.

Nate doesn't contact me.

At the end of the day Nate discovered the truth, I put Josh to bed, read him a story, and held him closer than usual. His childish enthusiasm for everything in his life - his chatter about favourite books and friends at school - filled the hole gouged by Nate when he walked away. All because of the lies I told.

But in bed alone, the heartbreak launches an a.s.sault I never antic.i.p.ated. I'm angry with myself as I sob until my aching chest tightens and I can't breathe. Angry because this happened, and because I fell back into him so quickly, I can't prevent the hurt. This is worse than two years ago, where I directed the anger at Nate. This time there was an underlying chance that the re-emerging closeness would solidify, because we thought the timing was right.

The time was never going to be right.

I hold myself together for the first day, dazed by the situation, and focus on Josh to switch off. In each quiet moment, the black look on Nate's face reappears in my mind's eye and the tears threaten. I'm to blame. I'm always to blame.

n.o.body understands that my short-temper, and sometimes anger, at work comes from my own sense of failure at perfection. If the account management is criticised, I own it as if it's a personal attack. To avoid blame, I micromanage. Every aspect of my life is in compartments and in control. Or it was.

Two nights fighting the endless thought cycles of what if and why, I send another text.

Nate doesn't reply and the contained emotions deluge me again, wiping away the hope I cling onto to keep afloat.

This time, there's no glimmer of what might be because this is over.

On Monday I head to work as usual and take the same route through the building as I do every day. The light in the large atrium at the front of the building is harsher than usual, the elevator more claustrophobic even though I'm alone. I've spent the night mulling over how I share the truth about Josh, and no option makes sense. Send a group e-mail to the whole firm? I don't think so. A quiet word with my team? Wouldn't they love that, their boss under the spotlight for once? No matter how I do this, the news will hit from nowhere and their reaction worries me.

But why? After all this time scared somebody will learn the truth, a sense of relief follows me. The fact I've managed to keep this secret at all is a testament to who I am. Or who they think I am. Revealing Josh reveals my vulnerability; the p.r.i.c.kly unapproachable Riley owns a softer side.

Nate's reaction three days ago wasn't a surprise. Insulting, but shows how little he understands my situation. Refusing to communicate smacks of immaturity. Is he angry? Hurt? I'm increasingly furious he won't at least talk about what happened.

Mum and Lauren have nagged me to tell over the years, and each year that pa.s.ses Josh becomes harder to hide. Each unplanned day off work because Josh is sick, leaving to attend events now he's at school, and I'm one step closer to slipping up.

But I'm not the only one with a life outside of work others aren't aware of; and I'd lay bets some have bigger secrets than me, and that their double lives rank higher on shock factor too.

In the end, I choose the casual route. I take a framed picture of Josh and me and set it on my desk, besides the neatly ordered stationary. Most of the morning, I'm engrossed in responding to e-mails and arrangements for the charity gala rapidly approaching. One week to go and the pressure mounts. The switch is easier to flick in a work environment; the amount of work needed on this event is enough to swamp me with a different set of worries.

I prefer not to be disturbed and Jenna keeps her distance most of the day; she's learned to keep her contact minimal when I'm under pressure. Tina was the same with me back in my early days. Buried, I ask Jenna to bring me a wrap and coffee from the nearby deli; I don't often, because I refuse to treat my PA the way I was. She's a professional and not a dogsbody.

Jenna knock and walks in; she proffers a paper-wrapped sandwich and large cup. "Are you sure I can't help with some of this?"

"Thanks, Jenna. There's a h.e.l.l of a lot to get ready for the weekend. I left a list of people on your desk you can chase up for me, did you get it?"

"Almost done on that, I'm just wondering if there's anything else I can help with." She indicates the invoices and artwork proofs on my desk. "How're the last-minute plans going?"

"We managed to get Chatters involved at the last minute," I say. Huge win. "One drop of Cole's name and they were falling over themselves."

"Perfect! How about catering? Was the issue with the numbers sorted?"

"I'm liaising with Mitch.e.l.l on that one; he wants to keep a certain amount of control over everything as Cole's his client."

"Of course." Jenna gives me a small smile. "I guess you're enjoying spending some liaison time with him too."

"What does that look mean?"

She places the cup and wrap on my desk. "Come on; don't tell me you haven't noticed? Hotty with an accent to die for! I'd cosy up with him more if I could. You sure you don't need me to give him a hand with anything? Please."

I laugh at Jenna as she places her hands together in a mock prayer, and shake my head. "Professional please, Jenna."

A smile flickers across her red-painted lips. "I know, but thanks for bringing in some eye candy."

"You're welcome," I say and we both giggle.

Mitch.e.l.l. All I a.s.sociate him with is the night Nate was jealous and the resulting hot s.e.x in the storeroom. Good-looking guy, closer to my usual type than Nate, but I keep business and pleasure separately. Ha ha, Riley, that's the biggest joke you've told yourself in months.

Mitch.e.l.l and my relations.h.i.+p will remain entirely professional. I'd rather stab myself in the eye with my pen than consider any relations.h.i.+p with a man, physical or otherwise. Nate's ruined me. I haven't figured out if Mitch.e.l.l's natural charm is just that, or his easygoing banter is a means to an end for fun while he's over here. As long as his personal activities don't interfere with his work, I don't care if one of the agency girls lands in his bed.

My new silver-framed photo, positioned half-facing outwards on my desk, catches Jenna's eye. "That's new. Do you have a nephew?"

"No, I'm an only child."

She indicates the photo with her head. "Just wondered because that's a gorgeous picture of you. Who's the little boy?"

"Josh." I pause, fighting the words I've avoided for years, the ones I've rehea.r.s.ed over and over, and never managed to say. This time I don't allow my brain to engage, they just come. "My son."

Jenna blinks rapidly. "Son? I didn't know you had children."

"Only the one. He's enough of a handful," I say, tone light. Jenna's plucked brow tugs while she scours her memories of her three years working with me. "And no, I've never mentioned him before."

"Right."

I smile at her although heat and perspiration builds. Telling Jenna first ensures I won't need to tell the rest of the agency. Without concrete proof, Jenna never shared the situation she witnessed with Nate following my suspicious explanation about straightening stories, but this time? I doubt it. A thick, uncomfortable silence follows. Jenna lost for words. Unusual. I bet she won't be later, when she does the talking for me.

"Thanks for lunch." I point at the papers. "Would you mind sending me the list, so I can check off what you've done?"

Jenna breaks out of her reverie and into PA mode. "Sure. Anything else I can get for you?"

"Would you mind contacting Mitch.e.l.l and asking him to update me on what's happening at his end? E-mail is fine if he's busy. I think he's on set with Cole today."

"No problem."

I open my drawer and rummage through the loose papers and photos to find a notepad. An image of Ruby Riot from early promotion is pushed to the top.

I scrunch the image into a ball and throw it in the wastepaper bin, shocked by the immediate surge of hurt.

What did I expect? Nate pining over me? Running back and telling me he doesn't care I have a son, and forgives, and understands why I deceived him? I hope he'll grow up enough to talk and reply to my text. Three days and nothing. This doesn't stop me checking my phone messages the instant the alert sounds, and in my ever practical way, I change the tone for Nate's number. That way I don't get distracted in client meetings by what's developing into an OCD need to check my phone.

What the h.e.l.l has this man done to me?

At least the rumours about Nate and me dropped as quickly as he ditched our relations.h.i.+p.

Three days and the amount of time this man occupies my mind interferes more and more with my ability to concentrate.

He might want to bury himself and spend another two years p.i.s.sed off and confused, but I'm talking to him. Then I can be sure this is over, 100 percent, no chance. Because despite everything, this will never go away. Our history shows that.

I won't leave Nate with the wrong impression, that I'm broken-hearted and waiting for him to change his mind. Maybe I am now, but this needs to be dealt with. Once and for all. I am not spending months confused and half-hoping one day life will change, and the man whose eyes hold a piece of me will want to share himself.