“Lulu, Harry was wondering if you could come into the office on Monday. Say, around noon?”
“Of course. Twelve is fine.”
“Afterwards, he’d like to take you to lunch if you have the time?”
“I’d be delighted. I look forward to it.”
Right, so I have the weekend to get my imagination under control. Because despite his rudeness, and my attempts to put him out of my mind, I’ve had more than one sex dream about Nicholas the Tardy and woken up with feels I haven’t had in so long I can’t remember.
It’s been a while since I’ve been attracted to anyone. Longer still since I’ve even been on a date. I’m not interested in a relationship, and men always seem to want more than I’m prepared to give. I don’t like hurting people, so I avoid dates. Simple. Except when you meet someone like Nicholas, who, even with his obnoxious personality, has so much sex appeal my insides feel like warm caramel at the thought of him. Dammit.
At two minutes before twelve on Monday morning, I’m sitting in the foyer at CPM. My right leg starts to bounce as it does when I’m bored. Or nervous. Or bored and nervous. I’m not usually the nervous type, and I don’t know why I should be today. I’ve got the job. But I can’t seem to stop the jiggling. I refuse to consider the possibility it might be because of Nicholas the Rude.
Harry bowls down the corridor, all smiles and handshakes. “Lulu, so good to see you again. Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?”
It doesn’t take long for us to go over the details of the job and agree on budgets.
“Before we head out to lunch, let me take you on a tour of the offices.”
We start down the corridor and pass through each department, leaving the partners’ offices until last. It would be a kindness to say the offices are tired, despite the expensive computers on every desk and the spectacular views that make Sydney Harbour look close enough to dive into. The dull grey carpet is worn and stretched, and the desks look as if they were made in the 1960s. And not in a good mid-century modern kind of way. In a this-used-to-be-a-public-service-office kind of way. But it does give me an idea. A way to modernise the office while maintaining a strong reference to their 1960s beginnings.
Harry’s son, Will, a junior partner, leaps out of his seat when he sees me. “So glad you’re going to be working with us, Lulu.” His wide grin and handshake are warm and welcoming, but I feel an icy chill down my spine. In my peripheral vision I notice my nemesis stalking into the office next door, pointedly ignoring us.
“Oh, Nicholas, just in time.” Harry spots him too and drags me to his door. “I don’t believe you two were introduced the other day. Lulu MacLeod, this is Nicholas Pierce, one of our Senior Partners.”
“Nice to meet you, Nicholas.” I hold out my hand, meeting his steely grey stare. How it manages to be both hot and cold at the same time is a mystery to me.
“Ms. MacLeod,” is all he says, in a black gravel voice. His hand is large and strong, with surprising callouses on his palm, as he shakes mine. It’s not often I feel small, but that’s the effect Nicholas has on me. Not only is he tall, but he’s broad too, his wide shoulders creating the perfect inverted triangle with his narrow hips. The chill running down my spine spreads at the touch of his hand, and I feel goose-bumps scatter across my skin. It’s fire and ice and goes straight to my lady parts. For a beat too long, neither of us breaks the hold. Or eye contact. And then he shakes himself and drops my hand as if burned, alerting me to the fact that whatever it was, he felt it too. The strange push/pull of dislike coupled with attraction.
“I’m taking Lulu to lunch to celebrate our agreement. Why don’t you and William join us? Lulu doesn’t want to have lunch alone with an old bloke like me, I’m sure.”
“I’m afraid I’m very busy today, Harry.” Nicholas attempts to put his desk between himself and the rest of us.
“Nonsense. Mandy said you have nothing scheduled. We’ll just go downstairs. I won’t take no for an answer.” I try to hide my smirk at how Harry has outmanoeuvred Nicholas, who scowls but doesn’t argue.
Will is already shrugging into his suit coat beside us. “Come on, Nick. You have to eat. Let’s go.”
And so, I find myself once again in a lift with Nicholas Pierce, his delicious aftershave and impressive shoulders. I glance down and see he has another expensive pair of shoes on today to go with his perfectly tailored suit. It’s probably not wise to bait a new client, but I can’t help myself.
“What lovely shoes, Mr Pierce. Are they new?”
“Yes, they are. Myfavouritepair was ruined last week.” He looks pointedly at my shoes, brand-new wedges, which are almost as high as my stilettos.
Will laughs. “You have favourite shoes? All the years I’ve known you, you still manage to surprise me.”
“What a shame. Were they expensive?” I try hard to look sympathetic, but I’m pretty sure it comes out more mocking than anything else. I know full well how much his shoes were worth. I’m no stranger to expensive designer clothing, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Quite, yes.” He scowls at me again but doesn’t fill Harry and Will in on how the shoes were ruined.
“Well, those are very smart too. You should take better care of them.” That gets a strangled oath from Nicholas the Cranky and looks of bewilderment from Harry and Will.
The restaurant on the ground floor of their building is high-end, conversations hushed, silverware heavy and glassware sparkling. It’s not the sort of restaurant I usually eat at, and I’m glad I spent so much time choosing my outfit. I might not fit in perfectly, but neither do I stand out like a broken toe.
Harry and Will keep the conversation flowing through lunch, which is just as well because Nicholas the Cranky says nothing at all beyond ordering his meal. He scarcely looks up from his plate unless he’s asked a direct question. Until I order a chai latte. Which earns a snort.
“Do you have something against chai, Mr Pierce?”
“Not at all, Ms. MacLeod. I just didn’t realise we were in nursery school.” He sits back in his chair. I’m speechless. Harry looks mortified.
