Billionaire Bosses Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

taken a sip. ‘Now, tell me about when you weren’t working.’

      She blushed and Artie patted her cheek, his smile indulgent.

      ‘You’re in love. I can tell.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘You have the look.’ He pointed at her eyes. ‘You have a sparkle dampened by sadness.’ Artie frowned. ‘This amor, he broke your heart, sí?’

      ‘No, nothing like that.’

      More like she’d broken her own heart by being foolish enough to fall in love despite knowing the expiration date on their seaside fling, knowing he couldn’t emotionally commit, and knowing he had traits of her dad she’d rather forget.

      Artie cupped his ear. ‘You want to talk about it? I’m a very good listener.’

      ‘Don’t I know it?’

      Artie had listened to her deepest fears and regrets after their unofficial support group for two had formed. He’d been just as forthcoming in his sorrow, yet strangely this time she didn’t want to talk about Archer.

      Besides, what was there to say? They were headed in different directions, their lives on different paths, without a hope of colliding.

      Artie snapped his fingers. ‘I can see you don’t want to talk to an old man about your amor. I understand.’ He shrugged. ‘If you do, you know where to find me.’

      ‘Thanks,’ she said, making a big show of drinking the refreshing fruit sangria as he was called away, when in fact her favourite Christmas drink had already lost its fizz.

      With Artie shooting her concerned glances in between mixing drinks and plying his customers with Christmas cookies, she sculled her sangria and gave him the thumbs-up sign.

      She had to leave. Before she took him up on his offer to listen. For she had a feeling once she started talking about her relationship with Archer she wouldn’t stop.

      * * *

      Archer stared at the note in disbelief.

      Sorry to run out but had to get back to Mum.

      Tom & Izzy heading to Melbourne to visit Izzy’s mum, who unexpectedly dropped into town today so I hitched a ride.

      Thanks. Had a lovely time at the wedding.

      Will be in touch about the surf school campaign when needed.

      Merry Christmas!

      Callie

      ‘What the—?’ He slammed his palm on the kitchen benchtop, barely registering the pain of hitting marble so vigorously.

      His first instinct was to punch something. The second to grab his board and hit the surf.

      He settled for pacing. It didn’t help. After several laps of the balcony he flung himself onto the soft-cushioned couch where he’d once sat with Callie and uncurled his fingers to reveal her crumpled note.

      He reread it, no closer to understanding.

      She sounded so cool, so remote, so untouchable after all that had happened over the last week. They’d reconnected on so many levels, to the point where he’d been about to reveal his thoughts for the future to her this morning.

      Schmuck.

      This was his family all over again.

      Trusting someone with his heart, only to have them hand it back with a Thanks, not this time, maybe another, and having no clue as to why.

      To make matters worse it catapulted him back years, to when his family had first told him the truth. The same insidious doubts were creeping in, making him wonder what the hell was wrong with him that the people he trusted the most with his feelings didn’t return the favour.

      How could she up and leave without saying goodbye? Leaving a freaking note?

      He glared at the offending piece of paper in disgust, bitterness twisting his gut into knots.

      Growling in frustration, he shoved it in his pocket and headed for the storage room under the house where he stashed his gear. He had to hit the waves. It was the place he did his best thinking.

      However, as he stomped around, grabbing a wetsuit and his favourite board—the one with more dents than a dodgem—a funny thing happened.

      Some of his initial anger faded, to be replaced by a clarity that left him shaken.

      He paused mid-step, halfway between the storage room and his car.

      What the hell was he doing?

      It was Christmas morning—a time for warmth and caring and happiness. Emotions he’d been lacking lately, if he were honest with himself.

      Not this last week with Callie, but before that.

      Riding the tubes hadn’t held the same buzz in a long time, crashing in fancy hotel rooms after a competition had lost appeal, and the string of meaningless dates left him feeling faintly empty.

      The real reason behind the surf school had been to make his family sit up and take notice, see he was more than a sport-obsessed surfer, to show them they’d done wrong in not trusting him with his dad’s illness.

      But another underlying reason was that he’d wanted to give something back to the sport that had given him everything, and connecting with the kids at the beach last week had made him feel worthy in a way he hadn’t in for ever.

      That had been the hardest thing to realise over the years following his dad’s cancer disclosure—that somehow he hadn’t been worthy. He might now understand his dad’s motivation for secrecy, but it would take a while for his old beliefs to ease.

      Hanging with the teens had helped with that. Callie had too. He’d felt rejuvenated this last week, had truly felt close to a woman for the first time ever.

      She’d made him reassess the way he treated his family, made him see things in a new light. And he’d been happy in a way he hadn’t for a long time. So what the hell had happened?

      Buoyed by his overture towards his dad, he’d taken another risk and told her he had feelings for her. Why had she run?

      After she’d given him that gift last night he’d thought she felt the same way... Well, he’d thought wrong.

      The way he saw it, he had two options. Forget about the gift he’d bought her, then head for the surf before boarding that plane this afternoon and heading back to the life he knew.

      Or quit running and confront Callie.

      He headed for the car, the board tucked under his arm suddenly weighing him down. When he stowed it in the back, the weight didn’t shift. Then his gaze landed on the red Roadster he’d driven Callie here in—a replica of the car they’d explored Italy’s south coast with.

      He remembered the thrill of taking the curves of a spectacular scenic route, laughing and teasing, and later he’d explored her sensational curves in minute detail.

      He’d wanted to resurrect the past—this car was testament to that—but was he willing to try a different outcome this time?

      What would his life be like if he didn’t walk away second time round? If he made a full-blown declaration and truly trusted her with his heart?

      Terror made his hands shake, and he stuffed them into the pockets of his board shorts.

      He had his answer right there.

      He’d re-established a bond with his dad and he’d never felt so relieved. Taking a risk on people wasn’t all bad. And he wouldn’t be feeling this sick unless he really felt something for Callie. Something that went deeper than caring.

      The question was, how far was he willing to go to prove it to her?

      * * *

      Callie had