“Absolutely. We can liaise over the next day, tell me what you have in mind, then meet back here Wednesday to get some things in motion.”
“Brett!” I yelp, jumping up and down in my seat. “That would be amazing, thank you!”
He gives me one of his easy smiles, and I smile back. “No worries, Gia.” He continues to stare for a moment, the smile lingering on his lips. “It’s so good to have you back.”
14
“Hai dormito con mia sorella?”
Scream.
Antonio ducks just in time for the vase to go flying over his head, smashing into the wall behind him as he stares at his wife Sofia in earnest.
“Non sapevo fosse il tuo gemello! Pensavo fossi tu!”
Ha, I snort at the screen. Why is there always an evil identical twin in soapies that no one can tell apart?
Sofia launches at her husband, ready to attack him for sleeping with her twin sister, but Antonio grabs her by the wrists just as I paint my last toenail a pretty baby pink.
Perfect.
As I admire my handiwork (who needs to pay for a pedicure?) and listen to Sofia and Antonio fight in Italian on tv, my phone rings again with a number I don’t recognise.
“I’ve already told you,” I answer the phone, frustrated, “I won’t go lower than two thousand!”
The same lady has called me four times in the last hour, trying to hustle down my price on a Prada bag I’m selling on Marketplace, apparently not taking no for an answer. I soldone yesterday for three grand, so not only can I sleep easy knowing I can afford to feed myself for the next month, but I’m also not desperate enough to let this one go for less than what it’s worth.
“Two thousand?” A deep, smooth voice comes through the line, setting off goosebumps along my skin. “I’m starting to think I was ripped off.”
The shock of his voice makes me accidentally knock my open bottle of nail polish onto the couch. I yelp, then rush to pick the bottle up, not wanting it to spill all over the white fabric. I make a mental note to save Zayn’s number into my phone so I can screen his calls in the future.
“Fuck!” I set the bottle back down and screw on the lid. “That’s not about what you think it is,” I clarify, trying to settle my racing heart. Even over the phone, he has this crazy effect on me. “I thought you were someone else. Obviously. And I’m selling something. Not me. I’m not selling me.”
I force my mouth shut to physically stop myself from talking.
“What are you selling?” he asks, surprising me.
“None of your business. I don’t want to talk to you.” Another thought pops into my head and I voice it out loud before I can stop myself. “And you didn’t pay anything that night, if you remember.” As soon as the words are out, I want to kick myself, hard, right in the shin. I don’t want to discussthatnight with him. In fact, I don’t want to discuss anything with him at all.
“I remember everything about that night.” The way he says it, soft and vehement, makes unwanted heat blossom through my core.
I need to change the subject.
“I’m busy,” I say, glancing between the half-eaten bowl oftwisties beside me and the Italian soapie playing out on my TV. Sofia and Antonio are now having passionate make-up sex on the kitchen floor, and I’m missing it. “Can we have this conversation another time? Never, perhaps?”
“Don’t hang up. This is about your divorce,” he says smoothly, making me halt. “I need you to come in and sign some papers.”
I prop the phone between my ear and shoulder and run one hand over my unwashed hair while simultaneously wiping Twistie dust onto my robe with another. It’s not like I spend every morning slothing on my couch watching trash TV, but the emotional toll of the last couple of weeks seems to have caught up with me and I woke up already exhausted.
“Come in? Haven’t you heard of DocuSign?” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s this wild new concept where you sign documents online and don’t have to pretend you still live in the Stone Age.”
There’s a pause on the other end and I can practically hear Zayn’s annoyance through the phone. Good. Frustrating him is my new favourite hobby.
“Gianna,” he says, rolling every syllable of my name off his tongue like he’s savouring it, “I need yourwetsignature on these forms.”
The way he says ‘wet’ makes me instantly that between my legs. Bastard. He knows how to work me just as I’m re-learning which buttons to push with him. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”
“No. I can come to you if it’s easier.”
