Billionaire Bosses Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

lips slicked in gloss the same colour as her dress, her bare shoulders glittering with a dust of bronze.

      It was her.

      When they’d met in Capri she’d blamed her spontaneity on her Italian heritage and he’d loved her impulsiveness. But it was more than that. She was alive in a way many people weren’t. People who dragged their bored butts to work every day, doing a job they hated to pay the bills, returning to equally dead-end relationships at the end of a day.

      By the way Callie glowed she’d never had a boring day in her life.

      What would it be like to be close to that vitality on a daily basis? Would it rub off?

      He loved his life, loved the constant travelling and challenges and business success, but he’d be kidding himself if he didn’t admit some of the gloss had worn off lately. Now that he wasn’t competing as much he felt jaded, as if his lifestyle wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

      Having someone like Callie along for the ride would brighten his days, that was for sure. But with her mum terminally ill would she go for it?

      ‘That’s some young lady you’ve lucked in with.’

      His dad sidled up to him and Archer inadvertently braced for another confrontation.

      ‘No such thing as luck, Dad. It’s the legendary Flett charm.’

      Frank’s tentative guffaw sounded as if he had something stuck in his throat. Probably his conscience.

      ‘Whatever it is, she’s a keeper.’

      ‘Thanks. I’ll take your advice into consideration.’

      Archer silently cursed his hint of sarcasm when Frank stiffened, hesitated as if weighing his words.

      ‘Don’t let her get away,’ he said.

      Archer swallowed his annoyance at being given relationship advice from a father who’d deliberately shut him out years ago.

      Frank cleared his throat. ‘We worry about you, son.’

      Yeah, right. His dad was so worried that despite the times he’d made tentative overtures these last few years he’d been brushed off or shut down every time.

      ‘Don’t. I’m having the time of my life.’ Archer made the shaka sign. ‘Living the dream.’

      Frank’s scrutiny almost made him squirm. ‘Are you?’

      ‘Hell, yeah.’ His response came too quickly, sounded too false. ‘I like what I do. It’s better than—’

      He bit back the rest of what he’d been going to say, on the verge of saying more than he should.

      ‘Better than what?’ Frank swept his arm wide. ‘Better than being stuck near your family?’

      Archer took a steadying breath. Another. ‘Do you really want to do this here? Now?’

      Frank shook his head, sorrow deepening the creases around his eyes. ‘I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for you.’

      Archer knew he should walk away now. Make a flippant remark to cover his profound anger and walk away.

      But he’d had a crappy day, he was confused about Callie, and he’d had a gutful of being on the outside with his dad for leading the life he did.

      ‘What’s best for me is staying true to myself. What about you, Dad? What’s best for you?’ Years of suppressed anger and pain bubbled up and he couldn’t have stopped the questions even if he’d wanted to. ‘Having your family around you while you battle a life-threatening illness? Being able to rely on your sons to take care of business while you’re juggling chemo? Trusting your family to support you no matter how ill you feel or how bad the diagnosis?’

      Frank recoiled as if he’d struck him, but Archer wasn’t finished.

      ‘I saw you, Dad, that day you finally told me about being given the all-clear.’ He sucked in a breath. The vision of that day was embedded deep, yet so clear. ‘Eighteen freaking months too late, you finally deemed me responsible enough to handle the truth about your prostate cancer. After I stormed out you sat at the piano, slid your sheet music into a folder, and you cried. You sobbed like you’d been given a death sentence rather than the all-clear. And right then I knew how big a battle you must’ve faced, and it acted like a kick in the guts all over again.’

      Hating how his voice had clogged, he lowered his tone. ‘You should’ve told me earlier, Dad. I should’ve been here!’

      ‘You’re wrong.’ Frank stared at him as if he were a stranger. ‘I cried because I knew I’d done the right thing in not telling you, despite how damn furious you were. Even though seeing you hurting almost killed me more than the bloody cancer.’

      Stunned at his dad’s words, Archer pinched the bridge of his nose. It didn’t help ease the headache building behind his eyes.

      ‘You still think you did the right thing in not telling me—?’

      ‘Son, you were a world champion when I finally told you. You’d done it. Followed your dream. Achieved the ultimate. I was so proud of you.’

      Frank blinked, and the sight of possible tears tempered Archer’s disbelief like nothing else.

      ‘That’s what I wanted for you. Success. It kept me going all through the illness: watching your competitions, charting your stats, following every mention on the internet. It gave me focus even when I felt like giving up.’

      Frank gripped his arm and gave it a little shake.

      ‘You did that. You helped me in ways you can’t possibly imagine. And no way in hell would that have happened if you’d known about the cancer.’

      Shock peppered every preconception about his dad Archer had ever had, and he couldn’t formulate a word in response.

      Frank gestured towards the family. ‘As much as I love those guys, and the support they gave me, their constant hovering became smothering.’ His rueful grin eased the lines bracketing his mouth. ‘Some days I’d fake fatigue just so I could get into bed with my laptop and check out what you’d been up to.’

      ‘Hell, Dad.’ Archer dragged a hand through his hair, wanting to say so much but still floundering.

      ‘Did you know I could’ve toured with the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra?’

      Whiplashed by the change of topic, all Archer could do was shake his head.

      ‘I would’ve liked performing to large crowds, living on the road.’ Frank squared his shoulders and gazed fondly at his wife. ‘But I met your mother and my dreams changed. I ended up teaching local kids and looking forward to your mother’s slow-cooked lamb and apple pie and long walks along the beach every night.’

      His dad rested his hand on his shoulder.

      ‘While I don’t regret staying in Torquay and giving up on my dream, I didn’t want you to give up yours, son. I wanted you to have the chance I never had.’

      Stunned, Archer stared at his dad—really looked at him for the first time in years. ‘That’s the real reason you didn’t tell me?’

      Bashful, Frank nodded. ‘I’m sorry for being a jerk at the surf school yesterday. The distance between us over the years has been rough. We both have too much pride for our own good. And the bigger the divide between us the guiltier I felt about what I’d done, and the harder to breach the gap became. Then I saw you re-bonding with everyone and I wanted to do the same, but things were so damn awkward between us all the time. I just didn’t know how to express half of what I was thinking.’

      ‘Honestly, Dad, I don’t know what to say.’ Archer blew out a long breath, knowing he had to exorcise the past and move forward. ‘I tried a few times but you always shut me down, pretended nothing was wrong. Now you tell me all this stuff and I’m having a hard time dealing with it.’