Page 46 of The Proposition (The Billionaires Club)

I gasp. I love him...

For once my head is as clear as the cloudless blue framing Sydney’s famous skyline in the distance.

He sees me. The real me. Despite our differences, he wants me. Or perhaps, in all areas that matter, we’re not that different after all. I was just too scared to believe in those qualities. But Cam’s shown me balance. He’s shown me that I can have it all—a job I’m good at and a relationship I want to work equally hard at. For the first time in my life, I want the commitment. I want to devote my time and energy and everything that I am to making us work.

I want him. In every way.

My father’s voice interrupts my thoughts. ‘I hope Jensen’s isn’t more than you can handle.’

I open my eyes with new resolve that has nothing to do with justifying myself to this man. ‘Really? Talking business? This is family time.’

I look down at the steaks. There’s no way a single mouthful of the delicious-smelling lunch is going to make it past my throat, now I’ve acknowledged my feelings for Cam. But have I left it too late? Have I ruined the only thing in my life that I love more than my work?

Him.

‘I’ve spent the past ten years building my firm,’ I tell my startled father. ‘It’s a well-oiled machine, and even if it wasn’t, it’s only a job, so don’t you worry about whether I can handle Jensen’s. But while we’re on the subject, I’m going to be taking some time off—my personal life is a mess and I’m hoping to rectify that.’ The barest surge of hope wells inside me, in no way diminished by my father’s dismissive grunt.

‘I’m not hungry and I have somewhere else to be. Tell Mum I’ll call her later.’ I kiss my father’s cheek and for the first time in years truly see him, see the stress lines, the grey hair and the near perpetual scowl he wears as the toll of his ambition. I want better than that for myself. And, like always, I can have what I want; I just pray I’m not too late to have it with Cam.

‘You know, Dad, you should try to find greater work-life balance and support Liam in doing the same.’

I expect some scathing retort or splutter of anger, but his jaw actually drops and I wish Cam were here to witness the look on his face.

‘Oh, and by the way,’ I add, ‘your steaks are burning.’

* * *

I pull up outside Cam’s cottage as the sun kisses the horizon. When I climb from my car and hear the faint, rhythmic sound of hammering, I know I’ve found him at last, my body flooding with chills of relief.

It has taken the rest of the afternoon for me to track him down. He wasn’t at his cold and sterile penthouse—no surprise. I checked the local beach, knowing he likes to surf. I even reached out to the construction company he used to work for, my mounting frustration turning to panic. I finally called a contact in the real-estate industry, someone I made obscenely wealthy last year, begging him to flout the law and provide me with the address of the cottage Cam purchased a year ago.

I collect the cool-bag full of Cam’s favourite beer from the passenger seat of my car and head down the driveway towards the sound of banging, every nerve in my body firing like the cascade of fireworks we watched over the bay in Singapore only a week ago. As I round the property, ducking under an overhanging eucalyptus tree in desperate need of a hearty prune, I’m temporarily blinded by the last rays of the setting sun.

Then my vision clears and I’m blinded anew, only this time it’s the sight of the man I love, shirtless, with a tool belt hugging his hips, that scorches my retinas.

The rear of the property boasts the enviable sea views he showed me on his phone that day in Dubai. A newly constructed deck extends the width of the cottage, and Cam is busy framing up what appears to be a perfect sunroom off the existing living area. I can smell the sawdust before I approach, my head spinning with hopes and fears and what-ifs.

He’d have every right to turf me off his property. He’s spent the past six weeks building me up, pushing me to be the best version of myself. A whole version. Not afraid to let go, to loosen the reins that have trapped me inside my own beliefs and expectations for so long.

But can I be whole without him now that I know I love him?

I must have stepped on a stick or piece of sun-scorched bark from the eucalyptus, because he hears the crack and spins. Sees me.

His arms fall to his sides, the hammer hanging in his hand. A million emotions pass over his face in the few seconds of silence that we spend staring. If I could stop the wheel spinning on the love I saw yesterday at his penthouse I would, but there’s no sign of it.

Did I kill it for good? Am I too late?

I hold out the cool-bag, my arm trembling. ‘I thought you might like a cold beer. It’s your favourite.’

Still he stares.

I swallow, my throat parched.

He sniffs, tucks the hammer into his work belt and looks back my way. ‘Why are you here, Orla?’

I try to un-hear the accusation and hostility in his question. It’s not unreasonable after the way I treated him. As if he didn’t matter. As if he wasn’t important. As if he isn’t the very reason my heart beats.

‘You invited me.’ My voice is small. Where is my smiling, devil-may-care Cam?

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