“Going somewhere?”
The scream my little brother lets fly is piercing.
“What the fuck?” He rounds on me, furious. He’s dressed in another head-to-toe designer outfit that makes him look like some kind of up-and-coming rapper.
“What did Ms Kirby say? Squeaky clean, Ty, squeaky clean.”
Greer comes running out of the bedroom, her face pink and pillow-creased, her long legs bare, gorgeous red hair a tangle around her face.
“What happened?”
“Ty thought he should check the front door was locked,” I tell her, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “And now he’s going right back to bed. Aren’t you Ty?”
“I thought you were cool. You’re no better than the cops,” Ty grumbles as he turns towards his bedroom.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. The cops have got nothing on me, brother. I learnt from the best. Something you might like to remember.”
Greer and I watch Ty slink off, slamming his bedroom door behind him.
“An old trick I learnt from Harry,” I say in answer to her unasked question.
“See, you do know what you’re doing.” Greer gives me a kiss on the cheek as she heads back to her bed.
I settle back onto the couch, hopeful we’ll all be able to get some sleep now. And maybe even a little bit confident I can do this. After all, I did learn from the best.
I take Ty and Greer out for a late breakfast on Sunday morning, relieved Ty is finally starting to drop the attitude, at least a little.
I’m shattered. Yesterday was exhausting. Not to mention I didn’t get much sleep after our middle-of-the-night adventure. Not only because of Ty. Spending the weekend with Greer and not being able to touch her has been the bitterest, sweetest kind of torture. The way she looked last night, in the t-shirt Ty loaned her to sleep in, I thought my dick was going to jump ship, waltz its way over to her and tuck itself inside her warm body all on its own. There wasn’t much chance of sleep after that.
I knock back three coffees in quick succession to try and snap myself out of my stupor. Ty manages to hoover up the biggest breakfast I’ve ever seen, which is good because I think he’s been living on alcohol and drugs since his mother took off.
Greer waits with Ty in the foyer at the school while I have a chat with the dorm master, who is horrified by what’s gone on. It takes a promise of a large donation from my father to avoid Ty getting expelled, and I agree to some pretty tough detention rules.
All the time I’m talking with the teacher, I have half an ear open for Greer’s voice, quietly chatting with Ty, and his responding laughs. Fuck, she’s perfect. I don’t know any other woman who would’ve dropped everything to spend the weekend with such an argumentative and troublesome kid. Greer didn’t even hesitate. Even when it meant borrowing a t-shirt from Ty to sleep in. She wasn’t even phased by his sleazy comment this morning about how he wouldn’t be washing it again, ever. Which earned him a swift elbow to the ribs from me. Not that I can blame him.
After dropping Ty off at school, we go back to Manly to pick up Greer’s car, so it’s early evening before I get home. Dinner is a bowl of cereal before I fall into bed, eager to make up for last night’s lack of sleep.
I’m feeling remarkably relaxed, all things considered, by the time I head in to work on Monday morning, prepared for a full-on couple of weeks, knowing we have a tricky pitch to a potential client coming up. I’m so deep in the weeds with this client, two weeks fly by and I barely notice. I manage to make time for Ty, whose mother is still MIA, and not much else.
By the day of the pitch, the whole team is exhausted. They’ve worked like the clappers to get it ready, and I’m really happy with what we’ve come up with.
The client is in a bit of a PR mess, and they’re looking to change direction, rehabilitate their reputation and expand their business all at the same time. Not an easy ask, but I think we nailed it.
I take the team out for a well-earned lunch to celebrate. Long lunches are part of the deal in advertising, although today’s lunch might be a bit of a record-breaker—it’s after nine by the time we wind it up. I’ve made it a policy never to have more than two drinks at work functions. When you’re the creative director, you have to keep yourself tidy. Sadly, the same can’t be said for the rest of the team, and once I’ve poured them into Ubers, I find myself on the pavement outside the restaurant reluctant to go home.
It's not long until I move in with Will, and I can’t wait to get out of the serviced apartment. It’s lonely to be honest. And spending too much time alone gives me time to think about Greer. I know she started her new job this week, and apart from sending her a text to wish her luck, we haven’t spoken. I’m finding it hard to ignore the feelings our weekend with Ty dredged up. Avoiding her seems the best option.
Ty is on lockdown at school all weekend, although I did promise to take him for lunch on Sunday. He wasn’t happy when I said Greer wouldn’t be coming, but too bad so sad. She doesn’t need a repeat performance from him.
I notice a club across the road that looks busy. The name seems familiar, and I think maybe Will’s brother Ben hangs out there from time to time. My staff have gone home, and I could really do with letting my hair down. Maybe there’ll even be someone there to take my mind off she-who-shall-not-be-thought-of.
It's still quite early, and while the club is busy, it’s not packed. I head straight for the bar and order a vodka before looking around. I’m not oblivious to the attention I get. But as has been typical of late, I can’t seem to work up any interest. Until a flash of red catches my eye. And right there on the dance floor is Greer in a figure-hugging black dress pressed up against a guy in a suit, dancing like she’s auditioning forDirty Dancingthe stage show.
Before I even stop to think, I’m shouldering my way across the dance floor.
“Josh,” Greer gasps, breathless and flushed.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice. The guy she’s with looks like he doesn’t know whether to turn tail and run or protect her. Run would be my advice.
