business only.
He had to make her listen to him, make her believe he was telling her the truth. If she was determined then, damn it, so was he.
She would never believe he was separated.
Not coming from him.
She had to hear it from someone else. She had to be exposed to people who knew him. People she would believe.
He stood and walked back to the house .
If there was one thing h e knew well, it was the advertising business and now he had his own campaign to promote. She needed to hear about him from other people. He had to put her in a position where she’d mix with his staff and clients and others who knew him. He had to give her the opportunity to learn more about him.
Now he had a new campaign to run.
Love’s campaign.
Chapter ten
Rachel strode into the bedroom of her Coogee apartment, her body writhing with conflicting emotions.
Married. Not married. Separated. She didn’t know what to believe or think.
And that kiss. She’d certainly wanted it. She may have pushed Jake away earlier in the evening but later, when he wrapped his arms around her, there was no doubt she’d yearned for him.
She shook her head. “I don’t even know what I’m doing any more.”
Opening the door of her wardrobe, she picked up the jacket that was lying on her bed, grabbed a hanger and thrust the jacket onto it. As she shoved it roughly back onto the rail, she knocked the surrounding clothes onto the wardrobe floor.
“Oh, blow it!”
Talk about frustrating. She retrieved the fallen garments and hung them back up. Her eyes fell upon the dust covered black guitar case leaning in the back corner of the wardrobe. It was strange. It had been there for years and although she opened her closet every day, she never even noticed it.
She reached inside, grabbed the black leather handle and swung the guitar case onto her bed. She flicked open the gold latches and opened the case, admiring how the plush lining had kept the guitar dust free.
Nick’s Martin D28 acoustic maple top guitar. The one thing that had belonged to him with which she simply couldn’t bear to part. She’d refused to sell it even though the guitar would have brought in much needed money to help cover the debts after Nick passed away.
It had always been at the back of her mind. Perhaps one day she’d have a son or daughter of her own who might play it.
She’d saved for the guitar for over a year, putting aside a little money each week. The instrument was much more than she could afford at the time but she hadn’t cared. She’d wanted Nick to have the best. Wanted to show him how much she loved him.
The last time she’d seen the guitar had been a bad day. Worse than the day Nick died. If that were possible.
She’d been in the bedroom of their old house in Balmain, sorting through Nick’s belongings after the accident. The floor and bed had been covered in piles of clothes, some in boxes, others stacked in neat piles.
That was when she’d found the envelope.
She’d thought it odd there should be an envelope in Nick’s tee shirt drawer. She recalled lifting the stack of tee shirts and placing them on the bed. She’d been hesitant as she removed the envelope that was carefully wedged between two white shirts. The familiar shape of photographs filled the envelope, the mottled colours showing through the white of the envelope.
She’d sat on the bed and stared at the item in her hands. Why would Nick keep photos in his tee shirt drawer?
She’d laid the photos out on the bed and stared at them. She hadn’t sobbed or made a sound, not right away. She’d hoped her stillness and solitude could stop time, stop her world as it tumbled down around her.
She looked at the photos and she knew.
They weren’t indecent. But the story they told was indisputable.
She’d recognised the woman with her husband as someone who worked at Nick’s office. She was probably a bit older than Rachel, perhaps in he r late twenties at the time. She’d always
He had to make her listen to him, make her believe he was telling her the truth. If she was determined then, damn it, so was he.
She would never believe he was separated.
Not coming from him.
She had to hear it from someone else. She had to be exposed to people who knew him. People she would believe.
He stood and walked back to the house .
If there was one thing h e knew well, it was the advertising business and now he had his own campaign to promote. She needed to hear about him from other people. He had to put her in a position where she’d mix with his staff and clients and others who knew him. He had to give her the opportunity to learn more about him.
Now he had a new campaign to run.
Love’s campaign.
Chapter ten
Rachel strode into the bedroom of her Coogee apartment, her body writhing with conflicting emotions.
Married. Not married. Separated. She didn’t know what to believe or think.
And that kiss. She’d certainly wanted it. She may have pushed Jake away earlier in the evening but later, when he wrapped his arms around her, there was no doubt she’d yearned for him.
She shook her head. “I don’t even know what I’m doing any more.”
Opening the door of her wardrobe, she picked up the jacket that was lying on her bed, grabbed a hanger and thrust the jacket onto it. As she shoved it roughly back onto the rail, she knocked the surrounding clothes onto the wardrobe floor.
“Oh, blow it!”
Talk about frustrating. She retrieved the fallen garments and hung them back up. Her eyes fell upon the dust covered black guitar case leaning in the back corner of the wardrobe. It was strange. It had been there for years and although she opened her closet every day, she never even noticed it.
She reached inside, grabbed the black leather handle and swung the guitar case onto her bed. She flicked open the gold latches and opened the case, admiring how the plush lining had kept the guitar dust free.
Nick’s Martin D28 acoustic maple top guitar. The one thing that had belonged to him with which she simply couldn’t bear to part. She’d refused to sell it even though the guitar would have brought in much needed money to help cover the debts after Nick passed away.
It had always been at the back of her mind. Perhaps one day she’d have a son or daughter of her own who might play it.
She’d saved for the guitar for over a year, putting aside a little money each week. The instrument was much more than she could afford at the time but she hadn’t cared. She’d wanted Nick to have the best. Wanted to show him how much she loved him.
The last time she’d seen the guitar had been a bad day. Worse than the day Nick died. If that were possible.
She’d been in the bedroom of their old house in Balmain, sorting through Nick’s belongings after the accident. The floor and bed had been covered in piles of clothes, some in boxes, others stacked in neat piles.
That was when she’d found the envelope.
She’d thought it odd there should be an envelope in Nick’s tee shirt drawer. She recalled lifting the stack of tee shirts and placing them on the bed. She’d been hesitant as she removed the envelope that was carefully wedged between two white shirts. The familiar shape of photographs filled the envelope, the mottled colours showing through the white of the envelope.
She’d sat on the bed and stared at the item in her hands. Why would Nick keep photos in his tee shirt drawer?
She’d laid the photos out on the bed and stared at them. She hadn’t sobbed or made a sound, not right away. She’d hoped her stillness and solitude could stop time, stop her world as it tumbled down around her.
She looked at the photos and she knew.
They weren’t indecent. But the story they told was indisputable.
She’d recognised the woman with her husband as someone who worked at Nick’s office. She was probably a bit older than Rachel, perhaps in he r late twenties at the time. She’d always
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