ElizabethI open my eyes. It’s pitch black in the room, the only light coming from a small red dot of a TV on standby. I’m confused, because I don’t have a TV in my room at home. The red display on the alarm clock on the bedside table reads 03:11.I lift my head and groan as the room spins. Ahhh… why do I do this to myself? I love alcohol, but I detest this part of being drunk.My stomach churns, and I groan again and push myself up to a sitting position. I recognize the layout of the room—I’m in one of the suites at Huxley’s. I’m shoeless but fully dressed, and lying on top of the covers.Nausea rises inside me, and I get up and stumble into the bathroom, where I vomit into the toilet. When I’m done, I lurch back into the bedroom, taking off my jacket, trousers, and shirt as I go, leaving them where they drop. In just my underwear, I pull back the duvet, collapse into bed, pull the duvet over my head, and fall asleep.At 04:16, and again at 05:27, I rise and vomit again. The third ti
I look up at the ceiling. Huxley is tall and handsome—the best-looking guy I know. He’s incredibly clever—his crack last night about bribing the examination officer for a pass in mathematics was amusing because he was top of all his mathematics and economics classes. The guy’s a fucking smart arse. He’s honorable and fair. Very funny. Extremely affable and a great host, seeing it as his calling in life to put everyone at ease. And because of all that I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s great in bed. He sounds perfect.But he’s not of course. I can overlook the fact that he’s afraid of spiders, heights, thunderstorms, needles, clowns, dolls, the sight of blood, and probably a dozen other things. I can forgive him for being incredibly ambitious, a tad arrogant, squeamish, for only eating his food one item at a time without mixing them on his plate, for liking practical jokes, and for being stubborn and prideful and even Mr. Darcy-like at times, refusing to admit he’s wrong.I can forget all
At 1:10 p.m., I arrive back at the club. I feel a lot better than I did earlier. I went home, picked up Nymph from my brother, took her for a run, showered and changed, and ate breakfast, even though my stomach was still a bit uneasy. By eighty-thirty I was in the office, and I’ve had a busy and productive morning. I’ve just dropped Nymph off home, and now I feel ready to face the music.I’m a little late because my last meeting ran over, but it won’t matter—everyone in the Consortium runs a business, and we all know the pressures we’re under, and make allowances accordingly.I have to admit, though, to feeling butterflies in my stomach as the elevator rises to the third floor. Will Huxley have told any of the others what we talked about last night? I can’t imagine he would have. Even so, I have to take several deep breaths as I walk out of the elevator and along the corridor to the board room where the meeting is always held.As I approach the room, I can see the shape of the other e
“How about Evie?” She’s a police officer. “She’ll have access to handcuffs.”“She frightens the shit out of me,” Titus says, and we all laugh.“Plus you have the X-Y chromosome thing going,” Huxley adds.“Oh yeah,” I say, “I forgot she was gay.”“Chrissie?” Victoria suggests. She partnered Titus in a mixed doubles tennis tournament back in January.“She’s sweet,” he says. “But she’s dating an accountant.”“That leaves Heidi,” I say, somewhat mischievously. Heidi Huxley is twenty-four and gorgeous, with blonde hair that’s so long it reaches past her bottom. When Huxley was twenty-one, he had a party at their parents’ house, and Heidi, who was all of sixteen at the time, was there. She had a couple of dances with Titus, and afterward I walked into the kitchen to get a drink and caught them kissing. They broke apart, and Titus’s first words were, “Don’t tell Huxley.” Nothing came of it, I don’t think, because she left shortly afterward to travel around Europe, and she now lives and teach
He gets up from the table and walks toward me. I back away and meet the wall with a bump.He stops in front of me. Even with my high heels, I’m still about ten inches shorter than him, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him.He gives me a look that’s hot and sultry. “Are you trying to turn me on?” he murmurs.I blink. “What the…?”He shrugs. “I dunno. The word impregnate gets me all hot and bothered.”“Jesus.”“Say inseminate.”“No.”“Fertilize?”“Hux!”He laughs. Damn him, he’s so incredibly charismatic. “You’re not going to win this argument,” he says, amused. “I don’t care how much you stamp your feet.”I glare at him. “I’m not stamping, not in these heels.”For a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze turns gentle, affectionate. “Look, ten years ago I did something stupid. I know that, and you were right to tell me to get lost.”“I didn’t—”“Let me speak. You were right, and so I convinced myself you were better off without me, and I let you
ElizabethOn Saturday, I arrive at Huxley’s parents’ place around 3:30 p.m. They live in a huge house on Shore Road with a gorgeous view across Hobson Bay. I have to wait for the white double gates to slowly swing open before I ease my Mazda MX5 convertible down the drive.Several cars are parked out the front, including my own parents’ Ford Ranger, as they’re good friends with Huxley’s parents. Huxley’s beloved obsidian Mercedes AMG GT is also already here, snoozing like a panther in the afternoon sunshine. I slide the Mazda into the space next to it and turn off the engine. After unclipping Nymph’s safety harness from the seatbelt, I get out, and she leaps across my seat, out the door, and sprints around the side of the house toward the back garden.Smiling, I retrieve the wrapped present from the boot and follow the poodle.Huxley’s mum, Helene, is an artist, a very good one, and sells her paintings at a local gallery. I doubt she makes a fortune, though, and most of their fortune
“Will you come in?”“Yeah,” he says good-naturedly, putting one arm around her and hugging her. “Hey, have you said hello to Auntie Elizabeth?”“No, hello!” She comes up and hugs me.“Hello, you.” I give her a big cuddle. She’s only a few inches shorter than me. “You want your prezzie now?”“Ooh, yes please!” She sees the parcel I brought on the table and rushes over to it. “Can I open it now?”“Of course.”She rips off the paper as her friends crowd around, and they all squeal. It’s a nail stamper kit with kid-safe polish, over a hundred icons, and five design pods.“I thought you could all give yourself mani-pedis at your sleepover tonight,” I tell them.“I love it! Thank you so much!” She comes up and hugs me again and then runs off with her friends to investigate the different icons.Huxley gives me a wry look.“What?” I ask.“You know they’re going to want to give me a manicure.”“Why do you think I bought it?”He meets my gaze, and his eyes are hot, bright. “Don’t think I didn’t
ElizabethI squelch back up to the deck, ignoring Huxley, who walks beside me, trying not to laugh.“Come on,” he says, “don’t be mad.”“I’m not talking to you.” I mount the steps, while everyone who’s sitting there stares at me as I drip all over the deck.“Oh my God,” my mother says, “what happened?”I glare at Huxley. “He threw me in.”“Oliver,” his father scolds. “Seriously?”“She asked for it,” he says, picking up a towel from the pile on the side and tossing it to me.I take it and rub my hair, knowing I must look a sight. I’m not wearing waterproof mascara for a start. “That wasn’t very gentlemanly,Ollie.”“Then maybe you should have said yes,Liz.”“Yes to what?” Brandy asks.“Yes,” I say, “why don’t you explain?”“If you want me to,” he replies, amused.I glare at him. His gaze dips down, and his smile widens. I follow it and discover that my dress is plastered to my body. It’s now very obvious that I’m not wearing a bra.“Jesus.” I clutch the towel to me.He chuckles, comes o