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Nothing more can happen between Louise and me until I’ve heard from Tate.

I’m hopeful that he’ll see the value, but hopeful is not quite confident. Tate is a mercurial character. I’d be a fool to think it was in the bag.

There’s always the chance he won’t like the idea, but both my uncle and Edward thought it was a better-than-workable plan. And even though it’ll be three to five years before we see a payoff, it has the potential to be really profitable. And there’s the opportunity to roll Louise’s idea out in other regions.

Then there’s the fact this idea will protect the reputation of the business as a whole. Because whichever way you slice it, no matter how quietly we shut the business down, no matter how much spin we put on it, or damage control we do, shutting the Australian operation will reflect badly on the company. Not least because it shouldn’t have failed at all.

There is no reason on earth why the Australian operation can’t be profitable. John Mackelden—through disinterest or neglect—has been allowed to run an essentially healthy business off the road, through a hedge and into a ditch. It strikes me that our shattered windscreen is a metaphor for the business.

I just hope Tate doesn’t take too long to get back to me. I don’t even need a definitive decision. He just needs to be open to the idea.

Then I can explain everything to Louise. And maybe she’ll not hate me. She’s a professional. Surely she’ll understand why I had to keep quiet. And maybe she’ll be open to letting me back into her bed.

The time between now and when that happens is going to be painful. For both of us.

But I can fix this. I know I can.

Louise is still sound asleep when I exit the bathroom. I dress quietly and pack my bag, so I’m ready to go when we hear from Trevor or Buddy that the car is ready.

I’m dreading her waking up. Because we’re going to have to have a difficult conversation. And given the time difference between here and London, it’s likely to be hours before I hear from Tate. Nevertheless, I watch my phone while I wait.

What comes through first is a message from Trevor. The car’s ready when we are.

The sound of the text message rouses Louise.

She sits up with a shy, sleepy smile on her gorgeous lips. But it dies when she looks at my face. It takes everything in me not to wrap her in my arms. Not to tumble her back on the bed and cuddle her for the rest of the day.

Cold works its way up my face. A reverse blush that originates from deep in my chest.

“The car’s ready. Do you want to grab a shower so we can get on the road?”

She looks like she’s about to say something but thinks better of it. With a nod she once again wraps herself in the sheet, rifles through her suitcase for clean clothes and trails into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later she emerges, cheeks pink from the heat of the shower, body tense.

I pretend to be engrossed in my phone while she packs up the clothes she’s spread around the room over the past couple of days.

Finally, there’s nothing left to do but have the conversation I’d give my right ball not to have. Louise has perched on the only other chair in the room, spine straight, hands wedged between her knees, uncharacteristically silent.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. Of course.” She sounds anything but. Her voice wobbles. She knows what’s coming. She must.

“About last night—”

“And this morning,” she interrupts. A reminder that only serves to twist the knife.

“Yes.” I’m not ready to continue my thought.

We sit and gaze at each other in silence measured by the pounding of my heart.

I want to fall on her. Kiss her senseless. Tell her how wonderful she is. That despite all the obstacles we face—some of which she isn’t even aware of—we’ll work it out. But I can’t. That would be unfair to her. Not to mention dishonest.

“I wish …” I’m struggling to get words out.

Louise traces my face with a gaze that burrows under my skin. I see the moment she reaches a conclusion. She holds up a hand. It’s shaking ever so slightly, but her expression is resolute.

“Can I stop you right there?” She closes her eyes for a moment, and when she opens them, it’s as though a shutter has come down. “If you’re going to say you wish things could be different, there’s no need. We made a mistake. Two mistakes. What we did was inappropriate. I get that. Let’s just forget it ever happened and move on, okay?”