Blame It on the Bikini - By Natalie Anderson Page 0,12

leaned closer. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t seen much of you in recent years.’

‘Maybe you should have turned up to a couple of Lauren’s birthday parties.’

He winced, hand to his chest. ‘I was overseas.’

She knew he’d studied further overseas before coming back and setting up his own practice. ‘So convenient. For work, was it? You learned well from your father.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Doesn’t he use work for emotional avoidance too? Earns millions to buy the things to make up for it.’ Lauren had been given so many things and none of them what she’d truly yearned for.

The laughing glint vanished from Brad’s eyes. ‘Formed a few judgments over the years, haven’t you?’

Mya realised she might have gone more than a little far. ‘I’m sorry, that was out of line. I’ll always be grateful for the kindness your parents showed me,’ she said stiltedly, embarrassed at her rudeness.

But he laughed again, the devil dancing back in his eyes. ‘Their kindness?’

Okay, maybe he did remember the ultra-frosty welcome she’d got for the first year or three that she and Lauren hung out. ‘They didn’t ban me from their home.’ Even though she knew they’d wanted to. Now they realised they owed Mya something.

‘Don’t worry about it. I know even better than you what a mess it was.’

He’d certainly left home the second he could. Mya had been the one who’d spent every afternoon after school with Lauren in that house. She and Lauren hid up in Lauren’s suite, laughing and ignoring the frozen misery downstairs. The false image of the perfect family. ‘But Lauren’s the one who’s made the conscious effort to be different from how she was raised.’

‘You’re saying I’ve not?’

Mya shrugged. ‘You’re the mini-me lawyer.’

‘You do know my father and I practise vastly different types of law. I’m not in his firm.’

Blandly she picked up a glass and polished it. That didn’t mean anything.

‘What, all lawyers are the same?’ He snorted. ‘I don’t do anything he does. I work with kids.’

She knew this, and at this precise moment she point-blank refused to be impressed by it. ‘You think your save-the-children heroic-lawyer act somehow ameliorates your womanising ways?’ Because Brad was a womaniser. Just like his father.

‘Doesn’t it?’

See, he didn’t even deny the charge. ‘You think? Yeah, that’s probably why you do child advocacy,’ she mused. ‘To score the chicks by showing your sensitive side.’

He laughed, a loud burst of genuine humour that had her smiling back in automatic response.

‘That’s an interesting take. I’ve never really thought about it that way.’ He shrugged. ‘But even if it does give me some chick-points, at least I’ve done something with my life that’s useful. Is igniting alcohol for party boys useful?’

She shifted uncomfortably. Serving drinks was a means to an end. But she managed a smooth reply. ‘Helping people relax is a skill.’

His brows shot up. ‘I’m not sure you’re that good at helping guys relax.’

She met his gaze and felt the intensity pull between them again.

‘Are you still at university or are you finished now?’ He broke the silence, looking down and toying with the pile of postcards on the edge of the bar.

‘I’m there part-time this year.’

‘Studying what?’

‘A double degree. Law and commerce.’

‘Law and commerce?’ he repeated. ‘So you’re going to become a greedy capitalist like my evil father and me?’ He laughed. She didn’t blame him, given her stabbing disapproval mere seconds ago. ‘You’re enjoying it?’

‘Of course,’ she said stiffly.

‘And the plan?’

‘A job in one of the top-five firms, of course.’

‘Speciality?’

‘Corporate.’

‘You mean like banking? Counting beans? Helping companies raid others and earning yourself wads of cash in the process?’

‘Nothing wrong with wanting to earn a decent wage in a job where you can sit down.’ She walked away to serve the customers she’d been ignoring too long. Her need to achieve wasn’t something trust-fund-son over there could understand. She needed money—not for a giant flat-screen TV and a house with a lap-pool and overseas jaunts. She needed a new house, yes, but not for herself. For her parents.

She was conscious of his gaze still on her as he sat now nursing something non-alcoholic and taking in the scene. As she glanced over, she saw his eyes held a hint of bleak strain. Was it possible that behind the playboy façade, the guy was actually tired?

But he didn’t leave. Even when the bar got quieter and they’d turned the music down a notch. In another ten minutes the lights would brighten to encourage the stragglers out of the dark corners. Mya felt him watching her,