Her Enemy With Benefits. Nicola Marsh

when there was nothing they simple invented it. Funny how one mistake in his past had long-term ramifications. Despite him towing the company line for many years now, he’d never shaken the feeling the paparazzi were one step away from reviving the disaster of his early show.

      So he’d played up to the party animal image, hung around Serge despite the two of them growing apart in the maturity stakes, because it had been way easier being seen as a playboy than as a disillusioned guy out to prove himself.

      His parents had written him off a long time ago, so nothing he’d done socially mattered. As long as he stuck to the rules where Fourde Fashion was concerned they were happy.

      Those rules were mighty restricting, and not conducive to creativity, but he’d done what he had to do the last few years to regain respectability in a cut throat industry that didn’t give too many second chances.

      It had been part of his long-term goal to become a valued member of Fourde Fashion, because no way could he pull off his plans unless he had an established name in the biz.

      After the ‘ flamboyant, avant garde, cutting edge’ show that had cost the company thousands when he’d first started, he’d learned to bide his time.

      He’d known the fashion world would be ready for a contemporary transformation eventually. It was just a matter of when. Lucky for him, that time was now.

      He’d watched the tide turn in Europe with increasing excitement. Sure, there would always be a place for classic couture houses like Dior, Chanel and Fourde Fashion, but an influx of young designers had seen a few indie collections that made his blood fizz with anticipation.

      The modern wave wasn’t taking over the catwalks yet, but give it time. And he intended on cresting that wave with contemporary designs the fashion world had never seen.

      Opening a branch of Fourde Fashion in Melbourne couldn’t have come at a more opportune time. It gave him time to prove he could launch a successful solo show and lend kudos to his upcoming venture.

      The one driving force behind everything he did these days.

      He picked up a photo of Sapphire and Ruby, with their arms slung across each other’s shoulders outside the gigantic laughing mouth of Luna Park, and rubbed the dust off the glass with his thumb. It must have been taken a few years after he’d left. Ruby looked in her late teens, Sapphire early twenties, but the age difference was more pronounced by the worldly expression on Sapphire’s face.

      She didn’t look like a young, carefree woman having a fun day hanging out with her sister at a St Kilda amusement park. The slight crease between her brows, the rigid posture, the half-smile screamed too much responsibility.

      He should know. His siblings had worn the same expression since the time they’d graduated from high school and gone straight into the fashion business, taking night courses to stock up on their theoretical knowledge while working alongside their folks during the day. Before they’d all moved to Paris, leaving him behind.

      He’d thought it pretty cool at the time, being trusted enough to live with a dotty aunt who didn’t care what time he got home from school or who he brought with him. At least that was what he’d told himself in order to handle the seething emotions he’d hidden deep down.

      Though what had he expected? Considering his folks’ focus on Fourde Fashion, it shouldn’t have come as any great surprise that they’d left him behind.

      His family were virtual strangers. Living in the same house, barely conversing. Jerome had sat him down when he’d turned twelve and told him the cold, hard facts. With two teenagers, their folks hadn’t banked on having a third child—a ‘mistake’. They had goals to achieve and glass ceilings to shatter.

      Jerome’s advice had been simple: if he didn’t expect anything he wouldn’t be let down.

      He’d remembered that when they’d left him behind, but it hadn’t made the pain any easier.

      They’d cited a logical reason, of course: wanting him to finish his education at the prestigious private school so he had a ‘good grounding in order to enter the family business’ when he joined them.

      No choice. An order. One that he’d been determined to ignore until he’d got lousy grades for his final exams and realised he’d rather be doing something creative than bumming off his folks.

      When he’d joined them in Paris and the PR magazine job had fallen through he’d been determined to prove his worth. He’d been given free rein to demonstrate what he could do and ended up costing the company and losing his parents’ respect because of it.

      In not following protocol, being cocky and over-confident, he’d let his family down. And it seemed as if nothing since had been able to convince them of his seriousness when it came to work.

      The long hours he put in, the extra duties he assumed, the collaborations he worked on—all had garnered the barest of recognition from his folks. Sure, they’d given him an end-of-year-bonus like the rest of their workers but the acknowledgement he secretly craved, where they’d recognise his creativity as being ahead of its time, had never come.

      Until he’d realised something. He could never be who he truly wanted to be while under the Fourde Fashion brand.

      For that was all his parents cared about: living up to their name, producing the same kinds of clothes with a different twist according to season and year. They wanted to deliver on the promise of sameness, while he longed to be different.

      It made good business sense, and their long-standing reputation in the fashion industry was testament to it but he was tired of being part of a crowd.

      He wanted to stand out—wanted his designs to stand out.

      But first he had to ensure Fourde Fashion in Melbourne produced the best show Fashion Week had ever seen.

      His swansong for Fourde’s and a launching pad for him.

      Doubts plagued him—had he read the fashion scene correctly or was the timing all wrong again—but he’d never know unless he tried.

      He’d mentioned leaving the company to his folks and they’d hardly blinked. No begging him to stay. No heaping praise on him as a valued worker. They’d given him the customary brush-off with ‘we’ll discuss this later’ and assigned him to head up the Melbourne office.

      If they thought the token CEO role would make him stay with the company, they were mistaken.

      He appreciated the opportunity, but that was all it was. An opportunity for bigger and better things. Done his way.

      And then he’d put his other plans into action.

      ‘Don’t know about you but I’m starving.’ Sapphire padded silently into the room, barefoot, hair down, clad in worn denim and a teal tee, and he took extra care replacing the photo on the table, so he wouldn’t give away the slight tremor of his hands. Hands that wanted to be all over her.

      She frowned when she noticed he’d been checking out old photos. ‘I’m ordering take-out. You’re welcome to stay.’

      He should go.

      He should grab his stuff, head for the office, and bury himself in work all night in an effort to forget how sweet and tousled and available she looked right at this very minute.

      He should remind himself how important this showing was, and how getting involved with Sapphire Seaborn on any level other than business was a monumentally daft idea.

      ‘Sounds good,’ he said, silently cursing his weakness when it came to this intriguing woman.

      ‘Fancy anything in particular?’ She rifled through a stack of restaurant flyers next to the phone, glancing up when he didn’t answer.

      She had Indian in one hand, Thai in the other, and all he could think was how he’d like to devour her.

      His hungry gaze started at her feet, the high arches