The Last Guy She Should Call by Joss Wood Page A

that he was finally giving her some privacy. Instead she felt his hand warm and big on her neck, gently stroking the tense cords.
    She wished she could just lean back and soak up his strength, ask him to help her sort this out. But she couldn’t. She never asked for help...mostly because there had never been anyone around she could ask.
    Besides, he’d just think that she was stupid and irresponsible... And because she liked his hands on her skin a little too much she swatted them away.
    ‘Do you have any documentation or photographs of what was stolen from that gallery so that I can compare them myself?’ Rowan asked Grayson.
    ‘No, that’s not my problem—it’s yours. I just know that it was those four subjects.’
    And Japanese artists never did the same subjects. Damn Grayson! He was getting all paranoid and crazy without even knowing if the netsukes looked the same. Stupid man. Grayson was rich, but he wasn’t bright.
    ‘You need to do some research. Try to identify the pieces. Then we’ll talk again,’ Grayson said as Seb dropped his hand and walked away to refill his coffee cup.
    ‘You know you want them.’
    ‘And I’ll buy them—after you tell me that they are definitely not stolen.’
    ‘They are definitely not stolen.’
    ‘Smarty pants,’ Grayson said, before disconnecting.
    Aarrrrgh. It wasn’t as if she was a total amateur, Rowan thought on an internal eye-roll. She stared out of the window and tried to push her way through her panic to think the problem through.
    ‘I can smell your brains burning,’ Seb said, taking his seat again and pushing another cup of coffee in her direction. ‘Sip and spill.’
    Rowan instinctively shook her head. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure something out.’ She pushed against the table to haul herself to her feet. This wasn’t Seb’s problem, she thought. It was hers, solely.
    Rowan looked down in surprise when Seb’s hand snagged her wrist and tugged her back to her seat. ‘Sit down, drink your coffee and tell me what’s happened.’
    ‘Seb...I can deal with it. It’s fine.’
    Seb shoved a frustrated hand through his hair. ‘That’s the problem, Rowan. You don’t need to deal with it on your own. Why won’t you let me help you?’
    ‘I don’t need your help! This is minor, Seb. I needed your help nine years ago. I needed lots of help then! Since then I’ve learnt to rely on myself.’
    Seb flicked his thumbnail against his bottom lip. ‘Something happened that night—something more than any of us realised.’
    Rowan shook her head. ‘What is your obsession with that damned party? It was at a club, I got caught with a baggie, I did community service for it... End of story.’
    ‘Really? I suspect you took the rap for that slick character you were so in love with. Jason... Jack...’ Seb clicked his fingers in frustration.
    ‘Joe Clark.’
    He frowned. ‘The same Joe Clark who runs that sports betting company? The one that’s just been listed on the Stock Exchange?’
    ‘I presume so. His father owned a couple of betting shops, so it must be the same family.’
    ‘You haven’t kept in touch with him?’
    Revulsion passed across Rowan’s face, accompanied by a visible shudder. Oh, yeah, there was a story here.
    Rowan cocked her head. ‘What’s with the twenty questions? I feel like I’m back in the interrogation room at Sydney.’
    ‘You’re tough. You can handle it.’ Seb looked over the rim of his coffee cup. Her remote, distant façade was back in place and it annoyed him. She wasn’t cool and remote. She never had been. Loud, vivacious, spontaneous... He’d used to be able to read every emotion on her face.
    ‘Are you in trouble—again?’ If she was there was no way that he’d just sit back and watch her go through hell a second time. ‘Tell me.’
    Rowan recognised that determined look on his face and realised that he wasn’t going to be shrugged off. And she felt...relieved. Glad to have an excuse to tell