“Yes, well, she’s very arty. Goes with the territory I guess. I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that she’s gorgeous.” Will’s expression could only be described as lascivious. Which, for some reason, raises the hair on the back of my neck.
“If you like rainbows and unicorns, I suppose.”
“If you have eyes and a pulse you mean.” Will nudges me in the ribs and steps into the lift.
Rolling my eyes, I stab the button for the basement and attempt to change the subject.
“How is Josh settling back into life in Sydney?” Will’s closest friend Josh, an old school friend of ours, has recently returned to Sydney after ten years working in London and New York.
“He’s great. I expect you’ll see him yourself soon. He’s going to crew for me in the Twilight Races this season.”
“I look forward to beating you both, then.” Will and I have been competing against one another since our fathers taught us how to sail at the age of ten. Nothing beats being out on the harbour on a warm summer evening. Unless it’s winning a race on a warm summer evening. Especially against Will.
“You wish.” Will laughs, then claps his hands together as an idea strikes. “You know, Josh has bought a place in Manly. My sister is helping him with blueprints for some renovations. Maybe I should introduce him to Lulu? I could set them up, and she could help him with decorating. She’s kind of his type, and he hasn’t been seeing anyone since he got back. Two birds, one stone.” He grins like he’s had the best idea in the history of ideas. For reasons that escape me, it seems like one of the worst ideas ever.
I’ve never been much of a sleeper—four or five hours is enough. But tonight, sleep seems impossible. It’s four am, and I’m still tossing and turning. Reliving the conversation I had with Lulu MacLeod in my office. Except it wasn’t a conversation. It was a skirmish. An altercation. A confrontation. And she had the final word. In fact, she had all the words. Apart from my brief explosion when I arrived, she ran the whole … exchange. This can’t be allowed to continue. I’m a lawyer, for Christ’s sake. I make a living out of coming out on top in an argument. If I can’t manage to control an encounter with an interior designer, I should be rethinking my career choices. I roll over yet again and attempt to pound my pillow into submission. In the morning—well, later in the morning—I will make sure my position is clear.
I eventually fall asleep around four-thirty, then sleep through my alarm, so I’m later than my usual seven-thirty start at the office the next day, already out of sorts. First order of business—coffee. Mandy is not in yet, so I head towards the staff kitchen, where I hear laughter and voices, all tripping over each other. I round the corner, and there she is, Lulu MacLeod. The Interloper herself, surrounded by three junior associates. All drooling. All looking like scouts have set up tents in their cheap suit trousers.
Today she’s wearing a ridiculous all-in-one pantsuit, and my cock twitches alarmingly in my trousers. I’m no better than the junior associates, which ratchets my temper up further still.
“Do none of you have anything to occupy you?” My voice is quiet, but my tone is hard. At their guilty stares, I glare back. “Because if you have nothing to do, I have some precedent research I need to be done. Or you could proof read some contracts for me. And I’m sure Edith could use a hand shelving books in the library. She has such trouble reaching the top shelves these days …”
I think the land speed record is broken as they scuttle out of the kitchen with not much more than a nervous, apologetic glance at Lulu.
“Good morning, Nicholas,” chirps The Interloper, the tiny diamond stud in her nose winking at me. It’s way too early for that sort of perkiness. In truth, it’s always too early for any sort of perkiness.
Now is my chance to redress the power balance I somehow lost control of yesterday.
“Not particularly.” I look her sternly in the eye. Who knew that colour blue existed in nature? Giving myself a mental shake, I continue. “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from distracting the staff while you are here, Ms MacLeod. They have a great deal of work to do, and we are not paying them to stand around flirting and giggling like teenagers.”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of distracting them. We were discussing the kitchen facilities and whether an additional coffee station closer to their work area would improve their productivity. You know, since they work such long hours and need to stay alert.” She grins at me, her long elegant fingers wrapped around a coffee cup. Fingers which are today stained blue and green. There she goes again, getting the upper hand.
“Right. Well. That might, in fact, be a good idea,” I concede, to which she beams.
“I do have them from time to time,” she throws over her shoulder as she saunters off. “Have a lovely day.”
I watch as she sashays away, the pantsuit clinging alarmingly to the curve of her incredible arse. At least we won’t be treated to another viewing of the belly ring. Thank God.
But yet again, she got the best of our encounter.
Chapter Four
Lulu
Iwaltzoutofthe kitchen with a determined swing to my hips, glad I wore my favourite boy-short knickers, which make my arse look amazing. Because I know he’s watching. There’s nothing quite like getting the upper hand in a debate. And Nicholas the Tardy is now Nicholas the Disapproving. Something tells me he will have a long list of titles by the time I finish here, and none of them will be flattering. Except maybe Nicholas the Smouldering. I do like a good smoulder, and his is Olympic gold medal standard.
Getting to know the people who work here is part of the job. I can’t design a workspace for them that will help their productivity if I don’t understand what it is they do and how they do it. But if Nicholas the Disapproving cuts it short every time I have a conversation with someone, this job is going to take forever.
I decide to head to the other side of the office where the library is. Hopefully, he won’t notice me there. Office gossip is gold, and I find a rich seam of it with the librarian, who everyone seems to be terrified of, but who is as sweet as anything. Edith tells me Nicholas is a senior partner because he took his father’s seat when he died last year. Which, when I think about it, explains a lot. I know more than I would like about losing a parent before you’re ready. Maybe I should cut him some slack and be extra nice to him next time we cross paths.
Ahh, best-laid plans. I have every intention of cutting Nicholas the Disapproving some slack. I truly do. He just makes it so hard to not bite back.
We got off on the wrong foot—almost literally—and we don’t seem able to get onto the right one. I’m not sure what it is about me he doesn’t like. For the most part, people find me pretty likeable. And I’m not sure how to deal with the hostility that rolls off him in waves.
In a matter of hours, we are toe-to-toe again, this time over bathrooms, of all things. This firm is so old-fashioned they still have an executive washroom—put in no doubt at great expense—and only used by partners and clients.
I’m sitting on the sink sketching the layout when the door opens.
