“How is everything? The news said you’ve been having some wild weather.”
“Och, yes, we are indeed. I do miss the Sydney summer, hen.”
I lie down and stretch out, kicking off my shoes to join the collection already gathered on the floor around the sofa, and settle in, ready for a good long session.
Dad shares all the news of the cows and sheep, the local personalities and his plans to get the estate back into the black with a whisky distillery, and I fill him in on the CPM project and the work I’m doing for my exhibit.
I’m an emotional painter. The more emotional I am, whether negative or positive, the better I paint. Over the past few weeks, despite having so much work to do for CPM, I have been painting like a woman possessed. They’re pretty good, too, if I do say so myself.
“Let me see your latest work,mo chridhe,” he asks.
I head over to my work area, turning the phone so the camera picks up my latest paintings. Even though our styles are completely different, Dad has a brilliant eye for colour and composition, and we while away an hour without even realising it.
“Oh, crap. Dad, I have to go. I’m going to a party with Ro, and I have to drop off the presentation to one of the partners on my way out. I’m going to be terribly late.” Heading into the bedroom, I open the cupboard, still wondering what to wear.
“I’ll let you go then, hen. You take care of yourself. Think about coming for Christmas, would you? I can’t get away, but it would be wonderful to see you if you can stand the cold.”
“I’ll try, Da. It depends on work. I miss you.” We both tear up. Contrary to his wild and woolly appearance, Dad is a complete softy and struggles with us being so far apart.
“I miss you too, my darling. Talk soon.”
As soon as I hang up, I’m in the shower, shaving my legs, washing my hair and soaping every inch of me. Not for Nick the Disapproving, of course. In case I meet someone interesting at this party. You never know. I’m not a relationship kind of girl. You’re less likely to get hurt that way. But a good one—or two—night stand never hurt anyone, and it’s been a while. Perhaps if I meet someone interesting, I’ll stop having those thoughts about Nick Pierce. If ever there was a less appropriate man for me to be fantasising about, I couldn’t imagine him.
As I’m drying myself, I have an epiphany. I know precisely the dress to wear. Not for Nick the Smouldering, obviously. For the unknown guy at the party.
Once I’m dressed, I snap a quick selfie and send it to Ro, who is my go-to for all things fashion. All things life, to be honest. She answers with heart eyes emojis and half a dozen thumbs up, so I know I’m good to go. I let her know I’ll be late and I’ll meet her at the party. Putting Nick’s address into Uber, I gather my portfolio and head downstairs.
Chapter Seven
Nick
I’vehadashitof a day. I should have taken the first hint when my alarm failed to go off and I overslept. Then some idiot rear-ended my car when I stopped for a red light and had the gall to suggest it was ‘only yellow, you could totally have made it, man’. A note on my desk reminded me Mandy wouldn’t be in—bloody hell, who takes a day off for an anniversary lunch?—along with a reminder that the presentation by The Interloper was at three pm. Big fat no to that. Not today. Fortunately, I had a client in need of a come-to-Jesus talk and quickly scrambled a meeting for two thirty. Not a great time for a meeting on a Friday, but it would get me out of sitting through the presentation. I was definitely not in the frame of mind to deal with The Interloper today. Sometime in the past couple of weeks, this woman has gone from being a thorn in my side to a pain in my arse, to an ache in my cock.
Finally, I’m home. Changing out of my suit and into some comfortable jeans and a t-shirt, I check my phone for calls and emails one more time before silencing it. Generally, I make myself available 24/7, but tonight I need a break. I queue up my favourite jazz playlist and I’m pouring my second scotch when the door buzzer sounds.
Looking at the intercom screen, I almost drop my glass. For fuck’s sake. What is she doing here? Standing in front of my building is The Interloper herself, a bulky folder under her arm.
“How did you get my address?” I bark into the intercom.
“Good evening, Nicholas. Yes, Iwouldlike to come up. Thank you so much.” She beams at the camera, in what I am sure she thinks is a beguiling way. Yes, alright. It is beguiling. But it doesn’t mean I have to be beguiled. Because I’m not. I’m the opposite of beguiled. Whatever that might be.
“Why?”
“Well, unfortunately, you missed my presentation today, which I’m sure was utterly devastating. Harry wanted you to have the proposal so you could review it over the weekend. He’s keen to get started.” She lifts her shoulders. Her smooth, creamy shoulders. Which I can see because she’s wearing some sort of off the shoulder dress. My jeans begin to feel tight, and she’s not even in the room.
“Harry gave you my address?” Note to self; have words with both Harry and Gillian on Monday.
“Well, his assistant, if you want to be technical, but yes. Can I come up?”
“You can leave it in the foyer and I’ll pick it up in the morning.” The last thing I need is The Interloper in my apartment. I know from experience how long her perfume lingers. I’d have to get the place fumigated. Otherwise, my cock would likely drop off from too much handling. Hand being the operative word.
“Hmm. Sure.” She smiles again as I push the release for the door. Mission accomplished. I’ll pick the folder up in the morning and be able to avoid her for another few days. No sooner have I sunk onto the couch than there is a cheerful tapping on the door. Oh no, she did not.
Apparently,she did. I throw open the door. “How the hell did you get up here? This is a secure floor.”
“Your lovely neighbour followed me into the building, so I rode up with him. Wasn’t that a bit of luck?” She glances over her shoulder at the idiot who lives across from me as he disappears inside his apartment with a goofy—and more than a little creepy—leer at The Interloper. I’ll have to speak to building security about him. Again.
“Fine. You have two minutes.” I turn my back on her, and she barely manages to catch the door before it closes.
