Legally Addicted

chapter Eleven



Brad paced the office that had been made available to him during his stay by the resort manager, his fury beginning to subside, and along with it, his appetite for retribution.

Damn it.

That stupid economy class ticket wasn’t just revenge, it was humiliation, and the direct opposite of Miriam’s advice to ‘make like a knight in shining armour’.

Finally it had dawned on him what was going on with Georgia. She wasn’t just prickly about his wealth because she was jealous. She was suspicious and afraid of it, and what it could mean: abuse of position, misuse of power, exploitation. Exactly what he had seen Georgia deal with, when Paris Walsh and Caro Marsden decided to abuse their position and social status to shore up their own insecurities by putting her down.

Putting her down.

Pretty much what he was doing now, sending her home on a regular flight seated in cattle class.

‘It’s okay. This car is good. No problem like before. I’ll get you to the airport safe — no worries.’

Georgia caught the driver’s apologetic face in the rear-vision mirror.

What was the driver talking about? What problem?

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.’

‘The tyres on the other car — they were no good.’

‘The tyres on the SUV were bald?’ she asked, feeling the initial downwards pitch of realisation in her stomach.

‘Yes, miss, Mr Spencer, he’s a fair boss, though. He gave me another chance.’

‘The Spencer family, how are they thought of here?’ she asked, part of her wanting to confirm the conclusion that she had misjudged Brad, and yet at the same dreading it.

‘Big respect. They do a lot. Build new church and a school, pay for health care, and give money for our kids to study in Australia and New Zealand — long waiting list to get a job at the resort. Everyone wants to work for the Spencers.’

Georgia wasn’t sure what made her feel worse, the fact she had overreacted and put everything at risk, or the prospect of having to admit to Miriam that she had bolted again. Not that leaving was her choice, but somehow she didn’t think her secretary would see it that way.

‘I’m sorry, Mr…’

‘Call me Manu.’

‘Manu, can you turn this car around and take me back to the resort? I think I’ve forgotten something.’

‘No worries miss, whatever you forget, we give to Mr Spencer to bring back to you. I have to get you to the airport on time, or I lose my job for real this time.’

‘Please, Manu, it’s important.’

‘I’m sorry, miss, but Mr Spencer gave instructions for you to be at the airport right away.’

Georgia sat back, resigned to making the trip to the airport, whether she liked it or not.

When they arrived, Apia’s small international airport terminal was packed. It seemed like everyone departing and arriving had their whole extended family there to see them off or welcome them.

It wasn’t difficult to tell the difference. The arrival families grinned in wide smiles; many held floral leis ready to place around the neck of the arrivals, and small leis made of sweets that she guessed were for children. The families seeing loved ones off sat crumpled around the terminal. Georgia could just as easily have slumped down among them.

Instead, she asked one of a group of forlorn looking women, cooling themselves with straw fans, where she could find a taxi back to the resort.

After a dusty ride back to the Spencer hotel complex, Georgia waited in the air conditioned reception area, while a resort staff member located Brad. She sat down, then stood up, then sat down again. She tried to read a magazine, but then abandoned it. She was too keyed up.

After what seemed like hours but was probably only a few minutes later, Brad strolled into the reception area wearing a sheepish expression that mirrored hers.

‘I’m sorry, Georgia. I only lost it with the staff because I wanted everything to be perfect for you.’

He apologised unselfconsciously, and loud enough for the receptionist to hear.

‘I’m sorry too. The driver told me what happened. I had it all wrong.’

He smiled at her.

‘So, I’m not the wicked capitalist taking advantage of local workers that you first thought?’

‘No.’

‘Shall we just forget this whole thing and enjoy the rest of the weekend?’

‘Sounds good to me.’

She should have felt relieved, but somehow discovering that Brad didn’t fit the stereotype of the exploitative property developer sent her stomach pitching up and down like a rollercoaster. It seemed as if every time she thought she had Brad accurately categorised within a four-sided space, he found some way of defying her classification and jumping out of the box she had put him in.

Brad wasn’t like all the other rich people she’d had the misfortune to meet.

He was different. He had class and integrity and he obviously cared about her in a way no-one ever had before.

She was at serious risk of falling for this guy. If she thought that whatever this was could only be temporary, she had been kidding herself.

And…it scared the very bejeezus out of her.

Back at the office in Sydney after the minibreak in Samoa with Georgia, Brad felt remarkably refreshed. Once they had both apologised following the horrendous airline ticket incident, the rest of the weekend had been uneventful. Well, not completely uneventful. He smiled, recalling the make-up sex. It had been almost worth the argument. Something had changed with Georgia. He couldn’t put his finger on it exactly, but she seemed more relaxed around him, more at ease. Maybe it was the surroundings. A tropical resort could have that effect on a person, but whatever it was, he wasn’t complaining.

His smile collapsed, however, when he looked up to respond to his secretary, Louise. His assistant was puffed from running in front of a determined Caro who, at a full head taller than his secretary, was visible behind his assistant. Louise had stopped in the doorway, gripping the frame to prevent Caro charging on through.

‘I’m sorry, Brad, Mrs Marsden doesn’t have an appointment but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.’

‘That’s okay, you can let her in.’

Caro barely waited for his assistant to step out of the way before barrelling through the door to his office.

‘Brad, I’m glad I caught you.’

Brad clamped his teeth together to avoid letting out an oath. He looked at his watch. He had only been back at work an hour and he had his usual legal work, a pile of Spencer Trust documents to review, and the financial statements from the resort to go over. He also had Georgia’s addiction centre proposal to read, which she had given him on the plane trip back to Sydney. The last thing he needed now was Caro Marsden wittering on about napkin colours, seating plans and God damn canapés.

Caro Marsden waved a set of bright red talons in the direction of the empty chair opposite his desk.

‘Take a seat,’ he said, quite sure she was about to anyway. ‘If it’s about the gala — ’

‘You know she’s only interested in you for your money. She wants you to fund this ludicrous addiction centre idea of hers.’

Brad’s brain lurched forwards as Caro cut him off, electing to open the conversation somewhere in the middle of her own spite filled thoughts.

‘So we’re talking about Georgia then are we, Caro?’

‘Georgia, yes — keep up Brad, who else? Georgia is playing you.’

Caro had a nerve. He could appreciate that the woman had his best interests at heart. As his mother’s friend she obviously felt she was doing him a favour, but his patience was rapidly wearing out.

‘I think you’ve got her completely wrong, Caro. Georgia’s never asked for anything from me — in fact, quite the opposite.’

‘Playing it cool is she? Well she’s got more sense than I’ve given her credit for, but it’s only a matter of time before she comes looking for money.’

‘That’s enough, Caro. I’m sorry, but we will just have to agree to disagree where Georgia is concerned, so if there is nothing else?’

‘Of course, Bradley. I’ll shut up now that I’ve said what I came to say on that particular topic, but just don’t say you weren’t warned. Without your mother here I felt a duty, but I won’t press the point. Now about the gala, I had a few ideas…’

Brad looked at his watch, pulling back his sleeve and staring at it, meaningfully this time, before looking up. For once the ridiculous timepiece his mother had given him was good for something.

‘I don’t have much time, Caro, and I’ve been meaning to tell you, I’ve delegated my role in that to Jeffrey, my butler. I understand that you’ve worked with him before?’

‘Oh yes,’ Caro’s face lit up. ‘Jeffrey is fantastic. So resourceful and well organised and yet never oversteps his position.’

Unlike Georgia, he thought, who had the balls to not just overstep her position, but to take a running jump at it and sail over the top.

‘Thanks for dropping in, Caro. Always a pleasure,’ he lied.

Brad stood up from his desk, and walked over to his door, opening it wide in his standard manoeuvre for propelling out any client who had outstayed their welcome. It rarely failed, as the client reacted subconsciously to the command inherent in the body language.

Thankfully Caro proved to be no exception to the rule, following him to the threshold like a lamb, walking through the door and the heading back towards reception with a wave over her shoulder. But Brad was only able to manage a few more minutes working on his files before Georgia appeared in the doorway to his office.

He smiled at her, catching her quizzical marine blue eyes. If he had to be interrupted he couldn’t think of a better reason.

In his opinion most Sydney women wore their business clothes far tighter than good taste allowed, but Georgia had the figure to carry it off, and having seen her body in the flesh he had no objection to the second skin like cut of Georgia’s suit. The effect of her skirt clinging to the perfect curve of her hips echoed in his gut, igniting pleasant memories of the previous forty-eight hours.

‘I saw you had Caro in here?’ Georgia said, a worried look creeping over her face.

The mention of that dreadful woman’s name was like dose of ice-water dumped on Brad’s head.

Both of them.

Immediate turn-off.

Which given the amount of work he had piled up was probably a good thing.

He reoriented his gaze upwards to Georgia’s face. A little less distracted now, he noticed that she seemed tentative, lingering at the door jamb, as if she was only brave enough to advance that far. She was no doubt conscious of the potential for client-solicitor privilege. If Caro had visited him for legal reasons, it would be inappropriate to ask him about it, but even so, Georgia seemed unusually anxious.

For a second Brad paused to reflect on Caro’s accusation, but then he dismissed it. Considering how Caro treated Georgia, it was hardly surprising that seeing the woman arrive at his office would unsettle her. He simply didn’t believe it. There was nothing at all about Georgia’s behaviour that indicated she wanted something from him.

‘It’s okay; it wasn’t a legal matter. She was here about the gala, but thankfully Jeffrey’s agreed to take it on.’

‘She didn’t say anything about the addiction centre, did she?’

After the way Caro had reacted when Georgia tried to raise her proposal with the board, it made sense that she would be fearful that Caro might try to undercut her. But Brad fully intended to make up his own mind once he read the report. Based on everything he knew about Georgia, he predicted it would be well researched and comprehensive, and he fully expected to be able to throw his full support behind it.

There was no need to worry her with Caro’s toxic allegations.

‘Not directly. She seems more concerned about the funding. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to read it yet, but as soon as I get through this lot, I will.’

He felt bad that he hadn’t had a chance to read the document. Georgia had obviously put a lot of work into it. Now that he understood more about her background, he realised this wasn’t just some random charitable project to fulfil a personal need for altruism. Ultimately, the whole thing had to be about her mother and was therefore deeply personal.

‘Oh, that’s okay. I understand.’

‘I promise I’ll read it before you come over tonight.’

‘So I’m expected?’ she asked, gripping onto the doorframe, briefly resting her head against it in a motion that reminded him of how much he enjoyed waking up with her beside him on the pillow.

‘Any time, Georgia. You know you don’t need an invitation.’

After work, as was his usual habit, Brad headed straight for the pool in the private glass atrium that covered the rooftop of Spencer Towers. He pushed off the tiled wall and swam to the shallow end, where he stood up and wiped his eyes. As his vision cleared, he noticed Jeffrey emerging from the elevator that opened onto the roof. The butler placed a tray down on a bench in the outdoor kitchen set-up, and then opened the hood of the barbeque. While Jeffrey fiddled with the dials on the front of the grill, Brad climbed up the ladder out of pool.

Good old Jeffrey. His butler had seen him heading upstairs and guessed that he would rather have a relaxed dinner of grilled steak and salad by the pool than something formal in the dining room.

Despite appearing engaged with the barbeque, by the time Brad was standing on the glazed tiles that bordered the pool, water running in torrents from his swim shorts, Jeffrey was there with a towel in one hand, a beer in the other.

The man still had eyes in the back of his head. As a child, it was almost always Jeffrey who had stepped in and scooped him up whenever rough play with a schoolfriend or an ill-conceived activity threatened to turn injurious. Likewise, when he was planning a mischief, Jeffrey always seemed to be one step ahead and there to intercept him, while his parents were usually too busy to notice.

‘Pleasant swim, sir?’

‘Great, thanks, Jeffrey. Why don’t you take a dip? I can keep an eye on the barbeque.’

Jeffrey looked up with an expression of barely concealed horror.

‘What, you don’t think I can be trusted not to burn the steak?’ Brad asked, feigning offense. Always deferential, Brad knew that he had Jeffrey trapped. Raising unbeatable arguments was, after all, his stock in trade. Jeffrey would never criticise Brad, not even his doubtful culinary talents.

‘Not at all sir, I’m sure your barbequing skills are most excellent, it’s just that it’s not appropriate.’

‘I say what’s appropriate here, now that the old man’s gone. Go on, Jeffrey. I mean it.’ Having asserted his authority, Brad knew it would also break some rule in the butler’s handbook for Jeffrey to argue back.

‘Well, if you insist, sir. It does look very inviting.’

‘I do insist, Jeffrey.’

From four thirty onwards, after Georgia had seen her last client for the day, her stomach had fluttered as fiercely as a freshly stocked tropical butterfly house, and going up in the lift to the penthouse it seemed as if the entire colony had locked onto her heart and threatened to beat it out of her chest.

It might not have been quite so bad if Miriam hadn’t dropped the L bomb before the Samoa trip. Even though Brad hadn’t told her he loved her, ever since Miriam mentioned it, and especially since they made up in Samoa, she had been worried that he might. Once she thought it, she couldn’t stop thinking it, and the idea kept popping back into her head, scaring her at inopportune moments like an evil jack-in-the-box.

Taking the risk of getting involved in a proper relationship was one thing, but declarations of the L word were unthinkable. If going back to Brad’s penthouse hadn’t also presented the opportunity to hear what he thought of her addiction centre proposal and make the case for Spencer Trust funding, she might have called time-out, baulked at the whole idea and gone home to her own apartment.

The butler opened the door in a bathrobe, his hair wet, as if she had caught him in the shower.

‘Good Evening, Miss Murray — I do apologise for my appearance. Bradley insisted that I take a swim in the pool. He is expecting you on the roof.’

Jeffrey motioned back towards the elevator behind her, stepping in to enter a code that illuminated the button for the rooftop.

She wasn’t surprised Brad encouraged the butler to use his pool. Brad actually treated his employees very well. That had been clear after another day at the resort in Samoa when she had the chance to see more of him interacting with his staff.

Moments later, the doors opened to blinding artificial light. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the lighting bouncing off the tiled area around the pool. The rooftop area comprised a covered garden centred around a swimming pool, flanked by potted palms, with a large outdoor kitchen unit running down one side.

Brad lay stretched out on lounger over a towel, his shorts damp from an earlier swim. His briefcase lay open on a side table, exposing a pile of paperwork.

‘Georgia. I hoped you’d come.’ He moved to pull himself up, but she leaned down to kiss him. He took a glass hanging from a clasp on the side of a stand holding an ice bucket and poured her a glass of bubbly.

He handed it to her and she took a sip.

Dom Perignon.

It was a shock to realise that the expensive champagne was now something she could recognise by taste alone. How had she ended up in this situation? With someone this wealthy who, against all odds, also seemed to be a genuinely decent human being? And one who was impossibly handsome, not to mention prepared to leave the firm to preserve her career? It didn’t seem possible and, just to make her situation even more perfect, she was on the verge of securing the funding for the addiction centre.

Maybe this was how life was supposed to work? Perhaps it wasn’t all struggle after all? Maybe life was meant to be a rolling cycle of the lowest of the low, and dizzying heights; the lows making the good times all the sweeter.

‘I was hoping we might go over the addiction centre proposal…’

‘Oh yes.’

Brad began to rifle through his briefcase.

For some reason she couldn’t breathe, as if her lungs had suddenly lost three quarters of their capacity. Her heart was still beating double time. This was it. She was about to get confirmation that her dream would be a reality.

Better than that, she wasn’t going to have to break up with Brad once she got it. She was starting to think that she could do this ‘seeing someone seriously’ thing.

She was doing it.

‘Sure. I’ve already read part of it. I’m about halfway through. Why don’t you have a swim while I finish it?’

‘I don’t have a costume.’

Georgia looked around. Spencer Towers wasn’t the only tall building on the quay. A number of other buildings were lit up around them, and she preferred not to risk a charge of indecent exposure by taking a skinny-dip.

‘Don’t worry. Jeffrey’s thought of everything.’

Brad reached down beside his lounger and handed up a bag. Inside she could see a towel, swimming costume and a swimming cap.

She put down her glass in order to fish out a pink latex cap adorned with flowers.

‘I didn’t know they still made these things!’

Brad laughed.

‘Just don’t say anything to him about it. He would be deeply offended. He prides himself on anticipating my every requirement. For Jeffrey, being a butler isn’t just a job; it’s a calling. Think of him as one of the family, he’s…’

Brad didn’t finish the sentence, taking a swig of beer instead.

‘Like a father to you?’ she guessed.

‘Yeah. Something like that,’ Brad said, turning away, but not fast enough to prevent her seeing something in his eyes she recognised.

Sadness.

Why hadn’t she seen it before? Perhaps, in some ways, she and Brad weren’t really so different. Maybe it wasn’t only children at the lower socio-economic end of the spectrum who suffered the scarring effects of parental inadequacy. Until now she wouldn’t have believed she could have anything in common with a billionaire, but maybe at the heart of their respective childhoods there was a kernel of experience that wasn’t so very different. They had both been abandoned. Money, and the material things it bought, was just window dressing. Wealth couldn’t soothe pain.

When he turned back towards her, the look was gone. He opened the document she guessed was her proposal and leafed through the pages. While he was reading, Georgia took the bag into a small screened off changing area at the side of the pool. Once she had changed into the cossie she slipped into the heated water, keeping one eye on Brad, trying to judge his reaction as he read.

She swam a few lengths, keeping her head out of the water, and then paddled back to the edge of the pool, just below the lounger where Brad was stretched out. He sipped from a stubbie of beer, the proposal document now back on the table beside him.

‘So what do you think?’ she called up to him.

‘I think it’s got real potential, and what you’re proposing is certainly backed up by the evidence. The funding will be your biggest stumbling block. The state government might stump up with the funding for some of it, and possibly the local council as well, but the majority will probably have to come from the Federal Department of Health and Ageing and that will be a long slow process.’

‘I thought, perhaps, you might like to help out.’

Georgia held her breath.

‘Possibly, the Spencer Trust might well contribute. I’ll have the trust secretary send you an application form, if you like.’

Georgia let the air out of her lungs in a rush and gripped at the handrail, edging towards the short ladder out of the pool.

Brad’s response had been indifferent, as if he had missed what she was actually asking.

‘Thanks, I appreciate it, but that would just be a formality, wouldn’t it? I mean, with your influence?’

Brad, who had raised the stubbie of beer to his mouth ready to take a drink, stopped, and pulled the bottle away again, placing it on the side table beside her proposal.

‘No, it wouldn’t be a formality, your application would go through the same process as any other.’

‘But you would still use your influence to help, though.’

Brad frowned.

‘No, I wouldn’t. The trust operates to strict criteria on which all requests for funding are ranked. The addiction centre would be assessed on its merits alongside the others. It would be inappropriate of me to interfere with the process, and to be honest I’m shocked that you would ask me to.’

Brad’s tone was sharp. She had gotten used to saying pretty much whatever she liked without any risk of gaining a rise out him. The rebuke came as a shock and Georgia reacted, making no attempt to disguise the sarcasm in her voice.

‘Now he comes over all keen on “appropriateness”. I can assure you there was nothing appropriate about the way you lured me up to your penthouse in the first place.’

Brad pulled himself up straighter against the back of the lounger.

‘It didn’t stop you coming back for more, as I recall. Look, this isn’t about us, Georgia. It’s about what’s right and fair. If I intervened to get Spencer Trust funding for your project, then someone else at least as deserving would miss out. You get that, don’t you?’

‘Don’t patronise me, Brad. I get precisely what you’re saying, but those people are strangers. I’m your girlfriend. You have to help me.’

There she had said it. Admitted it to herself. That is what she had become.

Brad’s Girlfriend.

And as his girlfriend she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could they have any future together, if Brad didn’t understand how important establishing the addiction centre was to her? Without funding, she would get nowhere, and even though three million dollars was a lot, it was a drop in the bucket compared to the Spencer fortune. It’s not that he couldn’t pull strings to help her. She could have accepted that. But he hadn’t said that. What she heard him say quite emphatically was that he could, but that he wouldn’t.

‘I have to?’ Brad shook his head. ‘Caro said you were just out for the money and I didn’t believe her. But it looks like she might have been right. Did you ever care about me at all?’

‘Of course I care about you. I can’t believe you would even ask that.’

Without looking in Brad’s direction, Georgia hoisted herself out of the pool, dried herself off, then grabbed her clothes out of the changing room and stalked towards the lift, still dripping.

She knew she had sounded genuinely indignant but she needed to keep moving, to prevent the splinter of guilt pricking at her from puncturing through and moving up through her system. She did care about him, that part was true enough, but getting Brad to fund the addiction centre had been the incentive, the tipping point that tempted her to get involved with him in the first place, and she wasn’t about to admit that.

‘Georgia, wait, what are you doing? Let’s discuss this.’

From the change in direction and volume of Brad’s voice, which was now coming from higher up, she could tell he had stood up out of the lounger and was walking towards her.

‘What is there to discuss? You know what this project means to me. You can do something to help, but you’ve categorically stated that you won’t.’

She jabbed at the button for the lift without turning around to look at him.

Brad was beside her now, visible in her peripheral vision.

‘Georgia, stop, we have to talk about this.’

She said nothing. What was there to say? He had made his position very clear. More talking wouldn’t change that, and the more they talked the more likely it would be that she would end up admitting why she had got involved with him in the first place and that when it boiled down to it, Caro was right. She was after his money.

The lift doors finally parted and she stepped inside. Brad’s voice rose to a shout to make sure she heard.

‘If you leave, Georgia, if you walk out on me again, then that’s it. This thing — it’s over between us.’

Once she heard the lift doors close behind her she turned around, pushed the emergency stop, and changed back into her clothes. Then she released the brake, pressing the button for the hotel foyer. On the ground floor she exited the lift, thrusting the damp towel into an open mouthed bellboy’s hands before running out into the street.