More Than a Fling

TEN


Ross parked his Ducati next to the stairs leading up to Ally’s apartment and yanked off his helmet. What a God-awful crappy day, he thought, and he still had to walk a little way up Table Mountain with a fake girlfriend and play nice with the cameras.

Kill me now, he thought, kicking down the stand and climbing off the bike. It was ridiculous how one conversation with his father could derail his mood, make him feel off balance and pull all those stupid feelings of disappointment and resentment to the surface.

His father was an emotional moron, he thought in disgust as he headed for the stairs. So why did he still wish he could have a proper relationship with the man? Why did he still seek his approval? Maybe he was the moron, he thought as he climbed the stairs, wishing he’d taken a handful of aspirin before he left the office. His head felt as if it was ready to explode...

Thanks, Dad.

Ross felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out to squint at the screen. Ally...of course it was.





WTH are you????





Frick. Why did he have to deal with two managing, corporate, controlling personalities in one day?

Deciding to jerk her chain, he quickly formulated a reply.





Why? Did we have plans?





Because, really, he needed sixty reminders to get something in his head.





Don’t mess with me, Bennett! I’m not in the mood.





Ross jerked that chain again.





Let’s compare days, sweetheart. Bet I’ll win. I’ll be there in an hour. Some bugs in a string code that we need to sort out.





Ross stood outside her door and waited, knowing that it was coming. Five, four, three...and his mobile rang in his hand. That was the problem with control freaks and people with tunnel vision—it made their actions easy to predict. It was a lesson he’d learnt the hard way with Jonas. Along with ‘Do it my way or get the hell out of my life’.

He’d chosen to get the hell out...but, man, he still wished that there had been a middle ground.

Ross shook his head and walked into the apartment, waving his ringing mobile and rolling his eyes.

‘You really should trust people more, Jones,’ he said.

She didn’t look happy with him and Ross silently suggested that she get in line.

Ally watched Ross’s long-length stride as he made his way past the clothing racks and camera equipment to her side, his hair pulled back from his face. His eyes were hard, his mouth unyielding, and tension had his shoulders up around his ears. Okay, so he wasn’t having a good day. Well, she wasn’t having a good week.


Ross’s mobile chirped and while she waited for him to finish his call she mused over the fact that her time in Cape Town work-wise had been eye-opening. Trying to plan and organise a shoot in a strange city was always a challenge, and Cape Town was no different.

Half of the Bellechier collection of clothing and accessories for Ross was still in Customs and Ally was struggling to get it released. Their cameraman had flu, and for some reason her normally crazily efficient, focused and dedicated crew—from both Bellechier and the ad agency—were treating this shoot as a working holiday.

They dressed for work as if they were heading for the beach, sloped off early to watch the whales or to visit one of the nearby wine farms. Didn’t they realise how important this campaign was? How essential it was that everything had to be perfect?

The chances of this going badly wrong were stratospheric—Ross was a gamble, teaming his bad-ass CEO look with the upmarket but casual clothes of the new line was a gamble, and shooting the commercials in Cape Town was a gamble—and she didn’t like to gamble when it came to Bellechier or her job.

She liked certainties, plans, a clear route to the goal...and she definitely didn’t like the fact that she was frequently distracted from said goal by thoughts of Ross...in and out of the bedroom.

Ross disconnected and jammed his mobile back into his pocket. Such a heart-grabbingly handsome man, she thought, with his wizard eyes, grim mouth and short hair... Dear Lord, he’d cut his shoulder-length hair.

What. The. Hell?

Noooooooo...

‘You’ve cut your hair,’ Ally whimpered, her hand swiping her mouth in horror.

Ross ran a hand over his short, spiky head. ‘Yeah, I thought I should tidy it up before the filming started.’

‘And you didn’t think to talk to me about it?’ Ally demanded, completely and utterly horrified.

‘I’ve been making decisions about my hair for a while now—without your input,’ Ross replied, his voice hard.

She was too appalled to hear the warning note in it.

Dammit, sod it... He’d cut his hair. There went the juxtaposition between her bad-boy CEO and the sophisticated Bellechier clothes. How would it affect the campaign? Would it hurt it? Would it fail? Would she fail? Dammit, Bennett!

‘Yeah but since you sold your face, your hair, to Bellechier—to me!—then I should’ve been consulted!’ Ally twisted her hands together. ‘What were you thinking?’

Unaware that the six other people in the room were watching their argument with interest and amusement, Ally jumped when Ross grabbed her arm and hauled her across to the door that led to a deck outside. He pushed her through the open door, slammed it shut behind her and walked her down the deck so that they were out of earshot of the rest of the crew.

Ally wrenched her arm from his grasp. ‘What are you doing? I’m not some cave girl you can drag around!’

‘And I’m not someone you get to shout at. And let me tell you something else, Jones: I never sold a damn thing to you or Bellechier! So don’t you ever speak to me like that again!’ he said in a low, frustrated voice.

Ally felt the burn in her gut, the all too familiar pain beneath her ribs. ‘Well, you shouldn’t have cut your hair!’

‘It’s my bloody hair!’

Ross linked his hands behind his head and sucked in a deep breath, obviously looking for control. His eyes sparked dangerously.

‘You need to start treating me like an intelligent human being—and that includes you not sending me a dozen e-mails about the same blasted thing!—or we call it quits right now. I do run a multi-frickin’-mega-million-dollar company, you know, and I do not need your constant memos and reminders! It’s about time you and everyone else realised that I’m pretty damn good at organising my life!’

Jeez! Where had that come from?

‘I’m just trying to make sure everything runs smoothly,’ Ally protested, her temper fizzing. ‘This is my job, Ross!’

‘Well, this is my life, so butt the hell out!’

Okay, this was the first time she’d seen him angry— really angry. Suddenly Ally wasn’t even sure what they were arguing about.

‘You’re micro-managing me and you’re driving me nuts. Your staff must be on Prozac, dealing with you every day. You’d drive a monk to meth, Alyssa!’

That was harsh and cruel. And very unlike the Ross she’d thought she—kind of—knew.

Norm, the creative director for the ad agency, stuck his head around the corner of the deck and shuffled his feet. ‘Sorry to interrupt your screaming match, but if we don’t leave within the next five minutes we’re going to run out of light...and time.’

Ross nodded tersely. He gestured to Ally and in a hard, cold voice asked, ‘Do you need her there?’

Norm looked uncomfortable and Ally sighed.

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘Because I want to get this done, and it would go a hell of a lot quicker and easier if she wasn’t bitching at me.’

‘That’s so unfair,’ Ally said in a low voice, hurt twisting her stomach and piercing her heart.

Ross ignored her. ‘Well?’ he demanded, still looking at Norm.

‘We could do it without her,’ Norm said, with an apologetic look in her direction. He held up his hand in protest. ‘This time.’

‘Stay here,’ Ross commanded her.

Ally really, really didn’t respond well to orders. She slapped her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. ‘And if I don’t?’

‘Alyssa, just give me a goddamn break...please?’ He looked at Norm. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Norm. Creative Director.’

‘Ok...Norm and I are going to get this done and we’ll talk later. Maybe.’

Ross brushed past Ally and stormed back into the room, and Ally surmised that he must have issued a quick command because everyone in the room started moving, gathering clothes and equipment as they went.

Norm cleared his throat and Ally turned to look at him, her lips pursed.

‘Sorry, Ally.’

‘Not your fault, hon.’ Ally shoved her hands into her hair. ‘I guess I lit the fuse to that particular powder keg.’

Norm placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘We’ll get it done, Al.’

Ally nodded and dredged up a smile. ‘You always do. Thanks, Norm.’

Ross poked his head around the door, glared at them both and snapped out his parting shot. ‘I’m leaving. You coming or staying, Norm?’

* * *

Hours later Ally stood on the wooden deck of the apartment, her arms on the railing, a half-empty wine glass dangling from her fingers, and stared out at the restless Atlantic ocean. Ross’s words bounced around her head. Was she really such a micro-manager? Did her staff need Prozac? Would she drive a monk to meth?


Was she really that bad? In her quest for perfection, her desire to succeed, did she treat people like fools? Lord, she hoped not. But she suspected—knew—that she did sometimes. She could be hell on her staff—was definitely hell on relationships. But Ross was the first person to call her on it...the first man to point out her faults and to tell her that her behaviour was unacceptable.

She didn’t like it but she had to respect it. Ally frowned into the darkness. She really didn’t like the fact that he’d kept her off the shoot. She wouldn’t allow that to happen again.

‘Thinking of ways to off me?’

Ally jumped and whirled round, her heart threatening to climb out of her chest and belt off into the darkness. Ross stood on the other side of the deck, his shoulder on the glass and wood door that led back into the apartment.

‘How did you get in?’ she asked, placing her wine glass on the low coffee table beneath her.

‘Norm gave me his key. He said to tell you that I was on my best behaviour and that the shoot went well.’ Ross held up his hand as she looked around for her mobile. ‘He also said to tell you that he’s switching his phone off and that he’ll fill you in tomorrow.’ Ross pulled the pad of his thumb along his chin. ‘So, about this afternoon...’

Ally stared out to sea, every muscle in her body taut with tension. ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you. I’m especially sorry that I did it front of the entire crew.’

Ross was quiet for so long that Ally eventually made herself look at him. Even in the low light she could see the upward tilt of his lips.

‘Bet that hurt,’ he said finally.

She knew that she had more to say and fumbled for the words. ‘I was wrong, but you shouldn’t have banned me from the shoot.’

Ross nodded and Ally was surprised.

‘You’re right, that was a low blow. As were the Prozac and meth-addicted monk comments.’ Ross rubbed the back of his neck as he walked across the deck in her direction. He gripped the railing with his hands and dropped his head back to look at the stars.

‘What do you know about my dad?’

The question came out of the blue and Ally had to take a moment to catch up. ‘Uh...thinking... Not much, actually. He’s never spoken publicly about how and why he built Bennett Inc., has he?’

‘That’s my dad; for an owner of a PR company he’s not great at communicating.’ Ross took a sip of wine from her glass on the table and gestured for her to sit down on the square ottoman that ran the length of the deck. Ally dropped down, crossed her legs and rested her elbows on her knees.

Ross sat down next to her, leaned his back against the railing and casually draped his forearm across her knee.

‘He grew up poor—very poor—and he vowed that his children would want for nothing. Ever.’ Ross’s voice was as deep and dark as the night. ‘We didn’t. My sister and I had the latest toys, the latest clothes, the best education. What we didn’t have was his time, his attention, his input. We never felt loved, and we always felt like we were competing with Bennett Inc. We always lost.’

Ally knew that platitudes and sympathy would be unwelcome so she gave him silence and waited until he spoke again.

‘I thought that by going to work with him at Bennett Inc., by sharing his work, we would have something we could build a relationship on. I never banked on how much I would hate it.’

‘Why did you hate it so much?’

Ross let out a long breath. ‘It’s soulless. So many rules, written and unwritten, and none of them serve any purpose. The corporate world is about the bottom line, and people are a casualty of getting those profits. It was sucking the life out of me—and, trust me, I had it easy. My father made sure of that. When I felt like I couldn’t breathe any more I bailed and my father didn’t take it well.’

‘What happened?’

‘He cut me off. From everything.’ Ross’s hand gripped her knee. ‘A lot of people within the company and probably within our extended family think that our rift is about the fact that he cut me off from my trust fund, from the family money... Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Jonas still thought that too.’

‘It wasn’t about the money because you’re not about the money,’ Ally murmured.

A look of quick appreciation flashed across his face. ‘I’m really not. Money is a tool, not a goal. I didn’t want to work in a corporate environment. I wanted to do something creative—be someone other than Jonas Bennett’s son. Jonas couldn’t understand that—that Bennett Inc. was his baby, not mine.’

Ross finished her wine and Ally let him. He needed it a lot more than she did at the moment.

‘This afternoon I found out that he’s been trying to buy RBM to leverage me into coming back to run Bennett Inc. We had an argument which set my teeth on edge. And then I came here and you...’

‘Laid into you about your hair.’ Ally shook her head. ‘I might have said it badly but I’m still pretty unhappy that you cut it, Bennett.’

‘Because you had a look in mind for the ads?’

Ally put her hand on his jaw and pushed his cheek so that he was facing her. ‘No, because long hair suited you. Because that was the way you chose to wear it. Because you liked it. I never wanted to make you into something you aren’t, Ross. You’re a long haired, stubble-toting bad-ass CEO and that’s who I wanted to show the world. But dressed up in pretty clothes.’

Ross stared at her for a long minute.

Ally dropped her hand and smiled. ‘No worries. The face is still good. I texted the stylist to make sure that it was as messy as possible on the shoot. But keep the stubble, okay?’

Ross rubbed his jaw. ‘No worries about that. I’ve never had a problem growing a beard.’

Ally moved so that she sat next to him, her shoulder against his upper arm. Ross put his arm around her and pulled her in close. ‘Ross...’

‘Mmm?’

‘Maybe later, when you’re feeling calmer, you might look beyond your father’s words and try and see what he could be saying by his attempts to get you back to Bennett Inc. Maybe entrusting you with the thing he loves most—his company—is his way of telling you that he loves you, of making amends. Maybe he just doesn’t know how else to say it...’

‘But I don’t want it.’

‘And maybe he would accept that if you acknowledged his gift, his trust in you, before you said no. Maybe that’s all you need to do.’


Ross didn’t say anything and Ally eventually felt his kiss on her temple.

‘Maybe.’

Ally smiled as his big hand held her head against his chest and they listened to the waves crashing on the beach.

* * *

They were doing a photo shoot in Ross’s office, and perfectionist Ally winced at the messy desk, the basketball hoop on the wall and the battered leather couch that Ross was currently lying on, laptop on his knees, totally at ease as the photographer moved in front of him and the camera whirled.

‘Cross your legs at the ankles,’ Bert told him, dropping to one knee and twisting his body to get the shot he needed.

Ross, dressed in charcoal and white striped pants and a matching waistcoat, which the stylist had placed over a snow-white T-shirt that hugged his shoulders and bicep, looked delicious.

Ally really, really wished he hadn’t cut his hair.

Everyone in the room except the photographer turned at a knock on the door.

‘I don’t want to be disturbed!’ Bert shouted.

‘Dude—my office, my rules,’ Ross said in a calm voice that did not encourage argument. He looked over his shoulder as Eli pushed his way past Ally to look down at Ross.

Ally noticed that Eli didn’t seem remotely concerned or surprised that Ross was doing a shoot.

‘We’ve hit a major snag with the Japanese build.’ He bounced on his feet, worry rolling off him in waves. ‘The interface isn’t talking to the hardware.’

Ross twisted his lips. ‘Okay.’

‘It’s not okay! They are flying in tomorrow afternoon for the demo and we have nothing to demo!’

Ross swung his feet off the couch and sat up. He gave Eli a small smile. ‘How long have you and your team been up?’

Eli tapped his fingers against his thigh. ‘We didn’t sleep last night.’

‘Yeah—there’s your problem. Tell the boys to go home, get something to eat—’

‘But the build...’

‘E, you’re exhausted. You couldn’t work out square roots at the moment. Come back fresh early tomorrow morning and start again.’ Ross lifted a powerful shoulder. ‘I guarantee that you’ll find the solution in ten minutes in the morning.’

‘Jeez, Ross...I don’t know. Don’t you want to come and talk it through with us?’

‘No, I pay you and your team a wicked salary to get it right; that’s your job, not mine. Go home. I don’t want to see any of you here until you’ve had a solid eight.’ Ross lifted his eyebrows and held Eli’s eyes.

Ally saw Eli’s nod and caught the quick look of relief on Ross’s face. He cared about his staff and he managed them well.

‘What happens if they don’t solve the problem?’ Ally asked him when Eli had left the room.

Ross looked up at her. ‘They will. They are the best there is; they’re just tired and stressed—and who can be effective when they are living like that?’

Ally knew that his raised eyebrows were for her and she wiggled under his direct look. She liked the way he managed his people—giving them space to do their jobs, support when they needed it—and, as she’d witnessed earlier, when she’d walked in on Ross giving his interns a rollicking, he knew how to wield the big stick as well.

He actually managed his people while she, she suspected, either hovered until the task was perfected or simply removed the project and did it herself.

Not healthy, she thought, or clever.

Ross, ignoring the photographer’s yelp of protest, stood up and moved towards her to hold her face in his hands. He bent his knees so that his eyes were level with hers.

‘You’ve got to learn to trust your people, Jones,’ he said, before dropping a quick kiss on her mouth.

‘Can we get back to work now?’ Bert complained.

Kate, the pink-haired girl, popped her head into his office. ‘Ross, I need a minute.’

Ross grinned as Bert groaned and waved her in. He took the next set of clothes that the stylist held out to him and jerked his head towards the bathroom. ‘I’ll leave the door open a crack so that you can talk.’

Kate sent Ally a naughty grin. ‘Damn, I was hoping to catch a glimpse of you naked.’

Ally gave Ross a heated look before laughing. ‘Trust me, it’s as good as you imagine.’

* * *

Ally and Ross sat on the beach below his house, a bottle of red pushed into the soft sand, their backs against a large piece of driftwood. It was that magical hour between afternoon and nightfall...

‘I don’t like the word dusk—it doesn’t capture the essence, the magic of this time of day,’ Ally stated quietly. ‘The air is so still and fragrant, the waves are almost lazy, the sun is sinking slowly...’

Ross leaned forward and twisted his torso to send her a quizzical look. ‘Right...who are you and what have you done with logical and practical Ally?’

Ally swatted his shoulder with the back of her hand. ‘Funny man. I wasn’t always buttoned down and repressed, you know.’

‘I know that... Anyone who is as passionate as you in the sack is at heart warm and emotional.’

Somehow Ross had managed to see past workaholic Ally to the person she’d used to be. Ally wasn’t sure whether that scared the crap out of her or made her feel warm and fuzzy.

Both, probably.

‘I have reasons for being practical and logical, Ross,’ she stated quietly.

‘Ready to tell me what they are?’

Was she? She didn’t know if ‘ready’ was the right word. She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready to expose herself like that. It was as scary as hell, but she wanted to crack the door open, to let him in...

Maybe just to prove to herself that she could.

‘My father was a stoic, practical, unemotional man who didn’t know how to raise or relate to a little girl. He loved me—I know he did—he just didn’t get me. I was an emotional child—either wildly happy or crazy sad. I’d weep for days if I found a dead bird or laugh like crazy at a book or a comic or a TV show.’ Ally rolled the stem of her wine glass between her hands. ‘He couldn’t deal with either. He wanted...needed peace. He had a hugely stressful job and couldn’t cope with much more at the end of the day—couldn’t cope with me.’

Ally heard Ross swear, knew he was thinking badly of her father and needed to protect him.

‘As I said—he loved me, Ross. He just didn’t know how to handle me. As I grew up I realised that every time I showed emotion he retreated, but when I managed to control those emotions he could engage with me. I wanted his attention so I controlled my emotions. By the time I was thirteen I’d learnt to look outside of what I was feeling to the logic and practicality of the situation.’ Ally smiled quickly. ‘I was one hell of a debater.’


‘I just bet you were,’ Ross muttered, refilling their wine glasses.

‘He died on a beach in Phuket. I was with him,’ Ally said in a low, calm voice. ‘Justin and Sabine had bullied him into taking a holiday—sound familiar?—and I came out of the water and he was dead.’ Her breathing became shallow and spots danced behind her eyes.

‘I’ve got you,’ Ross said in his deep, stable voice.

Ally felt his arm around her, anchoring her, and pulled in a couple of deep breaths. ‘I’ve never told anyone this, so just hang on while I blurt it all out. There was a lot of confusion. I think I screamed and people ran to us. Somebody tried to give him CPR but I kept getting in their way, yelling at him to wake up. The police came. I remember lots of people in uniform. There was the language problem—it was Thailand—and I remember going to a police station and nobody quite knowing what to do with me for the longest time.’

Ross urged her to sip her wine, which she did, and she felt the tart liquid slide down her dry throat.

‘Eventually they allowed me to go back to my hotel room with a young Thai policewoman to look after me. She didn’t speak any English so she watched Thai TV and ordered Room Service. Someone came from the British Embassy and asked me a million questions, some of which I managed to answer. I was told to hang on, that they were working on what to do with me.’

Ally shuddered.

‘I was so scared, Ross. I was in a foreign country in a hotel room and I’d just lost my dad. I thought that I’d end up in some Thai orphanage. After two or three days the fear just got to me and I think I shut down. When the man from the embassy came back I couldn’t talk to him—couldn’t speak at all. My vocal cords were literally frozen in fear. I was too scared to eat, drink, bathe.’

Ally yelped as Ross grabbed her and yanked her onto his lap, holding her against him and burying his face in her hair. She patted his arm in an attempt to reassure him. Or was it herself? Did it matter?

‘I’m not sure how long it took—it felt like years—but then Justin and Sabine came and I could breathe again. I knew that I was safe.’

Pic crawled up to them and laid his head on Ally’s thigh, whining at her distress. Ally immediately reached out to rub his head.

After a long time, Ross spoke again. ‘But you’ve never allowed yourself to really be part of their family. They love you, Al, so why not?’

Ally heard the reassuring thump of his heart and sifted through the words, picking up and discarding phrases until she found the right ones. ‘When the man from the embassy came to tell me that Justin and Sabine were on their way he suggested that I not give them any trouble. I shouldn’t make waves. He said that they could return me to the system at any point.’

Ross growled. ‘Bastard.’

Ally shrugged. ‘He just reinforced what I’d already been taught. I didn’t want to risk losing them. I’d already lost my mother and father and I didn’t think I could—don’t think I can—lose someone else I love. Anyway, I’d already learnt to shut down my emotions with my dad so I thought that was what they expected too. It was safer to be disconnected, Ross—it still is.’

‘But it’s not healthy.’

‘That’s a matter of perspective,’ Ally replied. ‘You’ve called me a basket case before, Ross, but you just never quite realised quite how well I fit the bill.’

Ross’s arms tightened around her but he ignored her comment. ‘So why do you work so hard?’

‘Partly to repay the Bellechiers for taking me into their home. Partly because it keeps me from thinking. Mostly because it’s the one place where the world approves of logic and practicality, where emotion has no place.’ Ally tipped her head back to look up into his gorgeous face. ‘I’ve never told anyone else this, Ross.’

‘Why did you tell me?’

Ally shrugged. ‘I’m not actually sure.’

‘Oh, Alyssa.’ Ross rubbed his chin in her hair. ‘I think the truth is that you want to reconnect with your emotions, with yourself, and this might be the first step. But you should be doing this with your family, Al, with Sabine.’

And not with me... Ally heard the unspoken words and she knew that they were truth personified. He was temporary—a lovely, lovely diversion—but he wasn’t long term. She would be going back to Geneva and he would be staying in Cape Town and in time he would be a wonderful memory.

She didn’t want him to be a memory but how could he be anything else? She was so not his type. And there was the little hurdle of there being all of Africa and a fair chunk of Europe between them.

‘I think you deserve more from life than the half-life you are living. I think you are too smart, have too much to give, to waste your life at work. You have too much passion inside to spend it alone.’ Ross rubbed his hand across her back. ‘Start with Sabine, Al, be brave and let her in.’